Miss You

"I just played 20 questions about Sarah with my sister," Abraham told me over the phone. We were both out of of town. I was in Dallas visiting my family, and he was in Miami about to disembark on a cruise with his family.

He had decided to wait until this trip to break the news to his family that he's dating a goyim. Another family member broke his own girlfriend news during Passover and consequently was bombarded with questions by the entire extended family. Abraham had leaned to his cousin and laughed at him for announcing it in that large, invasive setting. Quiet Abraham wanted to tell his immediate family first.

"She's already Facebook stalked you," he added.

"Thank God I changed my profile picture from the ridiculous one of me eating a hot dog. Did she ask if I was Jewish?"

"She did, but it wasn't the first question."

"Was it top 5? What was the first question?"

"I don't remember."

Guys are so lousy at remembering details of a conversation. If I had asked South Carolina Bestie that question, she'd be able to tell me the exact order of the questions, what the sister was wearing at the time, the expression on her face and her body language. With Abraham, I get "I don't remember."

I huffed, "You are such a guy."

"Guilty as charged," he laughed.

"Well what did she say?"

"She was happy. She wants me to tell my mom."

We had previously talked about his parents' reaction. His parents had already told him they just want him to be happy, even if that meant settling with a non-Jewish girl. It's his Bubbie that he's more conscious of.

"I think your mom will be happy, Abraham," I said.

"That's what my sister said. My mom is already making little snippets about finding me a girlfriend."

"When are you going to tell her?"

"When I get really, really drunk.”

"So... tonight?"

"Probably," he laughed. "What's that noise?"

I was in one of those trendy nature shops when he called. The kind that sells $80.00 organic flip flops and educational children toys. Some kids had just crashed into wind chimes. "Just a wind chime store," I answered him. I was not going to waste these precious few minutes I had with him describing the store filled with something called "17 Countries, 1 Bra." As soon as his boat left, we would be without total contact for a week.

We filled the conversation talking about his trip and my trip and him telling his family and me being happy about it.

This time I heard noises in the background of his line. The boat was leaving.

"I guess I better go," he said solemnly.

I immediately choked on a sob. It didn't matter that I was in Dallas and he was in Miami and we were already 1,300 miles apart. It didn't matter that I wasn't home. He was leaving.

"You're going to have a good birthday," he said. He meant well, but it felt like a stab to my heart. The trip was planned with his family last year, before we were serious, before he even knew when my birthday was.

"Yeah," I cried. "We're going to have hibachi at the restaurant that is inside a train car. It's going to be fun." The words were forced and didn't match the tone of my voice.

"Are you crying in a wind chime store?" he asked incredulously.

Tears streamed down my face. "Yes."

"You're such a girl."

"Guilty as charged."

"I miss you," he told me seriously.

I cried harder. This isn't me. I don't normally cry when my heart's touched or when a boyfriend leaves town for a week, but I do with him.

I stood in that stupid nature store with unstoppable tears. My brother and my father stood at the exit and waved at me. I shushed them away. Knowing my history, they probably thought I was fighting.

"Okay well you have a good time," I choked out.

"I'll text you one last time before I'm out of range," he promised. "I miss you."

Five minutes later, as I was sitting in the backseat of my brother's car with sunglasses protecting my insides, I received it. Bye forever! An inside joke.

Be safe, have fun and miss me tons, I typed back. I wanted him to leave on a positive note.

Will do x 3.