The Duck and The Chipmunk

“Why can’t you come oooooverrrr?”  I whine down the phone to my boyfriend.  “I told you, I’m working on your birthday present”.    “Well why can’t you come over after you’ve finiiiiished?” I relent.  “I just can’t!  Trust me, you’ll understand tomorrow.  I’ll pick you up after work.”   I sigh like a petulant child and hang up the phone – yes, I’m 23 and I’m not proud of my behaviour, but I’m in love.  Can’t sleep without you kind of love.  We never spend a night apart and I can’t possibly imagine why he can’t come over when he’s done, but I trust him, so I give up.

​

He picks me up from work and we drive out to his family beach house as planned for my “birthday weekend”.  Road trip shenanigans commence.  I contort my face into a duck shape, he laughs, purses his lips to match mine, but he looks like a deformed monkey.  We laugh, we laugh about everything.  With duck face aspirations shot, he whips out another character - the chipmunk voice.  It’s the cutest, funniest thing I’ve heard in my life.  

​

We pull up in the drive and he tells me to wait and close my eyes.  He takes me by the hand and leads me through the door.  My eyes open to candles and rose petals at my feet making a path into the other room.  I’m frozen by surprise – he drove 2 hours out here last night to set this up and then back to work this morning and back here again tonight.  His eyes twinkle at the expression on my face  – this is enough.  My present in the other room is not important.  This is the present - the moment, the feeling I’ve chased my whole life.  He’s real, he’s raw and he’s beautiful.