He called me first.
As soon as “Brad” had access to a phone after the accident two weeks ago, he called me first.
I honestly don’t know what I think or feel about this. It says a lot about how he feels about me, to call me before he called his family. His family who were closer geographically than I was. His family who have been part of his life for his whole life, whereas I’ve been in his life for such a short amount of time. Does this mean I’m part of his family now?
Would I call him first?
Honestly, I think I’d call my mom first. Maybe it’s because she’s the one who most often has “Em.” Maybe it’s because she’s one of my best friends. I hope that doesn’t mean that I don’t love Brad as much as he loves me, that I wouldn’t call him first. Not that I wouldn’t call him at all, just that my mom has always been my emergency contact. Should that change? Am I there?
I offered him a drawer. He’s down here almost every weekend. It makes sense that he should keep a change of clothes here so he doesn’t have to pack up a whole bag just for 1 or 2 days. This weekend he gets a drawer and shower space for his shampoo and things. So we’re there.
I love him. He knows this. I tell him I love him at least once a day, usually more like 2 or 3 times a day. And he loves me. We’re “us” enough that we can be “us” in front of my parents, his arm around me on the couch when we’re all just hanging out.
My dad smiles around and at him. Not that my dad doesn’t smile at people, but there’s a special smile that is reserved for people he really cares about. He smiles that smile at Brad. So we’re there, too.