Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Since I can’t be with Steve on Valentine’s Day, I’ll just write about him.

I’ll start where I left off on Christmas Eve Eve, and landed at JFK airport…

But first, my neighbor Kindra has a son, Dominic. He’s 7. A few days earlier, they knocked on my door and he adorably pitched his Boy Scout sale of mistletoe. “Guaranteed to work,” he told me. Well in that case, how much?? One for $3 or two for $5. I can’t imagine why I’d need two bundles of mistletoe, so I fork over the $3.

Now it’s after 11pm and I’m standing outside the insanely crowded JFK airport, waiting for Steve to pull up. I’ve had this silly/cute image of me standing there as he pulls up, holding the mistletoe above my head. Romantic and cheesy (and I know he will love it).

Of course, there’s no time for this. Steve pulls up amongst a sea of cars who are all trying to do the same thing. Officials with whistles are hurriedly moving people along. So as soon as Stephen puts the car in park, I reach for the back door handle. It’s locked. I can see Stephen inside, trying to figure out how to unlock the door for me (he’s borrowed his parents’ car). It would be funny if he and I didn’t stress out so much when picking people up at airports. I think it’s one of our least favorite things to do. We try to act cool but we basically freak out, to some degree, every single time.

Finally, Steve gets the door unlocked and pops the trunk. He runs around to the back with a big smile on his face to grab my suitcase.

“Hi!” Hi!

We clearly want to do more than say hello but we can feel the urgency and madness around us, not allowing us to do so.

“I don’t know what to do!” Me neither!

We laugh as he runs back to the driver side and I to the passenger side. As soon as we’re in, it’s another ‘hi,’ and then we kiss. Every time I see Steve after being apart for too long (in this case, it was only two weeks), I am so overcome with relief and love and comfort. It’s seriously the best feeling I’ve ever experienced.

The kiss doesn’t last too long. We can feel the official’s eyes on us, allowing the kiss to happen not a moment longer, his lips pursed on the whistle. We manage to pull ourselves apart and drive off.

When we’re finally close to his parents’ house, into familiar territory and away from highways, I tell him about my failed mistletoe plans and at a red light, hold it above my head, anyway. He thinks it’s adorable. We kiss again. And all is right.

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