when all is said and done | e.d.

forty

ethan

after dropping off harper at her house and listening to her phone calls explaining where she's been to everyone, i head home and throw my keys on the kitchen table.

the bare apartment never feels welcoming, no matter how far from home i've been. it needs something, even if it's only a wall decoration.

so i regretfully plop on my couch with a bowl of raspberry sherbet— wearing only after-work sweatpants— and open my laptop to pinterest.

i make a new board titled "apartment" and begin some searches. it feels weird pinning things to my page because i've never taken the time to make my living space desirable.

it's simply a place i eat and sleep.

but i feel like changing that.

since i'm scared of switching things up, i figured i better start with something small, and something that i could easily fix if i wanted to. if i don't like a coffee table, i can send it back. easy peasy.

two hours ends up ticking by, and i find myself struggling to put in my credit card numbers into the order confirmation. it's a little hard, honestly. the looming fear of absolutely hating everything makes me nervous.

but i do it anyway.

i order a new bed frame, an end table, a couple of fake house plants, a wine display, and some pillows for the small couch i have in the main area.

hopefully this will make me feel better every time i come home.

by the time i've cleaned made myself dinner, gotten frustrated that it didn't turn out good, cleaned up the mess and attempted to remake it, then realize it's still horrible— it's time that i go to bed.

i'm not a good cook, but i'm not bad.

my specialty is spaghetti. boiling noodles and spreading some sauce on them, adding only a sprinkle of seasoning really doesn't take gordon ramsey level cooking.

if i were to ever be in a relationship, i'd probably try harder to cook. the kitchen would be my oyster, and i'm the pearl. grayson claims he is the best chef in my entire family, but i've tried his banana pancakes and they never failed to make me want to vomit. hell, i had to live off his cooking when we were in college. it was either his dishes, or frozen chicken strips popped into the toaster.

even as i brush my teeth and spit out the toothpaste in the sink, i can't help but picture my life with someone else in it, occupying my entire mind.

it would be nice, really.

as much as playing the field and taking a new girl home every couple of weeks is truly amazing, i'm getting to the point in my life where i need to settle down— find a lifelong partner.

we would live in the city. i would make coffee for us every morning, and pack her a lunch occasionally with a little sticky note inside, telling her that i love her.

if i were to choose, we'd have three kids. two boys, one girl. in that order. she could choose the names as long as i got to choose the middle names.

we would have a beach house in new jersey that we visit every single summer, digging around in the sand for seashells and small crabs.

a dog would be nice, too. but it would have to be hypoallergenic so grayson and his family could come over for dinner every sunday and wednesday night.

i'm smiling a little by the time i slip under my covers and turn off my lamp light. my future scares me of course, but it's nice to think about the positives.

i try to imagine a face to go along with the images in my head by closing my eyes tightly.

they immediately spring back open when the first person that crosses my mind is harper, smiling all big and bright.

all panicked and confused, i turn my lamp light back on and reach for the book that sits on my nightstand.
it's the emperor's children by claire messud. my sister recommended it to me, and i checked it out from the library the very next morning.

after an hour of immersing myself in the book fully, my mind becomes clearer, but more tired. i seriously need to get some sleep or else tomorrow is going to suck.

right as i put the book back on my nightstand, my phone lights up.

grayson: tomorrow night: you me and mark at the bar on madison street?

i reply back with a sigh:

me: sorry, maybe next week. i'm dogsitting tomorrow.

grayson: ??? for who?

me: don't worry about it

grayson: you haven't been out with us in three weeks. what's your deal?

what is my deal?

me: i don't know. aren't we a little too old to be doing that stuff? that seems like a college thing, not i'm-going-to-be-thirty-in-five-years thing.

grayson: ... say april fools

me: it's february.

grayson: fine. but just know you're always welcome out with us. stop simping over your boss.

me: i'm not a simp

grayson: then why are you babysitting her dog on a friday night

me: ... it's not technically her dog, but how did you even guess that? i didn't tell you whose it was

grayson: i know you, ethan.

me: great. so i guess you already know that i'm seriously tired of one night stands. isn't it time we both think about finding someone to settle down with?

grayson: get some sleep. you're not making any sense.

"no," i mumble to myself, shutting off my phone. "i think i'm making perfect sense."

maybe if i find someone to love me—

— i'll start love myself, too.