The Edge of Reason

When Abraham returned from vacation, we had the DTR and made things official. It was a painfully ordinary conversation with the exception that I was clutching a stuffed dog in my lap that he had purchased for me as a souvenir.

Finally! All is right in the world!

Only as Bridget Jones said, "It is a truth universally acknowledged that when one part of your life starts going okay, another falls spectacularly to pieces." Before I could bask in the glow of my new relationship status, work fell apart. I became a victim of office politics, which I always assumed was a bad thing that was supposed to be avoided, not adhered to.

As I received the unpleasant news (which, in the grand scheme of things, wouldn't affect my day-to-day operation at all), I sat in a woman's office who wasn't my boss and burst into tears.

"Is this okay?" she asked.

"No, no, no, no, no. It's not okay." I repeated. I felt blindsided. I had no chance to prepare my argument, and it was difficult to formulate one as I was ugly crying in this stranger's office. I cried so hard that she told me to go home for the day, which I refused to do because I still had my deadlines.

I walked out of her office and back to my desk. I passed a gaggle of girls who were standing in a circle and talking about me. The same girls whom I re-friended this year. The same coworker who asked me to teach her to knit, so I've been spending hours with her and instructing her. I had even bought her a kit with my own money to get her started, and here she was whispering about me.

Then my dress ripped. It ripped up the seam on the backside, exposing me as if I were wearing a hospital gown.

On top of everything else, I left my phone at home.

I guess it's a good thing that I don't have too many bad days, because when I have one, I really, really have one (See: being both laid off and diagnosed with cancer in the same 24 hours.)

During Abraham's first official day of boyfriend capacity, I called him and cried on the phone to him. He tried to calm me down, telling me that things at work would be straightened out in the morning (I had such an intense reaction to the news that people called my boss at home. She said she would fix it in the morning.) He skipped going out with his friends and went straight home to meet me. He offered to pick me up dinner.

I appeared on his doorstep with a bottle of wine, serving size: 1. We camped on his bed while he ate dinner and I drank mine. I balanced my wine glass on his stomach as we watched our shows. He kept things light and distracted me if I started sniffing. He knew I was crying not by looking at me, but by hearing my stuffy nose. Then he would do something silly, like kiss me disgustingly. It's hard to feel sorry for yourself when someone is licking your face.

Bedtime was another story. My boss had passed on to me to not lose a minute's sleep over work, but it was impossible. Abraham began snoring softly, and my mind raced in the nighttime stillness. Work is important to the single girl. It's our rent payment. It's our independence. We don't have husbands to carry us if things go wrong.

I pulled away from cuddling Abraham's back and rolled over. The sniffing began again. My pillow had been wet for some time. Abraham stirred slightly, shifting his leg on top of mine. Not wanting to wake him, I didn't react. Then he nudged me with his leg: a purposeful back and forth rocking motion. He was awake. It was a sweet, comforting gesture.

I rolled back over and resumed cuddling him. Wordlessly, he drifted back to sleep and the snoring began again. The hours ticked from two to three to four to five.

The good thing about being awake until 5 a.m. is that you can hear your boyfriend sleep fart not once, but twice. Then you can proudly tell him in the morning while he's confused and declare yourselves even.


*And, of course, my boss apologized and reversed the decision the next morning, making all those tears for naught.