Together

 Boxes, packing tape, bubble wrap, make me happy.  

I'm good with moving.  I like editing my life.  I don't get stuck, sentimental with stuff.      Sometimes this trait of mine, worries Jon.  He thinks at any moment, he might just be left behind.

So the man who never bothered wooing me, decides impulsively-  Baby?  I am coming to London!  To help you!  I should be there!  You shouldn't be doing this all alone!

(Note:  Even in a long-distance marriage, we are still allowed to get upset, with each other.)

My texted reply was curt.  Don't Come.

He of course then calls me, and I find myself getting angrier and angrier as I explain why it is such a bad idea for him to come.  For starters, where on earth is he going to live, when I myself, am going to be homeless in 16 days?

As my anger rises like a fever, his voice gets hard like ice. 

 Don't shout at me.  Don't shout at me, he says.  I am trying to help you.

I can't slam a cell phone down.  I can only press one button.  The pressing of button lacks the energy of a slam.

He calls back.  Why do you have to always hang up on me?

The thing about being married to your best friend is that the anger doesn't quite stretch beyond, oh, 10 minutes.  In a while, we are giggling, teasing each other and in another minute, we are both trying to meet each other, in the middle, someplace, somewhere.

Ok, Baby, you can come, while I still have housing, I say.

Ok, Baby, just tell me when works best for you, he says.

Ok, Baby, you should come this week, I say.

Ok, Baby, no problem, let me get on it, he says.

An hour later, he sends me his flight information (this Saturday!  5:55am arrival!), talks me through arrangements he's made with work, care for Angel dog, dinner with his parents and guests, ride to Changi Airport.

It's meant to be, he says happily.  I'm meant to come!

photo credit-  Andrew Lum, 2012

What he means to but never says, is-

We're meant to be.  We're meant to be, together.