He might answer a few emails. Or possibly take a quick call. I have to get going. Often, I stick around without him. What kind of madman voluntarily works on a Friday night? All of those words sound funny. Like they should be used to describe someone much older.
But weirdly, they apply to Rand. And have for years. We go on the road together. The answer really should be no. And yet, when they ask, all I can say is yes. I miss him constantly. Always tugging at those damn heartstrings of mine when he leaves a room.
I literally could not be more here than I presently am. If I press the point too much, he will get up and sit on my chest. I laugh and struggle to breathe and toss him off me. And then, within seconds, I start scooting over to him again.
I was in serious danger of being sat upon. Our relationship grew alongside his company. In a lot of ways, I knew exactly what I was getting into. Some of them wonderful. Some not quite as. Because if any of these things were missing, our relationship would be different. And I like it just the way it is. I would miss him constantly. I miss you all the time.
So how, really, can I mind? Haters are gonna hate. I have my own share of them on this site. I deal with them. But mess with him?
With his twinkly-eyed sincerity? I know him better than they do. So screw anyone who thinks otherwise. I fall asleep to the glow of of his office light creeping in around our closed bedroom door. If I listen carefully, I can hear the click of his computer. It helps me sleep. On the rare night that he goes to bed before me, or at the same time, I have trouble nodding off. Always been so sure of it. But I pay attention. I read his blog, I get to know his friends from work, I sneak into a session or two at the conferences where he speaks.
I know enough that, when we go out to dinner with his colleagues and they talk shop, I am not left out. This was as much for me as it was for Rand. I would feel powerless. So instead, I listen. And offer stupid suggestions. For a while, it was my job. But after getting laid-off, I realized I needed to be as excited about something as Rand was about his work. So I started blogging. I did my own thing. This is what drives him. I get it now.
I suspect Rand starting his own company is why we fight so rarely. Not when he needs to figure out how to be profitable.
Not when so many other people are involved, working days and nights to make sure things are okay. You forgot to mail the letter I gave you? Let me edit that blog post for you. I think I saw a typo. Run to say hi to someone, or get dragged into a conversation with a group. My only choice was to walk up to a group of strangers, introduce myself, and start talking. Or I could have run away, I guess.
But god, I hate running. Now when I go somewhere and know no one? Not everyone wants to be my friend. But not everyone wants to hang out with me — and yet, how can they tell me that? So I force myself to step back. I let other folks set the terms of what our relationship will be. Prenups are par for the course. His board of directors said that we needed one. I relinquished voting rights.
I could complicate things for Rand. Other people not so much. Tried being just a little more palatable. In the startup world, there are no guarantees. The only thing I found that I could be sure of was the clicking of his keyboard from the other room, or, on nights when he was out of town, just the thought of it.
And for me, that turned out to be enough. When his company finally sold, or went public, or came to a close through some other, less desirable means. There will never be a party that he attends until the end. Because he will always have a twinkle in his eye. And I will always fall asleep to the sound of his keyboard clicking. Look, my husband loves me more than the sun, but the sun is objectively more important than I am.
I suppose if I made him choose, I might win, but what, really, would be the point? He loves what he does. It gives him meaning, is part of who he is. I could no more ask him to give it up than I could ask him to cut off his own arm. Why do that, when I can have a whole him? They came up slowly, over the course of our relationship. These are the things that make us us. Certainly not my thighs.
But he means it. He loves all the parts of me. The good and the bad.