I'm just inside Target, hunting for a red plastic basket that doesn't have gum stuck to the bottom, when my phone buzzes. It buzzes a lot these days.
"Want to know why alcohol is ridiculous?" He's at happy hour somewhere, a few beers deep.
Yes, I answer.
"It made me just now -- after all our conversations -- come to face the fact that I'm losing you."
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Remember that guy who asked me out the right way and had opinions on John Irving? He is, in fact, the only guy I've been seeing since September. And he is, in fact, my boyfriend. That's strange to type. But here we are.
There's just one little catch. The other thing I haven't told you is that I've been applying to graduate schools. Most of them are far away. And he's been applying to jobs. Working in athletics, as he does, he could end up nearly anywhere in the country. But there's not a lot of overlap between our likely destinations, and chances that we'll be in the same city four months from today are slim to none.
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"Noooooo, no, no," I text back immediately. "This isn't the week for that problem. You focus on getting the job. Then we'll deal with you and me."
I mean it. He knows I'm a) sincere and b) right. But oh, man.
Heartbreak is crouching right around that corner. And standing there by the Dollar Wall, with only my chintzy little basket for a shield, I can already feel how bad this is going to be.
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