The Thing About Three

chapter thirty-eight | the first year

EVERYTHING REALLY DOES get easier with time, I've found out.

Dallas being away was awful at first. I barely knew what to do with myself—because the heartache was painful. It felt almost like mourning or grieving, but with a thin thread of anxiety tying it all together because he was going into the military. He could be sent somewhere scary. He could die.

And as much as he assured me that the chances for either of those things happening were slim, I was still absolutely terrified.

I had to avoid the news altogether because any story about Russia or China or North Korea had me gnawing at my nails in worry.

And what made my heartache and worry and stress even worse was that I had to hide it all from Noah. That meant tons of fake smiles and fake laughter and lame excuses that blamed my downcast mood on my insomnia.

I didn't think he'd take kindly to me missing another man, especially when he tensed up each time I mentioned said man.

When I hit the two-month mark of Dallas being gone, things started to get better—in the sense that I got better at managing my heartache and anxiety. They were still as potent as ever, but I figured out that keeping my mind distracted and praying when I got stressed out did wonders.

The letters and occasional phone calls I got from Dallas helped, too.

At three months, he got his phone privileges fully back. We talked almost every day after that, telling each other how our days went and what our lives looked like hundreds of miles away from each other.

I gave him updates about Whitlock's, and how I worked there full time because Amelia had retired shortly after he left.

He told me all about his roommates and what it was like living in a military base, as well as updates about how his training was going.

At four months, Noah got an apartment near work. It was a one-bed, one-bath that smelled like smoke and dogs, but it was nice. I spent a lot of time there. So much time that he designated me a drawer in his dresser.

We grew closer, too. Life in the apartment made everything feel domestic, like we were newlyweds or something.

"I love this," Noah said to me one night. We were curled up in bed, a movie we had forgotten all about playing on his TV.

"What? Staying up late? There's, like, three hours until we have to go to work," I told him.

"No, not that. Being here, with you." He nuzzled his face into the crook of my neck. "Move in with me."

I didn't agree right off the bat. "Uh, I don't think I'm ready yet," I told him. "And I don't want to leave my dad all alone."

We went back and forth on that topic for a while, but within the month I ended up moving in. He could be very convincing when he wanted to be.

And then, the five-month mark hit. It was October, which meant I would get to see Dallas again.

We scheduled our reunion on a Sunday, choosing a Chinese restaurant we used to order from for our movie nights.

Noah was adamant that he come with us. I didn't fight him much about it, because fighting with him was exhausting and I was too excited to see Dallas to really care.

We got there ten minutes earlier than we needed to, because I was driving and had sped the entire way in excitement.

I was surprised to find Dallas's blue Camaro already sitting in the semi-vacant parking lot when we arrived. By the time I had parked and gotten out, Dallas was already walking toward me.