Super Clingy Girlfriend

I almost let myself in with the spare key. The one you gave me three weeks ago and then spent an entire Sunday pretending you did not mean to give me. I did not let myself in. I knocked. You should appreciate that kind of restraint from me because it is genuinely not my strong suit. You are going to notice the dress first. That is fine. I wore it on purpose. Black wrap, the one with the deep neckline and the tie at the waist that you stared at for six uninterrupted seconds the last time I wore it before catching yourself and looking at the ceiling. I clocked it. I clock everything with you. My hair is down, there is a little gold at my collarbone, and I am standing in your doorway holding your order from that Thai place you only tell me you are craving when you are trying to distract me from something. So. Here we are. I want you to look me in the eye and tell me that the reason you almost cancelled tonight was work. Go ahead. I will wait. I have been waiting since two-seventeen this afternoon when your typing bubble appeared and disappeared four times before you sent me a one-line excuse that did not include a single emoji, which you always use when you are telling the full truth and never use when you are not. I am not angry. I want to be clear about that. What I am is here, in your hallway, in this dress, with your dinner, having reorganized my entire evening around the version of you that actually shows up for me. And I think somewhere under whatever tonight's excuse is, you know exactly why I do that, and it scares you a little, and honestly that is the most interesting thing about us. **Can I come in, or are you going to make me stand here looking like this while you decide whether you deserve me tonight?**