So, why haven’t I written? Well, I could make excuses about work stress and car trouble, and while both would be valid, they wouldn’t be completely honest. The real reason I haven’t written, is because I’m sill suffering from the dreadful Girl Brain.
Things with Jake are super. He is the bees’ knees, peachy keen, dreamy, and every other pre-1960 reference I’ve made in the past. A few days before Halloween, he came out to Shetland and spent an impromptu two days with me, both of us taking off work to enjoy cuddling up during a rainstorm to watch scary movies and eat pizza. On Halloween evening, I drove to Wellston to spend the holiday with him and met his parents.
Jake: My parents will be here, by the way.
Me: Okay. Does that mean you don’t want me to come or that I just shouldn’t dress all whorey?
Jake: What? No. Stop reading into things.
Me: I’m not reading into anything. I’m trying to figure out if you’re saying you want me to meet your parents or if you want to cancel so you can spend time with them alone.
Jake: If you don’t want to meet them, I’ll understand, but I wasn’t telling you not to come.
Jake’s parents are southern cattle ranchers through and through. Just… picture a couple of southern cattle ranchers and that’s the Grangers. It was a nice dinner, at a local fast food chain. Jake was proud to introduce me. He joked about the fact that I was sort of in costume, in my red jeans and Superman shirt. His mom hassled him about the length of his beard, while his dad talked about politics. They discussed rodeos and deer hunting. They both laughed, when I teased Jake for looking like Yukon Cornelius.
After dinner, Jake watched Hocus Pocus with me, under strict orders that I not recite it. We cuddled on the couch before going to bed, where we also cuddled, until he had to leave for work at 6:00 in the morning and I had to make the drive back to Shetland.
After Halloween, I was all geared up to tell you this great story about meeting the parents. Then I got busy. Then I started overthinking things.
Y’all, if Jake ever proposes, I’m pretty sure my response is going to be “I didn’t even think you liked me.”
Due to distance, family obligations, work, and us both generally having lives, Jake and I get about one sleepover per week. In the meantime, we talk on the phone two or three times and I send a series of anecdotes or Internet memes that rarely get a response… via text message, that is. When we see each other in person, he’ll mention the things I send him and joke about them or discuss them. Jake just doesn’t put as much value on texting or even phone calls as I do. He’d rather spend time together in person… because he’s a dude. I can’t think of a single guy who would want to spend large quantities of time on the phone… but he does it for me, a few times a week. Still, by the time I’m ready to post a blog, I’m worried that Jake is losing interest and that I’ll look back on the post I’m writing and wonder how I was so blind.
The week after Halloween, Jake and I weren’t planning to see each other. He was going to spend his days off hunting and we were going to get together the next week. It was all good, though I knew I’d miss him… until the Thursday following the holiday. I got out of work early and decided I’d finally go get new tires. It couldn’t cost more than $200.
New Tires: $370
Replacement Wheel Strut: $55
New Break Shoes Immediately or I Die: $255
New Struts That are Future Belle’s Problem: $750
New Break Pads That are Nearer Future Belle’s Problem: $300
Me: I don’t think I can do anything next week.
Me: I’m just having some financial issues and I think I’m going to have to work. I may be able to take off Friday. I’m not sure.
Jake: Tomorrow or next week?
Me: I meant next week. I’m sorry. I miss you. It’s just been a tough week.
Jake: I can come tomorrow.
Me: I work tomorrow… and every day after that and it’s still never enough.
Jake: What time?
Me: I get out at 3:35.
Jake: I’ll be there.
After I got that text, I called Jake to assure him that he didn’t need to come to Shetland. He was in another state, y’all, yet he was willing to drive to Shetland the next afternoon, knowing I was on my period and that we both had to work Saturday, so we’d be getting a maximum of 16 chaste hours together.
Me: “You don’t have to come here. Enjoy your time with your family. I’m fine.”
Jake: “You just called me crying. I’ll be there, tomorrow.”
Me: “I’m not crying! I’m fine.”
Gail: “You’re right. He probably doesn’t even like you.”
The following night, we went out for pizza and cuddled on the couch to watch Zombeavers on Netflix (he now has his own profile on my account).
Jake: “To save your life? Yes. I would throw your dog to a pack of zombies.”
What do I do? Do I swoon or break up with him?
We didn’t get to see each other for another week, after that night. Once again, instead of blogging about the astounding chivalry and genuine care Jake showed me, after I called him bawling about money troubles, I spent the week deciding that the rarity of his messages obviously meant he just wasn’t that into me. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t tell him these things. I don’t act clingy or crazy or ask what he really means, when he says he loves me. I’m aware that these are my insecurities to deal with and not his problem. It’s just that every other woman in the dating world needs a book called He’s Just Not That Into You and I’m wondering where I can get a copy of No Really, He Actually Likes You. He says he loves me. He shows he loves me. Yet, here I am, scratching my head and wondering what he’s thinking. He’s not a complex guy! He’s thinking exactly what he tells me he’s thinking!
This past weekend, Jake came to Shetland, once again at the end of his three days off. He had been hunting with his brother and saw a giant buck on his way out to see me, but still kept his commitment to our plans. I made us crock pot taco soup and talked him into watching an episode of Supernatural, while I sprawled on top of him on the couch. The next morning, Jake came to church with me for his very first Catholic Mass. We went to lunch and then he humored me while I browsed the outlet mall for a couple of Christmas presents, even carrying my bags after I’d made my purchases. We went back to my place and watched The Devil’s Advocate (his choice).
Me: “I made you a present.”
Jake: “You made me a present?”
Me: “Yeah. You probably won’t wear it and that’s okay. I just thought I might make you one. You said red is your favorite color.”
Jake: “It’s a hat. Why wouldn’t I wear it?”
Me: “I don’t know. It’s really bright and maybe it’s kind of lame to wear a hat your girlfriend crocheted for you.”
Jake: “No. I’ll totally wear it to work.”
A few minutes after he left, I called to tell him he’d forgotten some things. I packed them up and ran out to meet him in the parking lot of my complex.
Me: “Open the door. Give me a hug for my troubles.”
Jake: “I would’ve come up and gotten it.”
Me: “That’s okay. I love you.”
Jake: “I love you, too.”
Me: “Hold on. You need an Eskimo kiss for the road.”
Gail’s right. He probably doesn’t even like me.