ExposedNYC

As I pack my bags to head home for the holidays, I’m starting to get nervous. The angry tide sloshing back and forth in my stomach has absolutely nothing to do with a fear of airplanes, missing my flight, or losing my luggage. My heart is pummeling the inside of my chest because of my ride home from the airport.

A couple of months ago I went home for a wedding, expecting to have a great time with my girlfriends. I also happened to meet a really great guy. I was only in town for a long weekend, so while I enjoyed discovered our mutual friends, love of college football, and incredibly compatible kissing styles, I didn’t expect it to go anywhere once I went home.

What began as friendly text-messaging back and forth slowly developed into a mutual flirtation and desire to know more about each other. He says the kinds of things I roll my eyes at in disbelief when written in chick-lit novels, but I just sigh reading them backed by a glowing digital reminder of distance. I’ve gotten so used to one-sided relationships that I don’t really know how to react to someone who responds with the same amount of attention.

I do realize that starting a long distance relationship with no intention of moving anytime soon would just be jumping feet first into a pool of disappointment so I’ve been walking safely along the edges instead. I feel a little bit like a kid who forgot their water wings on a hot summer day. They keep thinking about dipping their toes in to cool off, but are terrified by the thought of falling headfirst into the water, and a little skeptical of that whole claim that we can float on our own just by holding our breath.

What I’m really scared of is that I agreed to him picking me up from the airport. When he first offered I was swept up by visions of running across baggage claim and being swept up into his arms, twirling around until the edges of vision blurred and we were left standing in the middle of our haze of anticipation. I protested for moment that it would be too far out of the way, but conceded to test the water when he insisted it was worth it.

What I didn’t consider is the other half of picking me up includes dropping me off. At my parents house. Who will naturally come out to help me with my bags. I just agreed to a meeting-the-parents scenario that most fellow bloggers would agree is better faced with a plan. But, by the time I wrapped my brain around this obvious fact it was too late to back out.

I have never brought anyone home to meet the parents, so I told Mom that a friend was picking me up from the airport (which is totally common) and am hoping to explain to him in the car, somehow, that an introduction as “my friend…” isn’t a reflection on my feelings. It’s just a defense mechanism against turning him into the topic du jour over Thanksgiving dinner.

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