I take all the signs and I add them up and I see what’s left. It’s like baking a cake without a recipe using whatever I have in the cupboard and hoping it comes out edible.
We don’t talk every day like we used to. I watch the little green icon next to his name on Gchat but no message box pops up. I send texts at midnight on Saturday, telling him that there are some girls from Seattle at the party I’m at. No response. “Where ARE you?” I try again. He answers, “Soooo high. Passing out.” It is infuriating.
But then there are the other signs. On a random Saturday afternoon he texts me about a delicious sandwich he just had for lunch. “What are you up to?” he asks. I tell him I’m about to pass the time playing beer pong with a friend. “Don’t judge me,” I tease. He writes back, “Remember the first time I met you? It was your birthday and we played beer pong and I sunk every cup and we won. And then you dipped out to your ex b.f.’s.” It’s the same story he brings up all the time.
Last week he called, and I missed it. “I’m at a movie – will you be around later?” He answered that he’d be busy making sushi with some friends. He called on his walk home from work when he had a free five minutes, the negative side of me said. And the positive side answered, But he called.
Things are not the same. I don’t get the 3AM, “Come oooover” texts anymore. Part of the reason things are different is because I feel different. I am so preoccupied with finding a new job, moving across the country, and dealing with drama on the home front that to occupy myself with him, too, is exhausting. I want to push him away until I can really pull him in. As much as he doesn’t message me, I don’t message him, either. It’s too much work.
For every point in the plus column, there is one in the negative. For every text sent there is one unanswered. I just have to believe that it’ll all even out in the end.