though we spoke every day and saw each other as often as possible, it was never enough. The first month I spent in complete denial. I relived our relationship by frequenting the places we’d gone, driving his Jeep, and sleeping in his bed. I’d also kept a stool warm at Andy’s bar. Rafe’s life had quickly turned into a circus, especially after he began to pitch, and pitch well, on the major level. His arm had started to earn him earnest fans, and his face and body...well, they had earned him a new popularity amongst the masses, namely women and the label of the next Derek Jeter.
The man I loved was the sports equivalent of Elvis.
And I was his faithful Priscilla.
I’d watched the miniseries “Elvis and Me” countless times when I was a girl. Priscilla, naïve and young, had been swept into a whirlwind affair with a larger than life megastar and had been abandoned for long periods with only rumors and mortifying articles to douse her hopes.
Rafe and I had FaceTime, daily texts and calls, and only a few stolen days a month to hold on to. We were sustaining, but my fingers where white knuckling the ledge. He’d never once made me doubt his love for me, but it was the distance that kept my heart in painful shackles.
As selfish as it was, and as happy as I tried to be for Rafe, I wanted our minor league life back. His publicist had all but sabotaged our free time together and seemed to hate me. She played heavily on his single, hotshot reputation that had made him sought after by the press. Everyone wanted a piece of Rafe, and I was the lucky woman who held his heart.
But for how long?
I’d grown close to Andy as we passed the time and attempted to grow used to loving Rafe from afar. Andy was actually doing better in the moving on department than I was and had gone on a few dates. He was open with me about his love for Kristina but came clean in that it was mostly infatuation. I was in love, dateless, and completely hell bent on waiting it out for Rafe. I played my part of the supportive girlfriend with endless patience and pretended often to be satisfied with whatever stolen moments we had. I was sure the more time that passed, I would grow used to it, but instead, it began chipping away at me and my resolve.
In the end, Elvis had come for Priscilla. And though I wanted no resemblance of their dysfunctional relationship, I couldn’t help the question that was driving me insane.
Where the hell was my Elvis?!
I hadn’t told Rafe about my decision concerning my job and was beyond thrilled that when the season ended we would have months together, but this season’s end was still weeks away, and I was officially becoming a closeted stage-five clinger.
I couldn’t understand why he was okay with the distance, with the amount of time we were away from each other. I could physically see his ache at times but never pressed for anything more than what he gave.
We spoke of the holidays and made plans to have a white Christmas in Denver. It was all that kept me hanging on at that point. When he wasn’t in contact, he seemed light years away. Even while I’d visited him and attended the games, it was so much of a whirlwind being a part of his new world I’d felt slightly uncomfortable. We’d built our relationship in Charleston. It felt safe in Charleston. Our world seemed scattered now. I knew in my heart I had to be patient, to give him time to adjust to his lifelong dream turned reality, and if I had to, I knew I would wait forever. But it didn’t stop me from being selfish in my longing.
What ate at me the most, and what I was sure Rafe didn’t realize, was that I’d waited on him far longer than the months he’d been gone, and way before the moment we’d met.
I spent the afternoon in the mid-September sun staring at the waves as I tried to pour an ice bucket on my pity party. With my career move, I was stuck in an indecisive whirlpool where my options were limited. I would have to find a job that I loved. I would have to strengthen my relationship with Rafe when the season ended to the point where I would feel comfortable