Pumpkin Spice #5

If you're new, scroll down or check the sidebar on the right to find Pumpkin Spice #1. Part 5 is below!

*****

My phone buzzes in my purse as I fumble for the door lock. I shove the door with my foot, then yelp as pain sears through my toe. The buzzing continues and I dump my bag and fish for my phone. "Hey."

"Oh. Hey. It took you a while to answer. I thought I'd missed you."

 

I brush back a piece of hair from my damp forehead. Sweat drips down my brow and I kick off my shoes. "I just got done with class."

 

"Are you a black belt yet?" I can almost feel Dean smile through the phone. 

 

"Ha. Not likely."

 

"Did you assault your instructor again today?"

 

"Ugh, stop reminding me." I open the fridge as the memory from my first karate class flashes to mind. Because of course I would be the girl to bravely sign up for a karate class, and then accidentally knee her instructor in the groin the first day. 

 

Dean laughs.

 

"I'm serious. It's embarrassing enough having to go back. You're making it worse."

 

"Sorry. How was your day?"

 

I pour a glass of milk and chug half of it before answering. "Horrible. Sharon is driving me crazy."

 

"What now?"

 

Geez, what isn't there? Sharon became the new Dean at work five weeks ago. She makes type A's look relaxed. "She's changing everyone's responsibilities. And now she wants handouts of numbers every Friday and Mondays."

 

"Doesn't sound too unreasonable."

 

I huff out a sigh. "She's changing things just because she has the power to, and not because they need to be done. It's taking me an extra hour each day to pull together reports that have the same information on them as the ones I run on Friday. Then, she comes into my office and dares to tell me that they're not formatted how she wanted, even though she hadn't said how she wanted them done and told me to 'just put them together'." 

 

I stand and pace around the living room as I rant. Work has gone from comfortable and tolerable to doing tedious things at a break neck speed. All because Sharon has to have 42 copies of the same dad gum thing and can't pull up reports herself. 

 

"She's just one person, Kace."

 

"Yeah, one that I'm around and whose in charge of me 8 hours of every day."

 

"It's just a job."

 

I fling off my sweatshirt, my body radiating heat from class and now from anger. He always says this when I bring up Sharon. Which I do a lot of lately, but still. "Easy for you to say. You love your job."

 

"It's just a job."

 

"One you moved states away for."

 

Dean doesn't answer. I peel off my sweaty socks and wait. When he does speak, his voice has a hard bite to it. "Are you mad at me or something?" 

 

"No." I throw my socks onto the couch. "It just seems like my bad work life doesn't matter."

 

"It does. Of course it does. It's just..." His voice goes quiet.

 

Oh gosh. I'm a whiner. One of those girls who thrives on drama. I clench my fists, waiting for that accusation to come. "It's just what?"

 

"It's just, I guess I like it a little that you aren't head over heels in love with your job."

 

What the hell? I grip the phone tighter. "Why would you like that?"

 

"Because a job you don't absolutely love is one you would leave."

 

I lean against the wall, my anger so palpable I can almost feel it pulsing through my veins. "You think I should quit my job?" 

 

"No. What I mean is maybe one day, you know, down the road, you might leave your job there and be ok with it."

 

"To do what? You think I'm wasting my degree or something?" Geez, now he sounds like my dad.

 

"No. I mean, if someday you left Atlanta."

 

"To go where?"

 

"Ohio, maybe."

 

I come to a halt and lean against the wall. 

 

"I'm not saying now," Dean rushes his words. "It's just, long distance sucks, and I hate not seeing you all the time. And well, don't think I'm an ass, Kace, but my job is going great and I love it. So I've been thinking that maybe, eventually, one day, you would move up here."

 

I slide down the wall until I'm sitting. "You think about that?"

 

"Yeah. Again, that's down the road, not something I'm thinking for the immediate." I hear him breathe into the phone. "Does that make you nervous?"

 

Yes. I didn't know we were there. Or that he was there.  But it does make sense. Eventually.

 

Maybe.

 

If things go well.

 

Geez, how'd we go from my bad work today to a possible future move? I curl my legs up to my chest, eager to cling to something.

 

"What are you thinking?" Dean asks.

 

"I don't know. It sounds like you have everything figured out." And I don't. Not with Dean. Not with life. Do I want to quit my job, even now? 

