"Are we there yet?"
"Not yet, sweetest." Maybe I should say, "Yeah, get out," but that's too obvious. There's something delightful about being sweet when he's expecting sassiness.
"...Are we there yet?" he asks after two whole seconds..
"Not yet, darling."
"Hmm. Are we there yet?" He doesn't even pause this time.
"Not yet, dearest." I'm only encouraging him, but that's a good thing. It's another chance to let him know how precious he is. He doesn't hate himself often anymore, and that's amazing, but considering how amazing he is, he still has a long way to go before seeing himself as he really is.
"Are we there yet?"
"Not yet, pet." I'm running out of terms of endearment. Sweetheart? Sugarplum?
"Are we there yet?"
"Almost, my love."
"Are we there yet?"
"Yes." I'm only human. "We're here. You can get out now." He sticks his tongue out at me childishly and I return the gesture. I wonder what his tongue tastes like today. Probably a lot like yesterday, but really, there's only one way to be sure. I move forward, and his curiosity shifts quickly from how close we are to our destination to how close we are to each other. As an added bonus, he can't ask if we're there yet while I'm kissing him. I start wondering to myself, once again, when I can go ring shopping. I know it's still way too soon, but I want it so badly.
I thought it'd be step 100, but there were so many more milestones along the way than I counted on. I'm beyond ready, but Scott needs to be ready too, and he's a lot slower to see this as permanent. He's still torn about things like whether I should move in or keep some distance, whether I'm going to realize choosing him is a terrible mistake and leave him, whether it's safe how close we've become, and whether he deserves to be happy. We have to answer those questions before we can move forward. He has to know I'm committed, and he needs to be equally committed.
"I want to spend my whole life with you," I tell him softly. "Not just as friends. Not just as boyfriends. Not just as partners."
He shakes his head a little. He looks scared, worried. "What are you saying?"
"I want it to be permanent."
"I don't want you to be stuck with me."
"I know, but I want you to be stuck with me, and I want to be stuck with you no matter what. I love you."
"You might not someday."
"It wouldn't matter. I would already have promised to stay."
"But you might not want to someday. Do you still love Alex? Would you want to be stuck with him? Am I any different?"
"Even if I didn't want to, I'd stay. It's that serious to me." People think they can marry someone because they'll always love each other and never want to leave. They think it's like a tattoo. It's meant to be permanent, but if you don't like it anymore, you can go through some pain and risk some scarring to get rid of it. I always felt like vows meant more than that. They mean you stay even if you don't love each other anymore. You stay and you do everything you can to make it better because you've made a commitment to one another. If leaving isn't an option, it changes the way you operate. If I couldn't have left Scott, maybe I would have been more desperate to help him. Maybe I would have taken more responsibility sooner and he wouldn't have fallen so far in the first place, but either way, I would have stayed. I would have checked him into rehab myself instead of leaving him for someone else to deal with. I would never have let him feel so abandoned. How can he ever trust me after that?
