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I was sipping my Pepsi, and I almost choked on its fizz. I didn’t, though. I forced the liquid down my throat, and I tried not to look shocked at his proposition. “What?”
J.R. chuckled. “I want us to buy a house. I don’t really have a place to call home, and your apartment is, well, small.”
The jukebox in the restaurant began playing some really terrible ‘80s music, and I lost my train of thought for a second. I suddenly burst into a fit of laughter, and I wasn’t sure if I was laughing at the sudden intrusion of music or the thought of J.R. and me buying a house together.
“Why on earth would we buy a house? You’re gone all the time. It would be just me living in it,” I said after I had regained my composure.
J.R. stared back at me, his blue eyes clearly hurt by my reaction. I realized this reaction was not what he had been hoping for when he asked the question.
I place my hand on my forehead. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to… You just…you caught me off guard.” If I was being honest though, I had expected a marriage proposal before a house proposal.
I nervously fidgeted with my pizza, trying to decide how I felt. We had been living like this for a year. When J.R. was in town or close by, he came to see me. Sometimes, we would get hours together; other times, we would get weeks together. I had only just graduated from the university, and I hadn’t started planning my life yet. I still aspired to be a writer, but I had a pretty good job that paid the bills and allowed me to write. Besides, for once in my life, I was not tied down to a school assignment. Maybe I thought I was on vacation. Maybe I enjoyed not doing adult things at that time. Buying a house with the man I loved—that was an adult thing.
“It was just an idea,” J.R. said, offended. “If it’s not something you’re interested in, don’t worry about it.” He slumped back in his seat, and he shifted his blue eyes away from me.
“J.R., don’t be pouty. It’s a good idea. I just haven’t thought about it,” I told him. When he doesn’t say anything, I added, “Where? Where would we buy a house?”
“Wherever you want to go,” he replied, sitting up a little straighter again. “We can go anywhere.” J.R. was smiling again, and he looked so full of life. I couldn’t resist him. I couldn’t argue with him. I knew that I would go anywhere he went. I would do anything he wanted to do. I knew this for certain.
I didn’t take long to think about where I wanted to go. I wanted to go home. My mother was there, I know, but it was home. It was the island, the coast, the salty air that gave me life. “What about Tybee?”
He looked at me, surprised. “You want to go home?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Do you want to go back to Tennessee?”
“Hell, no,” he said rather quickly. “No. I’m not…I never want to go home.”
“You don’t miss it? Not even a little?” I missed my home every day. As bad as my childhood was, the island wasn’t shrouded in so many bad memories that I never wanted to see it again—the water, the air.
J.R. shook his head. “No, I don’t. There’s nothing there for me. No one is there for me.” He reached across the table and took my hand. “We’ll go to the island. We’ll make a home there.”
I smiled at him softly. “Home."
"Let’s go. Tomorrow. We’ll go house hunting.”
“Tomorrow?” Sometimes, J.R. moved too quickly for me. I needed time to plan for things. I was not a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants type of person.
“Why not?”
“I have a job.”
“It’s remote. We’re moving. Your job goes with you. Besides, I make enough money for the two of us. I want you to write what you want to write. That’s what you really want to do.”
“J.R., where is all this coming from?” I asked him. It’s obvious that he had already thought about this in great detail. Right down to my job. I felt like this came out of the blue, and maybe I was even a little suspicious. We had never even talked about these things. We had never even really talked about our future.
J.R. pulled his hand from mine, sinking back into the booth. “I don’t know, Rach. It’s just what I want. For you. For us.”
I wanted to ask him if we’d ever get married, but maybe that’s what would come next. Maybe we’d just do things a little backwards.
“Okay. Let’s go. Back home. Tomorrow.”
“Mean it?”
“Mean it.”
40
Present
