So Saturday night ended on a pretty crap note. My head had been getting increasingly congested and the Advil I took before dinner did little to relieve my symptoms, and in the middle of watching "The Visitor", I checked my voicemail and there was a message from my mom that set off a chain of actions and reactions, the tail end of which consisted of me in a forlorn heap of tears on the bed downstairs. He sat with me, held me, let me cry until I was numb– then I told him to go finish the movie and spend time with his friend, that I was fine.
As he pulled back the covers for me, he asked if there was anything I wanted. Completely not seriously, I answered: gummi worms.
The next morning, as we got ready to leave for brunch, I went through my routine room-wandering hunt for things I’d just had in my hands two seconds ago. I came into the bedroom with that bewildered expression on my face– the "no, I swear it was just in my hands two seconds ago, am I seriously losing my mind?" expression, an expression he knows well because I make it at least 500 times a day– and he inquired as to what I was looking for.
"It’s on the dresser, babe."
I looked at the dresser. My wallet is bright green and hard to miss, and I couldn’t see it from where I was standing by the door. He exited the room, I approached the dresser with the "I’m not blind but maybe I am losing my mind and that’s why I can’t see it?" squint, and once I was standing right in front of it, I saw my wallet, half-concealed underneath a large folded paper bag. Whereupon my face promptly adopted the "wtf?" frown– but then I picked it up to retrieve my wallet, and I saw the bag was from Safeway.
Whereupon my heart melted and I couldn’t do anything other than stand there and beam, holding and staring at a slightly-heavy Safeway bag. I didn’t even need to look inside.
He came back into the room. "I was being facetious," I told him, almost apologetically. He shrugged and smiled; he knew. "But I wasn’t sure if you liked sour or regular–" so:
He got me both. And following a four-hour brunch that involved seven or eight rounds of tequila, five of us ate both bags during a drive to Milpitas on a quest for green waffles. That’s one of the best things about love, sometimes: getting to share it with other people you care about.