Chapter 7: Leaving Phoenix in the Rear-View Mirror
It's 112 degrees in Phoenix, and I'm helping Will get his house ready to go on the market. It's a 1950s ranch, and Will was never home between traveling for work and traveling to see me, so it has very little personalization. His cat, Caesar, watches the proceedings warily, and I keep my distance, a fierce cat allergy keeping me from being inside the house for more than 10 minutes at a time before I break out in violent sneezing.
Caesar was about to be an orphan not long ago, as Will's friend Melissa had fallen in love with a man who was as allergic to cats as I am, and she asked Will to take him in. Caesar has been the perfect pet for Will, as he has been on the road most of the time, and cats take care of themselves. Now, though, Caesar is about to embark on a new journey on a farm in Atlanta, since he can't move in with me. I'm feeling a little guilty about that, but my desire to have Will in the same home trumps my sympathies for the cat.
The sun is blaring down "Africa hot" as Will likes to say, and this August morning I am assigned to fishing the millions of pine needles out of the underground pool in the back yard while the shade is still on my side. I work steadily, each scoop of foliage one step closer to closing up the house and moving Will to me. I fill two 55-gallon trash cans and jump into the clean pool, fully clothed. As soon as I step out, it seems, I am dry again.
As I power through the outdoor chores and Will works inside, preparing almost all of his furniture for Goodwill (his mattress, recliner, and couch are irrevocably saturated in cat dander and unfortunately not suitable for our home together) I am struck by how much he is giving up for me. His job. His house. His furniture. His pet. His life. All for me. The responsibility is humbling, and my heart swells as I catch a glance of him through the window. No one has ever given this much for me aside from my family. This is love, in its most unselfish form. Unselfish for him, at least... the concessions I will make will come later, although I don't know this yet.
At the end of the weekend, what's left of Will's belongings are packed into a Ryder truck, and his little house is bare again, as it was when he moved in. There is something about leaving a house that is difficult, and we linger, remembering this part of our life that we are leaving behind. Caesar the cat is meowing loudly in the laundry room, and Will checks on him. When he comes back out of the room, his eyes are misty. “What’s wrong?” I say, alarmed. “Nothing,” he says, waving me off. “Go ahead and get in the truck – I’ll meet you there in a minute.” Shortly, he gets in the SUV and we depart, and his eyes fill with tears again.
“He was so scared, babe,” he says. He tells me that he could see that Caesar was nervous and he felt awful that he couldn’t tell him not to be. Inside, I wonder if that makes two of them. He is nonchalant on the surface; valiant and cool. I think he's a little nervous about this big move too, even if he's not showing it.
Twice he says, “This is the best thing for everyone,” but it’s hard to believe him. “With all the animals I have shot and killed on the ranch - deer, rattlesnakes, jackrabbbits...” he tells me, “I can’t stand to see one suffer.” And I feel like the worst person ever. He reassures me that this is what he wants – that he wants to be with me and he knows this is how it should be.
At the airport, I am relieved, knowing this is the last good-bye I'll have to give to him before flying across the country. And a few days later, he arrives in Atlanta in a small yellow Ryder truck, his trust and his life meshing with mine. Caesar, who kept him company along the way, peeks out over the dash, and meets his new friend Amber, who will deliver him to his new, spacious home. I have to believe that everything is how it's supposed to be, and I finally have Will at home.
Our home.
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Next chapter: The proposal (my favorite part)
Read the whole story, chapter by chapter, right here.