 

"Look, I shouldn't have brought it up. I just..." He sighs heavy into the phone. "It's not a bad thing, right, to think about?"

 

I think of all the times I've fantasized about me trying on white dresses. "No," I whisper.

 

"I didn't mean to make you mad or freak you out. It's just, I want you know I'm not just wasting time with you. That if this wasn't going anywhere, I wouldn't do it. Ok?

 

"Okay."

 

"I think maybe I'll drive down next weekend."

 

"I thought you were going to visit your sister?"

 

"I can change that," he says.

 

"It's an eight and a half hour drive."

 

"I'd drive eight and a half hours to see you. No problem."

 

"You already had plans with your sister. Don't change that just because I'm having a hard time."

 

"Don't be a martyr, Kace."

 

My voice raises. "That's not what I'm trying to do."

 

"Ok. I just don't want you think that you're not worth my time. You're my girlfriend, I haven't seen you since Valentine's and that was what - 4 weeks ago? - and I want to see you."

 

Even though we just fought? But that's the thing I'm learning about Dean. It's not a math equation of he gives, then I give, and everything has to even out at the end. This is grown up and big, and lots of the time, it's uneven.

 

"Ok?" Dean asks.

 

I smile. "Ok."

**************************************************************************

The scowl I send to Dean is only half fake.

"You gotta get better at your turns," he says.

"You need to get better at not antagonizing me," I tell him. Darn boy. He loves to intentionally try and run me off the road whenever we play this infernally-addictive game. Blast him and his Mario Kart.

Dean sits cross legged in front of the TV, jeans stained with ketchup from lunch and his shirt wrinkled. I both want to beat him with a leftover breadstick and make out with him. This is how men win us over. They are too cute to stay mad at.

I set my controller down. "I need a breather." I collapse onto the couch and peer over our take-out boxes from dinner to Dean. He showed up at midnight last night, and we stayed up hours talking. Today we've hit his favorite restaurants in Atlanta, and the Mario Kart marathon has been going on for - I glance at my phone to check the time - 3 hours now.

"What would be be doing if you hadn't brought your Wii down with you?"

Dean laughs. "Been very bored." He leans slightly to the right as Mario does onscreen. I bite my lip and suppress a laugh.

"Is it a mandate in the Geeky Boyfriend Book of Conduct that you bring it when visiting your girlfriend?"

"Kace, you're not supposed to know about the book of conduct. Now you won't think I'm romantic."

I consider throwing an empty soda can at him - think of my carpet - and lob a pillow at him instead. He yelps as Mario skids out of control on screen. I lie back and curl my toes under a cushion. Me and my shamrock socks and sweatpants, and I've never felt so adorable in my life. All because of the cute video game-crazed man in front of me. He drove all day after work to come see me, just so we could eat take out and play Mario Kart.

But it wasn't a big deal to him. Dean's solid and so decisive - a good balance to my erractiness, I guess. But at the same time, I've learned over the past six months that he's so gentle with me. We've hurt each other, and I know we'll do it again a million times over. But he's the best balm for that pain. If he hurts me it's like he can bind the wound up himself with special Dean duct tape and the broken places would heal right up.

Dean hoots and I watch Mario flash across the finish line. "Another win for the master," I say.

Dean looks over his shoulder at me and smiles. "You know what?"

"You think I should make you a shirt that says 'Mario Kart Master' for your birthday?"

"No." His eyes bore into mine. "I haven't told you yet that I love you. And I do."

Time freezes and it's like my living room just got zapped with magic. It's not one of those weird fake feelings, like in movies when people sing Christmas carols and everything is rosy and perfect, but in real life you're freezing and people sing off key and it's nowhere near as breathtaking. This moment is so simple, but so stunning in it's realness I can hardly breathe.

I stare at Dean. "I love you, too."

Dean sets his remote down and climbs onto the couch. He grabs my arms and pulls me up, my legs entwined around his middle.

I press my fingers to his face, because I can't not be touching him. He leans and kisses the palm of my hand. "I love you," he says again.

"I love you." I rest my forehead against his, thinking this is not at all like in the books, but so much better I may never read again.

Dean runs a hand up my back and then tickles my side. I yelp and jump, but he holds me in place, tickling me until I cry uncle. He pulls me back up again in front of him. "So, there's something I wanted to see if you would do for me?"

