omw

Between meetings and sunshine and turbulent skies, today’s mood was a veritable roller coaster. I was yo-yoed between bits of news: something positive in my inbox gave way to something negative from a call. Check-ins to my family; a niggling feeling I couldn’t peg. A sudden drop in Chicago temperatures meant we had missed our window for a walk.

Out the back door I saw Ryan climbing the stairs to his apartment, all decked out in grey. His color story matched my mood. When I washed my hands at the sink, I could smell the pink hyacinths he bought us for Nowruz, still so fragrant. They’re sitting on the shallow window sill, two of the stems flopping over to one side. I moved methodically in the kitchen. Rice and beans – transferred to the skillet- would be lunch for the girls. I smiled, remembering. Ryan had set rice in a measuring cup on the back table for me this weekend; we traditionally eat dill rice for the Persian New Year. “Not sure it’s long grain,” he had texted me then.

Not a day goes by when I don’t feel blessed for our set up. When we bought our house nearly five years ago, we were surprised to learn that the owners had built a living space above the garage for their grown son. It’s a skylit studio that Ryan, my college roommate from UMichigan, took over soon after we moved in, when Ezzy was just a year old and Eloisa wasn’t even a thought. He filled it with plants and pretty things. Ryan, who I met at campus orientation when we were teenagers, with his curls and love of a cappella. Ryan, who loves our children as his own, who has the most incredible gift-giving sensibilities. Just the other day, he gave me a gorgeous gold evil eye bookmark, for no reason other than he thought of me. Ryan, who I’ve known far longer than my own husband.

The other day, when I was frantically sending emails standing up at the kitchen island, I saw him through the screened sliding door. He grabbed the bags of garbage, which I had set outside, on his way out for the day. “Bye Ezzy, I love you,” I overheard him say as she absentmindedly scribbled with chalk on the deck. Be still my heart.

As time has gone by, our Ryan quotient has grown. During the pandemic, his PhD student boyfriend, also named Ryan, moved in, exponentially adding to our love. They’ll leave their door open on warm days and our girls will wander over to play on their stoop, returning home with stickers, gems, and other random things. Our kids call my Ryan ‘the Original Ryan’ to differentiate.

I hadn’t spent time with him in so long. It’s always between this and between that; how could we be so busy doing nothing?

“Just saw you come in,” I texted him. “Meet me for tea?”

I smiled at his response, which read: omw