"How did you sleep," I ask quietly, as I'm at work and our office has no semblance of privacy.
"Fine, until I woke up an hour before my alarm, to major anxiety," as has been the case every morning this week.
After pulling through doubles everyday, I know he's mentally and physically beat. He sounds rattled and worn. Assures that he's not down but that the numbers--the cash flow--needs to pick up. Like, now.
"But, you get to come home today!"
"Yeah, for like 14 minutes, then I have to go back to work here and return to open this bar tomorrow morning...But, you'll be here with me and that will be good."
"Yes," I grin, "It will."
This week, our first as parents of this bar, has worn on us both, in different measure. He wakes to the actual workload. It is, as our friend, Maple Scone Girl suggests, "his thing" after all. Although I'm as hands on as I may be, the truth of the matter is that I'm the lady behind the man behind the bar...
He rings the register. Greets everyone. Cleans. And, today, will be removing the sign from atop a lift, to make room for the new sign--the true indicator that this place speaks no longer of its former self. We both hope that a new facade will grasp attention of drivers. Spark an a-ha moment that encourages them not to pass by, but to come in.
I really hoped to photograph the removal of the sign. Have I mentioned that it still needs to be built? The Bartender, this man of mine, loves to tackle it all with his own hands. Luckily, he knows a few friends whose woodworking skills are, frankly, amazing. And, I hope he's able to team up with one of them to craft the sign he has in mind. Soon.
While he's been at the bar, I'm 90 miles away in the city. My job keeps me here while he's there. Why is our bar so far from where we live now? Well, that's where opportunity came about. It's where he grew up and is well known. And, it's shaping up to be our now home-away-from-home and sometime later, home. We will make do, somehow. It's only week one.
He's been staying at his Pa's house and I've been at our urban dwelling. The things I notice/mutter about just for voice play aloud, when alone for days in this home I usually share with him, are the best stream of consciousness has to offer:
His eyeglasses resting on a table. Less laundry. An almost empty toilet paper roll lasting for days. My PM teacup empty and left on the table overnight just so I may fulfill a portion of my usual morning routine of cleaning remnants of our yesterday. His work clothes and socks not strewn in their usual spot. Stored television shows we may never have a chance of watching together. His untouched snacks.
I wonder what it'll be like when he returns. Feel guilty about lounging in our home while he is works another shift. Fall asleep on the couch to sounds uttered from the same episode of In Treatment that's been on at this time each night this week. The hum of the same dialogue a sure thing to put me to rest without care of missing something.