Oh boy. This is not good. This is not good at all.
Charlie just texted me: I think we need to discuss some things about our relationship.
What the hell do I reply to that?
Okay… Like what? Scared to ask…
He responds quickly: Like, when are you gonna move in with me?
My heart settles back in its proper place in my chest from where it had dropped when I read the first text. I type a quick reply and a question.
Why are we doing this over text message?
It takes a few moments for Charlie’s reply to come through and I realize when I do get it that it’s because it’s so long.
Because I was too scared to broach this in person. I really need to know if you even want this relationship to progress, or if I’m just a f*ck buddy to you.
Oh boy. This is the craziest text exchange I’ve ever had with anyone. And, seriously, it is so adorable that he even has this level of doubt going on.
You are not a fuck buddy, Charlie. You are my boyfriend. Who I do like to fuck. Ha ha.
Is humour even a good idea at this point?
For several seconds there is nothing. Then he texts:
Shit. What the fuck does that mean? He’s waiting for me to say something else? He’s so pissed off he can’t think of anything to say? He’s gone to the bathroom?
I decide I need to come clean.
Charlie? I’m scared to move in with you.
Because I already feel so strongly about us and that will just make it worse.
Charlie quickly replies: Or better.
I laugh. He’s got me there.
Fine. Let’s move in together. On one condition.
He sends me a happy face emoji and asks: What’s that?
That I get to decide where my Harry Potter poster goes.
This time it’s a joyous, celebratory emoji: Deal! Xoxo!
I send him some X’s and O’s back, smiling from ear to ear.
I shove my phone in my pocket and head back to work even though I didn’t even have a chance to eat anything. For some reason, food is the last thing on my mind.