Meant To Be

Sweater Weather

I just love getting to know him.

I pull out a pan and get busy making a grilled cheese sandwich, enjoying the calm and silence of the house. Some of the others might be here right now, I'm not sure, but if they are their in their rooms. Soon, I've got a grilled cheeze sizzling in the pan and a glass of orange juice ready on the table. I practically scarf down my lunch - I was so engrossed in my writing I didn't realize how hungry I was.

After I wash my plate and leave the pan to cool on the stove, I pull on my boots and a jacket and a toque, wrap a scarf around my neck and stuff my mittened hands in my pockets. The rain's let up enough that I'm alright in my rainjacket, no risk to my jeans getting soaked.

I walk down our driveway and down the road, breathing in the crisp air and waving at passing cars so a) they think I'm friendly and b) they're more likely to see me and less likely to run me over. My phone's silent in my pocket, and I imagine Holland backstage some stadium in Brazil, getting ready for a show, probably joking with Ever and Will and plotting revenge on Noah for whatever he did on the flight.

I imagine him thinking about me, and then feel foolish. It feels weird to assume that I could take up as much space in his brain as he takes in mine.

It feels selfish. It feels fangirl-crazy, it feels extravagant. But then I remember him saying that he saw a sunset and it made him think of me, and that makes me wonder.

Maybe.

Maybe.

After my walk, I make (another) cup of tea and settle back into one of the has-to-be-magically comfortable couches in the living room, pulling out a book and sinking into another world.

Days like these feel decadent, but after the week I've had, I think I deserve it.

I'm not pulled out of the world of the book until nearly 3pm, when Soph comes crashing through the door, a gust of wind blowing in after her.

"How was your class?" I ask absentmindedly, looking up from my book.

"Good," she says. "Sorry, I'd talk, but I've got like, less than 20 minutes before I have to leave for my next class. I just really needed to come back and get some actual food. Also I forgot my textbook," she says, like the textbook is an afterthought. For Soph, it probably is, never mind that there are a million places on campus where she could get food.

I just smile and sink back into my book. The rain's lulling me into a sort of a half awake state, and I almost think I could fall asleep. Soph leaves, and I finish my book, then head upstairs and write some more.

It's days like these that really make me stop and think - this could be my life someday. This could be my job.

Obviously writing isn't always easy, but still - I could be doing this all the time. No guilt, no shoving it in the small spaces between classes, or hating when I want to write anything but what I have to do for some stupid assignment for class.

Sometimes I have a hard time imagining my future, so I love days like these, where it feels clear. Where it feels like something I could actually have.

I wonder if it's ever like that for Holland. Having those times where he's realized he's made it. I want to be able to talk to him about dreams, and how strange life is. I want him to be here. I want to discuss my deepest hopes with him, and that's what makes me realize that Maggie was right.

I'm really all in on this.

Me and Holland spend the rest of the evening - well, the evening for me - texting sporadically, until I fall asleep with my phone clutched to my chest, a goodnight text from him still dancing behind my eyelids.