2:15, and I was pretty sure I didn’t fall asleep until at least an hour later. My mind and heart both raced so fast, I was almost afraid I was having a heart attack.
Rather than staring at my hugely uninteresting ceiling all night, I decided to get up and be useful. So I cleaned my already clean kitchen, scrubbing the counters down with a bleach solution and wiping off the walls just in case I’d accidentally splattered the back splash with food particles while cooking dinner.
Using the small vacuum so I didn’t disturb cat lady downstairs, I went over the carpet again, making sure to leave nice vacuum lines. They’d inevitably be gone before he arrived since the living room was such a high traffic area, being the middle of the apartment and all, but I loved seeing them there—even for a little while.
I wiped the entertainment center and TV down with a dust cloth, Windexed the spot-free windows, put bleach in the toilet to sit until morning, scrubbed the tub and countertop in the bathroom, dusted the dresser in my bedroom, and straightened the blankets.
After cleaning my already clean apartment, I sat on the edge of my bed, tapping my fingers on my knee as I watched the clock tick seconds slowly by.
Surely, I’ll get tired soon. I can’t stay up all night. I have to get Evan from the airport at eight. With stupid Houston traffic, that means I have to leave by six forty-five. If I go to bed now, I’ll get four solid hours before I have to get up and shower.
I climbed back in bed, turned off my bedside lamp, and closed my eyes. And waited. And waited. And waited. But sleep didn’t come.
It wasn’t like this was his first time coming back to town. He’d flown in dozens of times, and if things kept going the way they were, he was likely to fly in dozens more. So why the hell was I so anxious?
Because you miss him, you idiot.
I told myself to shut up, rolled over, and closed my eyes again.
My alarm screamed at me the second I closed my eyes. I hit snooze probably one—or three—too many times, but I managed to shower and brew some coffee to put in a travel mug. I chose and discarded six outfits before deciding on going casual. Evan liked it when I got dolled up, but he seemed to love when we just hung out at the house in jeans, T-shirts, and bare feet. Skipping makeup, I put my still wet hair into a sloppy bun, made a toaster waffle, and took it with my coffee to go.
Even though I took the longer way, it was still faster than going straight down Interstate 45. I ended up having to take it part of the way, and despite driving against traffic at that time of the morning, there was still enough it had me cursing a blue streak until I got to the airport parking garage.
The minute I pulled into a space, my hands started shaking. I decided to leave my coffee in the car, because clearly I’d had too much, and took note of where exactly I’d parked by taking a picture of the nearest pole with a number on it with my phone. The last time I’d forgotten to snap a photo, it took me three hours to find my damn car.
Three hours in the Texas heat feels more like three months. I firmly resolved it would never happen again. So my phone had several different pictures of random parking garage signs from all over Houston. Someday, I’d get around to deleting the old ones.
Just like someday I’d get around to writing the great American novel, racing in the Indy 500, climbing Mount Everest, and swimming with sharks without a cage. Ha.
Friday mornings were a popular time to fly, so I should’ve expected the airport to be packed. But seeing it jammed full of people threw me off my game a little. Probably in a good way, since it meant I no longer focused on my nerves, and I got to people watch while I waited for my phone to alert me to Evan’s arrival text message.
I found my way to the escalator nearest the security exit the public weren’t allowed past and took a seat. Keeping one eye glued to the top of the
Rather than staring at my hugely uninteresting ceiling all night, I decided to get up and be useful. So I cleaned my already clean kitchen, scrubbing the counters down with a bleach solution and wiping off the walls just in case I’d accidentally splattered the back splash with food particles while cooking dinner.
Using the small vacuum so I didn’t disturb cat lady downstairs, I went over the carpet again, making sure to leave nice vacuum lines. They’d inevitably be gone before he arrived since the living room was such a high traffic area, being the middle of the apartment and all, but I loved seeing them there—even for a little while.
I wiped the entertainment center and TV down with a dust cloth, Windexed the spot-free windows, put bleach in the toilet to sit until morning, scrubbed the tub and countertop in the bathroom, dusted the dresser in my bedroom, and straightened the blankets.
After cleaning my already clean apartment, I sat on the edge of my bed, tapping my fingers on my knee as I watched the clock tick seconds slowly by.
Surely, I’ll get tired soon. I can’t stay up all night. I have to get Evan from the airport at eight. With stupid Houston traffic, that means I have to leave by six forty-five. If I go to bed now, I’ll get four solid hours before I have to get up and shower.
I climbed back in bed, turned off my bedside lamp, and closed my eyes. And waited. And waited. And waited. But sleep didn’t come.
It wasn’t like this was his first time coming back to town. He’d flown in dozens of times, and if things kept going the way they were, he was likely to fly in dozens more. So why the hell was I so anxious?
Because you miss him, you idiot.
I told myself to shut up, rolled over, and closed my eyes again.
My alarm screamed at me the second I closed my eyes. I hit snooze probably one—or three—too many times, but I managed to shower and brew some coffee to put in a travel mug. I chose and discarded six outfits before deciding on going casual. Evan liked it when I got dolled up, but he seemed to love when we just hung out at the house in jeans, T-shirts, and bare feet. Skipping makeup, I put my still wet hair into a sloppy bun, made a toaster waffle, and took it with my coffee to go.
Even though I took the longer way, it was still faster than going straight down Interstate 45. I ended up having to take it part of the way, and despite driving against traffic at that time of the morning, there was still enough it had me cursing a blue streak until I got to the airport parking garage.
The minute I pulled into a space, my hands started shaking. I decided to leave my coffee in the car, because clearly I’d had too much, and took note of where exactly I’d parked by taking a picture of the nearest pole with a number on it with my phone. The last time I’d forgotten to snap a photo, it took me three hours to find my damn car.
Three hours in the Texas heat feels more like three months. I firmly resolved it would never happen again. So my phone had several different pictures of random parking garage signs from all over Houston. Someday, I’d get around to deleting the old ones.
Just like someday I’d get around to writing the great American novel, racing in the Indy 500, climbing Mount Everest, and swimming with sharks without a cage. Ha.
Friday mornings were a popular time to fly, so I should’ve expected the airport to be packed. But seeing it jammed full of people threw me off my game a little. Probably in a good way, since it meant I no longer focused on my nerves, and I got to people watch while I waited for my phone to alert me to Evan’s arrival text message.
I found my way to the escalator nearest the security exit the public weren’t allowed past and took a seat. Keeping one eye glued to the top of the
Similar Books
