The Difference Between Getting and Needing

f o u r

stay soft, but don't be gentle
it's altogether m e n t a l . . .

〰️〰️〰️

For as long as I'd known Gus, which had been most of my life, he was always late. He was never on time for anything. Didn't matter if it were parties, reservations, work, events, or anything in between; you could guarantee he'd be running late. I was convinced he'd never break the habit.

Now usually, it would be the girl in these types of situations. The boyfriend waits impatiently for his girlfriend as she has a trauma about what to wear and rushes through her beauty routine, until they end up in the car and she's still not happy with the outcome. Our relationship was a little different – I was the one waiting for my consistently unprepared boyfriend.

On Saturday morning, I'd had enough of pacing in the kitchen as Ziggy watched me and instead, I took a seat at the island. I didn't even have enough patience left to scroll aimlessly through my phone. There was nothing left for me to look at on social media because I'd browsed on everything already.

"What the fuck, Gus, we gotta go!" I snapped, the idea of my sister strangling me from possibly being late to her bridal shower pushing me to do so.

"Alright! Alright," he yelled back in the same, sharp tone I used.

But just because he surrendered still didn't mean he was ready. Every second that ticked by was another second closer to me pulling the trigger on my temper.

As soon as I heard his footsteps leave our bathroom, I leapt out of my stool. Ziggy mimicked my frantic pace by twirling in circles, getting himself tangled within his leash. He was never a still creature, so it took me a minute to unravel him. A minute of him re-entangling the leash as soon as I'd fix it and trying to lick my face.

With his leash finally secured around my wrist, I threw my purse into the gigantic plastic container I'd previously filled with party favors and decorations, and hoisted it off the island countertop. When I turned around, I managed to shoot a glare at Gus through our brief eye contact.

"We should have left twenty minutes ago. If we get stuck in weekend traffic, Sutton and my mom are both gonna kill me," I mused in annoyance, more so just voicing my inner thoughts while aiming the blame at Gus.

He pulled the door open for me with his car keys in one hand and a bouquet of balloons in the other. "Are you the one driving?" He retorted.

"No, but I have to sit in the car with you and listen to you complain about the traffic that you got us stuck in because you weren't ready on time."

"What the fuck ever," he mumbled, pressing the down button for the elevator once we got to it. Usually, the wait was never too long since there were four elevators and only twenty floors. Today, it felt like years before one came to our floor.

The two-plus hour drive in front of us was looking better with every passing moment.

I never thought the dinging of an elevator would bring me as much joy as a dismissal bell at the end of a school day did to a child, but there I was, practically knocking the door down so I could get in. Ziggy followed suit, then Gus, who pushed the button for the lobby and watched the doors slide shut with an impassive expression. Therefore, it was a quiet ride down from the tenth floor to the bottom.