The Way I Am Now (The Way I Used to Be)

Part 3 – September

I left her asleep in my bed this morning. She didn’t even stir when my alarm went off at five. I was so tempted to stay with her. But I’m not quite off the coach’s shit list yet, so I can’t afford to be late to a single practice or workout if I have any hope of playing this season.

The first month of the semester has flown by. Between my practice schedule and Eden working, plus our course loads, it seems like we have less and less time for each other every day.

I make it through morning training from six to eight, then the team meeting before my first class at nine. I text her good morning on the way. But she’s usually running too late; she won’t text back until after her first class ends at ten thirty. I only have an hour break between morning classes, and then it’s back to prep for practice again.

I hate that there’s no time to just relax together. I don’t know how we’d see each other at all if we weren’t in the same building. She got a second job at the café across the street from our apartment, but the manager’s already being a dick about her availability. I don’t know what he expects. This is a college town; everyone’s schedules are crazy. I’ve gone in there to study when she works on the weekends. I tell her it’s so I can spend a little more time around her. That’s mostly true, but I also don’t trust the guy. It seems like he has it out for her for no reason, criticizing everything she does, wanting her to come in early, stay late.

I was there once when she dropped a mug on the floor and it broke.

She laughed for about two seconds out of embarrassment—it was charming and cute and everyone thought so, giving her these sympathetic nods and smiles. And then, as she was literally kneeling on the floor to clean it up, the manager came over all red-faced and tossed a rag down next to her, muttering, “It’s not funny. Pay attention to what you’re doing. If you can’t be more careful, you can’t work here.”

The way he said it, though, he was so angry, way angrier than he should’ve been over a cheap ceramic mug. And the way she looked up at him. I saw something flash in her eyes. She was scared, for just a second, I could tell. I stood up and walked over, not even knowing what I was going to do or say, but I had the most intense urge to grab the guy by his stupid apron and push him up against the wall, drag him outside. Not a familiar feeling for me; I didn’t like how quickly it came on.

“Look, I distracted her,” I told him. “I’ll pay for the mug.”

He didn’t even speak to me; he just glared at us both and walked away.

I squatted next to her and said quietly, “You absolutely do not need to put up with that shit.”

“Please,” she scoffed. “I’ve dealt with bigger douchebags than him. But you should probably go. You didn’t make me drop the mug, but your face is very distracting. Plus, all these girls keep checking you out. I’m getting jealous.”

I looked around. No one was checking me out. But someone was checking her out. A guy in the kitchen was watching her through the window where the servers pick up the food, his eyes lingering for just a little too long. I stared him down until he walked away.

I really want her to quit the second job. Not only because I hate her boss and her creepy male coworkers, but we’re not even one full month into the semester and she’s already running herself ragged. The only nice part of being so busy is that it makes the time we do have feel more special.

Her classes are all on the opposite side of campus. Most days we can at least walk home together, though. Sometimes we can sneak a lunch in. Today I stop by the student union for sandwiches and then have to jog to the library if I want to make it in time to see her at all before I have to head back to the athletic center to get changed for afternoon practice.

I smuggle the paper bag of food in my backpack and head up to the fourth floor of the Arts and Sciences Library. I find her toward the end of one of the aisles, near our spot in the back corner, where we can usually get a few minutes of privacy. I stand there and watch her for a minute. She has a cart of returned books she’s supposed to be shelving, but she’s standing on top of one of those little plastic stepstools, flipping through the pages of a book, before she reaches up to place it in its designated spot on the shelf. Then she takes down the book next to it and starts skimming the pages instead. I glance at the titles as I walk toward her. Biographies, looks like. She’s so absorbed, she doesn’t even notice I’m standing right next to her.

“Excuse me, miss?” I whisper.

“God!” she yelps, and the book she was holding clatters to the floor.

“Shh,” I tell her, bending down to pick it up. “This is a library.”

As she takes the book from me, she smiles and says, “When are you going to stop sneaking up on me?”

“I wasn’t trying to—you’re just very focused.”

She looks both ways before reaching out to pull me closer and leans down to kiss me. “So this is what it feels like to be tall,” she muses, still standing on the stool and a full two inches taller than me. “It’s a whole different world up here.”

“Want me to start carrying around a stool for you everywhere we go?” I ask.

“Why do I think you’re not entirely joking?”

“Hey, if you really wanted that, you know I would do it.” I hold her hands as she steps down and pull her in for a hug. “Hungry?” I ask.

She nods and checks again to be sure no one will see us, as we go to the end of the aisle and make our way to our corner table, which is hidden from view. As I unpack our sandwiches, she leans her head on my shoulder and groans, “I wish we could go home and lie in bed all day.”

“So do I,” I sigh. “You were out cold this morning. How late did you stay up last night?”

“I don’t know,” she says, rubbing her eyes. “I had a lot of reading to catch up on.”

I touch her face; she has these dark circles under her eyes. “Baby, you look so tired.”

“It’s okay, I can sleep in tomorrow; I don’t have to be at the café until the afternoon. Still on for date night tonight, right?” she asks.

“Definitely,” I tell her. “Practice ends at six, but if I hurry I can probably be home by like six forty-five-ish.”

“You don’t have to rush,” she says, covering her mouth as she takes a bite of her sandwich. “Our reservation isn’t until eight.”

“Reservation? Fancy.” I wait a beat, try to judge her mood a little better. “Are you proposing?”

She coughs and widens her eyes at me. “It’s not that fancy.”

I laugh. But if she were, I’d totally say yes.

“You’re insane, you know that?” she says with a grin.

“Me? You’re the one proposing after one month,” I joke.

“Let’s at least get it straight; it’s more like three years.”

“So, you are proposing?”

She shakes her head, trying not to laugh. “Oh my God, you’re ridiculous.”

I nudge her shoulder with mine. “You love it.”

She nods. “Mm-hmm. You’re right, I do.”

We’re kissing when someone clears their throat.

“Oh,” Eden says. “Hey.”

“Uh, sorry.” A boy who looks too young to be in college is standing there—I can see he has the same work-study ID badge Eden has. “We need some help downstairs at the circulation desk.”

“Sure, yeah. Sorry. I was just taking a quick break.”

He shrugs and shuffles back down the aisle.

She stands and takes one more bite before wrapping up the second half of her sandwich, trying to stuff it in the pocket of her hoodie. “Obvious?” she asks.

“No,” I lie. “Just make sure you finish that at some point.”

“I will.” She squeezes my hand before walking away, turning around to whisper-shout, “I’m picking you up at seven forty-five— don’t forget.”

I finish my lunch and check my phone. I forgot my dad texted when I was in line at the sandwich shop.

Your mom and I are looking forward to

seeing you for your bday next week. The

big 21! Tuesday still good? Can’t wait

to meet Eden.

Except I haven’t exactly told Eden that my parents will be here or that they want to take us out for dinner, get to know her. I haven’t wanted to stress her out or put any extra pressure on her. But I’m going to have to. Tonight. I’ll tell her tonight.