“Terrible metaphor.” Apparently, my exhaustion has reduced me to responding in two-word phrases.

“Well, fine. I won’t be the one fixing it up. But send it. Please?”

The coffee machine burbles to life, dripping weak-smelling liquid into the nondescript mug below it. “Fine,” I say, but only because I’m too tired to argue.

“Great. I look forward to seeing those soon. Gotta go, but let’s do dinner when you’re back, okay?”

“Sure,” I say before we both hang up.

No sooner has the coffee finished brewing than my phone rings again. I’m filled with relief at just seeing his name on my screen. Somehow, that makes me even more tired, as if I’ve been a house on the shoreline held up by twin stilts of anxiety and desperation, and the flood of relief has washed them away.

I press the phone to my ear. “Hi.” Even I can hear how happy I am to talk to him.

“Hey, beautiful.” His deep voice is a balm, soothing over the debris in my heart. “Three more sleeps until I can hold you.”

Every day that I’m gone, he greets me with how many nights until I’m his arms again. I love it for its simplicity, for the way it anchors me in space and time. I’m here now, but soon, I’ll be there.

“I’m ready to be home,” I sigh as I curl myself up on the hotel bed with my mug of coffee. “Ready for some time off.”

“Three months,” he says, and I love him even more for memorizing my schedule. “I hope you know I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

I laugh, the sound foreign to my ears. “For three months? So you’re not going to work either?”

“It was hyperbole.” He chuckles, then puts on what I imagine he thinks of as a professor voice. “An extreme exaggeration.”

I roll my eyes good-naturedly. “I know what hyperbole is.”

“I know you do. Look, I have to get going, but I wanted to wish you luck today. I can’t wait to watch it.”

Ryan still watches every televised interview. He reads every review and article and sends me snippets of all the good ones. He’s one of the first people to like every one of my social media posts. If there were an entry for Most Supportive Boyfriend in the dictionary, his picture would be the definition.

He’s in my corner. That’s what matters. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself when things get particularly difficult to manage.

A sudden emotion takes hold of me. This perfect man has chosen my imperfect self to love, and he loves me in the most perfect way. “Thanks, Ryan,” I choke out.

“I’m so proud of you, beautiful. You’re going to be great. I love you.”