Next week, the Not Boyfriend begin his drive across the country. After he camps in a few state parks, fills up the gas tank a bunch of times and slowly winds his way through the Badlands, some steep passes, long stretches of cornfields and rush-hour traffic, he will end up in my city. Once the moving truck arrives, my city will become his home, too.
In the nearly three years we’ve been dating, we’ve spent a handful of weeks together. Most of our quality time has been packed into 48-hour visits, Skype calls and texts. The number of hours we’ve held hands, lingered over dinner, been each other’s plus-one, hiked and laughed and lazed around in bed has been rivaled by the number of hours we’ve spent on airplanes, waiting through flight delays and in security lines. Cab drivers and TSA agents have been on our relationship scene more than many of our friends and family members.
Next week, that will all change. This week, we are both a bundle of nerves and excitement. We talk a lot about being open to what this last bit of transportation will bring along with it. How will we be, dating in the same city? How will we handle seeing each other almost every day? How much space do each of us really need?
And, of course: How much money will we save?
See the tally on Sassafrass Says So. IT IS A WHOPPER.