"Ah, you tell me you love me and now the favors start. What do you want? For me to buy a love fern and keep it for us?"

He laughs, and I love that he's getting a reference from a girl movie I made him watch. His hand slides down my body again and I grab my side to block his tickles. Gah, at this point I would do anything for him. Bungee jump. Eat Indian food. Go dancing at a club.

Dean looks at me, serious eyes and stinging truth ringing from his features. "I want you to meet my parents."

Oh. Heavens.

***********************************

I brush my palm on my skirt for the twentieth time, my body taut with nerves. It's just meeting his parents, Kacey. And it's not like Dean's waiting for their approval before deciding whether or not we're going to date. Geez, we're not the Duggars or anything.

I turn and stare at him as he drives. Polo shirt, jeans, grey Chuck Taylors. I glance down at my navy skirt swirled with polka dots and wonder if I've overdressed. Or underdressed.

Oh gosh, who cares.

Dean pulls into an older neighborhood, dotted with ranch houses and actual yards. "Here we are," he says as he pulls into the driveway of a cute little brick house. I smooth my skirt as I stand, and Dean leads us up the walkway.

The door opens, and Dean-thirty-years-down-the-road opens the door. Dean's dad smiles at us: same nose, same smile, same build as Dean. He throws his arms around his son and I wonder if I'm looking at my future - if Dean and I will still be together thirty years from now, and this is the receding hairline and smile wrinkles I'll wake up to each morning.

Dean's dad smiles at me. "Well, hello Kacey. We've heard so much about you."

I smile and extend my hand, which Dean's dad promptly ignores and wraps me in a hug instead. "Come in, come in. Sue has lunch all ready out back."

Dean holds the door open while I walk through the front door and follow his dad out back to the patio, where his mom has set up lunch. No china plates, or crystal goblets, thank goodness. Instead, the table is set with brightly colored Fiestaware. My kind of woman. Though the food itself looks like something out of a Pioneer Woman cookbook, and that is definitely something I and Dean's mom do not have in common.

"Hi, Kacey. I'm Sue." She shakes my hand, her cream blouse so neatly pressed and nice that I nearly forget to smile.

"It's so nice to meet you," I tell her.

Soon we're all seated, including Dean's little sister Ali. Twenty one. Heavy eyeliner and a glittered top, but sarcasm as deeply rooted as Dean's. Must be a family trait. Spring breezes blow past as we eat.

Dean's family is normal. Of course. Unlike my family. My dad grilled Dean for half an hour on his job and it's potential for growth as well as his background when Dean met my parents last month. This is much more casual. I get asked about my time at college, and my English major - with no mention of how I don't use that degree I'm still in debt for. (So unlike my family). I watch Dean talk to his dad, and carry plates into the kitchen for his mom. Simple things. He teases Ali, who feigns being annoyed, when I know all too well, she adores him.

The day passes so fast, and soon we're on our way back to Dean's apartment. "I told you not to be nervous," he tells me with a smug grin.

"You were right. I think they like me."

"They love you, Kace."

I laugh. "You know this already?"

"I knew it before today."

"How?"

"They love you because I do."

And it's as simple as that. How did I once think life was so complicated? With Dean it's so simple. I swear, women need more testosterone to even us out.

I change into a pair of old shorts and a t-shirt as soon as we're back at his apartment. Yesterday was an exhausting drive, but at least it's a long weekend and I don't drive back until Monday. I come out of the bathroom and find Dean sitting on the couch with a box in his lap.

He smiles up at me. "I have something for you."

"Oh yeah?" I sink into the couch beside him. "Is it a baby koala bear?"

"Nope." He hands the box to me. It's a cardboard shoebox. No gift wrap. The edges aren't even taped. I take it from him and open it.

It's shoes.

"I thought you could use your own pair," Dean says.

I push the tissue back and stare at a pair of yellow Chuck Taylors. Not jewelry or flowers, or some adorable thing off Etsy. Instead it's shoes. To match his, in yellow because he knows it's my favorite color.

A million times better than jewelry.

"You like them?" he asks, and his face is so vulnerable and hopeful I think I fall a little more in love with him. I climb into his lap and kiss him. "I love them."

"Really? I didn't know if Chucks were your thing."

I laugh and kiss his cheek. "I love them because you do."

And it's as simple as that.