“You can’t send me text messages like that when I’m in class!,” I scolded The Lawyer. “I didn’t even hear the last part of the syphilis lecture!”
He audibly laughed at the last part of my declaration.
“I love it!,” he teased. “Is that what you were learning about?”
I was in a study room and had called him as soon as my Microbiology lecture was finished.
Yesterday, The Lawyer had casually mentioned that he had air miles that are expiring on Wednesday and that he needed to book a trip to Asia ASAP. He had asked for “suggestions and requests” for cities over email, but I chose not to acknowledge the “requests” part of his message.
I thought that I knew the implication of it, but I didn’t want to believe it. Especially after chiding him for moving too fast on Saturday night, a small platonic trip to the Asian mainland seemed like a little...much.
While replying to emails at breakfast, I told him that I’d investigate Asian cities and send him suggestions today. Two hours later, though--while sitting in Microbiology lecture--I got the following text message:
Do you have any interest in a quick trip to Hong Kong next year? It’ll have to be coach class.
First of all, since when is a trip to Hong Kong referred to as a “quick trip?” And, apologies for the coach class status? I think The Lawyer overestimates the mostly middle-class life that I lived with Rich. I freaked out (both from excitement and the obvious reasons) and told The Lawyer to wait for my call.
When I called after class, he started explaining before I could protest.
“I know that you don’t really have a break until after your Boards in June, but the dates are flexible,” he started defending himself. “It’s only $70 to change the dates later. Besides, two coach tickets cost the same amount of miles as a single business class ticket, so I figured…”
“…You might as well bring a friend,” I finished his sentence.
The rational part of me was screaming, “You cannot accept a plane ticket to Hong Kong, along with its implications, from this man!” Unfortunately, that voice was being dampened by the socially deprived, financially constrained medical student chanting, “HONG KONG! HONG KONG! HONG KONG!,” to deafening excitatory music in the background.
After a few moments of forced self-control, I responded,
“You know that I can’t accept a plane ticket to Asia from you."
Before I could continue, though, he had another explanation.
“It would still just be as friends…if we can tolerate each other. It’s 16 hours in coach,” he said, laughing.
I know that The Lawyer is hoping that by next August, a combination of my completion of MSII and Boards, as well as his diminished "newly divorced" status will result in a not-exactly-platonic relationship. I should probably say something about him being presumptious, but I do like him a lot and I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't flattered by his interest.
Also, two weeks ago, The Lawyer and I decided that we are going to drive home to Florida together for Christmas. For the first time in my life, I am the literal Girl Next Door, with his parents living less than a mile away from my mother. Our parents still live in the houses that they did when we were in high school.
When I casually mentioned that I needed a long, cathartic drive like the one that I had to Asheville in March, he admitted that he’s been driving 14 hours home for the past two years for the same reason. The decision was made immediately that we were going together. Parental units were informed of our plan (benefit of having gone to high school with the person!) and since then, there has been playful teasing about whether or not we will make it without killing each other.
So no, it’s not like The Lawyer randomly started planning trips for us. It’s just that after lunch, I received another text message:
When is your birthday, btw?
I turn 30 in August. His birthday is a week later. Let's just say that if an email itinerary appears in my Inbox tonight for the second week of August, it's going to be the least shocking thing that I've seen all day.