I Believe We Found our Stride 1/1

By Ginny

Disclaimer-Not mine

Rated E for Everyone

Lyrics in italics are from from Jimmy Buffett's "Coast of Carolina" from the License to Chill CD

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After one or two false starts, I believe we found our stride

We've made it, the first 100 days.

Not 100 days of Josh and I, but the first 100 days of the Santos presidency.

I wouldn't know where to start counting the days of "Josh and Donna".

Would I start from the beginning, from the day I walked into his office and hired myself?
From the dark days after Rosslyn when I'm sure I fell in love with Josh? How about the day I left him and started fresh? That day we ceased to be boss and assistant and became, well, two people who were hurting so much that we didn't know what to do or where to turn. I could be cliché and start counting "us" from the day we first had sex.

But really, I guess I started counting our relationship from the day we had "the talk", 3 weeks and 6 days after I had given Josh my "we need to figure out what we want" speech. He started the conversation with a mere 12 hours to spare.

Granted, we had made more than a few attempts at "the talk" before finally having it. Things got in the way, more that one crisis arose and one or both of us had chickened out on more than one occasion.

But in the quietness of Josh's bedroom, on an unusually frigid early December night, we talked. About what was in the past, what we were facing head on and what we wanted for the future. Countless tears were shed by both of us that night. Tears of joy, fear and a whole bunch of other emotions we couldn't have explained if we tried. We didn't sleep much that night, just another night where sleep was a luxury unattained.

That was roughly 170 days ago.

And where are we now?

That's a question I had been asking myself every few days, usually in the quiet of the early morning, when Josh is out running, something he's been trying to do regularly as the doctor is forever on his case about his crappy diet and lack of exercise. Josh starts the coffee maker on his way out the door and the scent lures me out about 10 minutes after he leaves. I'll pad to the kitchen, usually in his old worn flannel robe and my ratty pink slippers. I'll pour a cup, scan the headlines and curl up on the couch in the pre-dawn silence.

Realizing where we were was easy. We were "dating", or "going steady" if you want to go with the old fashioned way of looking at it. We were spending 5 or 6 nights a week sleeping in the same bed, usually his. I am still hesitant to give up my apartment, even though I frequently feeling like I'm throwing money away. Half my wardrobe was here at Josh's, most of my makeup and more than enough shoes. I have my own key, one I've had since the days after the shooting. I've taken over most of the vanity in the bathroom and more than half of Josh's walk in closet. Laundry is mingled together, our toothbrushes side by side in the bathroom. My green tea bags and Splenda packets are now in the pantry cabinet, next to Josh's can of Nestle Quik and jar of marshmallow fluff.

But where did that really leave us?

As a couple who were close to living together? Two people who just couldn't seem to take that next step?
Or did it leave us as...just us.

For years I found that describing our relationship was next to impossible, especially to someone who didn't really know us. We were Deputy Chief of Staff and trusty assistant, the best of friends but most of all we were a non-couple "couple", more than friends, less than lovers but ultimately closer than any couple I've ever known.

"Just us" was a term Joey Lucas once used to describe us, and to those who knew us, it made perfect sense. We didn't fit any conventional mold; we were accepted for who we were and what we were to each other.

As unconventional as it was, it worked for us.

But that was then and this is now.

I can't see the future but I know it's coming fast. It's not that hard to wind up knee-deep in the past

We're not known for moving things along at a "normal" pace. But things are beginning to change, we're not living in the past. We're becoming a little more conventional, sort of, in our own "unique way", if that makes any sense.

Probably doesn't make any sense to anyone but us and maybe our closest friends.

I think my growing in my career has helped. Not working for Josh has definitely helped to move things along.

Basically, a little distance between us and we're less "just us" and more of a "normal" couple or at least as normal as an overworked, overstressed, sleep deprived Beltway couple can be.

Maybe that is just "us".

Or maybe a new, improved version of "us".

And that improved version needs to get up and get ready for Day 100. As it's pouring rain outside, Josh has forgone his morning run, ignoring the fact that he has a very nice treadmill in the spare bedroom, and he's still asleep at the "late" hour of 5:30.

In a little over an hour, we'll be off to work, ready to face another day, reaching the first big milestone of the new administration.

The alarm goes off; Josh moans and pulls the pillow over his head, trying his best to hide. I peel back the pillow a little and he smiles, his dimples showing on his still sleepy face.
I ruffle his hair and tuck him back in, taking the first shower to give him a few extra minutes of sleep.

"Love you," he calls as he puts the pillow back over his head.

"Love you too," I call back as I head out of the bedroom.

I flick on the coffee maker; Josh managed to break the one with the timer last week. I didn't bother asking how he did that. I look around the kitchen as I wait to make sure the coffee actually starts brewing. My eyes fall on my "Cheese Head" coffee mug, a picture of Josh and I from the Inauguration that's stuck in the fridge with a Santos/McGarry magnet, the shoes we both wore yesterday are under the kitchen table and my tote bag is on the bench in the foyer, next to his backpack. On the kitchen table is a vase of daisies Josh bought for me yesterday to celebrate our "non-anniversary".

Not much out of the ordinary until I spot the stack of magazines on the counter, Modern Bride, Contemporary Bride, a jewelry catalog and a few real estate magazines from the greater DC area.

Yeah, we're not quite there yet, but we've certainly found our stride.

THE END