I can only eat half of the French toast Ryan made me. I wish he stayed
and finished the rest.
I’m overwhelmingly full from his words, from the knowledge that he bought this house months ago. That he paid for my fertility treatments months ago. It has absolutely nothing to do with the money. I might joke that I’m an expensive girlfriend, but I couldn’t care less about how much money he makes. I’d be happy to live in a cardboard box with that guy.
But the meaning behind the gesture, that’s what’s so overwhelming. That he’s known all this time he wanted to have a family with me. I just wanted us to be on the same page, but this? This is more than my romantic heart could dream of.
Finally leaving the kitchen after a solid hour of sitting in pure shock, I take myself on a self-guided tour. The first level flows from one room to another, separated only by walls when necessary. It’s open and airy. The perfect space for guests to mingle while I host. I can picture Ryan’s team dinners here, and nights of having our friends over. Stevie’s baby shower, and hopefully, one day, my own.
The walls still smell of fresh paint, and the floor looks newly replaced. The first floor boasts both a family and living room, a dining room, and a
casual breakfast nook. Even if I picked my dream home out of a magazine, it still wouldn’t be as perfect as this one.
Taking one set of stairs, I find the second floor. Four bedrooms are connected by two jack and jill bathrooms. This floor also includes a large loft and all I can picture is the potential for it to be a playroom.
Up one more flight of stairs, I’m greeted with the primary bedroom which makes up the entirety of the third floor. Tall windows face the backyard, letting in so much warmth and light. There’s a bench seat under one of them and I can’t help but dream of reading here or watching my family play together outside. My bed is in this room as are my books and clothes, all set up and put away.
The room is huge, this house is huge, and I can feel this space bursting with energy, needing to be filled with family and friends.
And as I step outside onto the back porch, filling my lungs with fresh spring air, I can imagine it all. But being here feels wrong without him, which I’m sure was his intention when he asked me to stay and think.
I don’t need to think. The second his actions backed up the words, I didn’t need to ponder anything else. Ryan is it for me. It didn’t take six years for me to know. It didn’t even take six months. My heart has been his even when I thought I didn’t have any left of it to give.
He healed it when someone else broke it, and now it’s his forever.
I never liked being alone. The silence would allow the insecurities to creep in. That I’m not enough or that I’m far too much. That I’m not deserving of the life I want. I’d wear that perfect mask in public, ensuring others were comfortable around me. Not too happy. Not too sad. Not too talkative, but not too quiet either. It was exhausting.
But here, sitting on the back porch of the house Ryan bought for us, I’m content. I’m at peace.
I’m home.
I’ve gained a new appreciation for the quiet since I met Ryan. The silence allows for a moment of introspection. Now, that silence screams with reminders that I’m worthy. That I’m deserving of the love I read about. I’m deserving of the family I desire, and I know this because I fell in love with a man while I was being completely and utterly myself and he fell right alongside me.
As I sit on the top step of the back porch, the front door creaks open behind me. Over my shoulder, I find my curly-haired best friend headed straight towards me, two bottles in her hands.
She takes a seat right next to me as we both keep our attention on the never-ending acres of land in front of us.
“I brought your car,” Stevie finally says before handing me a bottle of beer.
“Thanks, Vee.”
She clinks hers with mine.
“I’m more of a gin and tonic kind of gal.” Stating the obvious, as if she didn’t already know, I take a swig.
“Even at ten in the morning?”
“There’s no time limit on a good cocktail.”
“Well now that your best friend is preggo, you’re a non-alcoholic beer type of gal.” Her blue-greens make their way to me as a smile creeps across her lips.
“Did that feel funny to say?” I laugh. “So weird.”
Redirecting my attention to the greenery in front of me, we both stay silent for a few minutes, taking in the crisp air, the fresh smells. The freedom this place provides.
“What are you thinking about, Ind?”
I’m thinking about raising kids with the woman next to me. About getting to call my best friend my sister-in-law. About being an aunt to that
sweet baby she’s growing. About spending our days together at the United Center watching Ryan or Zanders play then spending our evenings out here.
I bring my bottle to my lips. “I’m thinking about how hot I’m going to be as an NBA wife.”
Stevie laughs, her head leaning on my shoulder. “How lucky am I that my best friend and my brother love each other so much?”
I lean my head on hers. “Are we doing this forever or what? The four of us. Raising babies, and growing old together?”
“You tell me, Indy. Are we doing this forever?”
All I can see in this backyard is the rest of our lives. Every birthday. Every holiday. Every warm summer evening and chilly winter morning. And every image centers around the man my heart, mind, and soul loves.
For the first time in my life, I don’t have to romanticize any of it. Ryan has made my dream a reality.
I dreamt for him.
“Daily update, Vee—we’re doing this forever, but first I need your help with something.”
