Having Nick here makes everything a little different. Made. You know what I mean. I got to see the sun rise this morning; that’s different. And I have the sudden extra floor space that seems to just appear whenever he’s here for more than 20 minutes, as well as the massive pile of dishes that I am starting to suspect works in some kind of direct proportion–he has this mysterious way of straightening up while simultaneously destroying my kitchen. He does this all without my actually seeing it, but it happens like clockwork.
The one real surprise, actually, came on Saturday, when Nick–brace yourself–voluntarily stayed out late. We’re talking, remember, about a man who is thrilled to have jet lag to blame for his habitual early bedtime. Not to mention that feeling that sets in at a certain point in the evening, when you can’t imagine that anything will be compelling enough to be worth the effort of getting yourself out the door, which we are both highly prone to.
Naturally, then, I was quite impressed that we even made it out to dinner, much less to Mary’s friend’s band’s gig at Ace of Clubs, about a million miles from my cozy Washington Heights nest. Considering that his head was actually nodding while we were waiting for a table (and given his visceral reaction when I played ten seconds of the band’s music off their MySpace page), you would have been impressed, too.
And while they weren’t bad (although they haven’t really mastered playing to their strengths yet), it was the “Let’s stay for a few minutes of the next band” that really floored me.
Who are you, and what have you done with my boyfriend?
Actually, staying turned out to be a very good idea, since said next band was called Big Baby Ernie, and they were awesome. Way too good to be playing to an empty house at a so-so venue, even (or especially) in a prime weekend time slot. We stayed until Nick nearly passed out; apparently that whole jet lag thing isn’t just for show. Who knew?
And then he left, slightly before first thing this morning, and I am here with my freshly upgraded technology, my empty wine bottles and full trash, my cleaner floors and messier sink. Just like usual.
“You’re coming in a week and a half,” he pointed out. “For twelve days, and then I’ll be back a week after that. We’ll be seeing each other more than if I still lived in the States,” which, don’t even get me started on where that argument breaks down.
Isn’t it a comfort to know that we can still have the same points of contention?