Anyway, he didn't come right out and say it, but I'm fairly sure all that muttering about moving in the opposite direction, or maybe to a different state and not giving me the address, was just Manly Bluster, designed to cover up the fact that he couldn't live without me. I'm completely confident that soon he is going to give me a key and tell me what apartment number he's in.
Okay, I do have a key. :) I helped* him move in yesterday and last night we made
Today, off to Ikea, the kingdom of cheap furniture and Swedish meatballs, where I plan to bounce on all the mattresses and test out ever single comfy chair. And yes, I do feel somewhat better today. Although I would advise against getting up at 6:15, having hot chocolate and sugary cereal, and then going back to bed at 8. My heartburn has heartburn.
*If by helped, one means "made witty observations, held the door open while he and his dad carried stuff through it, and brought two boxes of Jell-o to christen the cupboards with because Michael bought them for me when I was sick and later delighted in telling me about how Jell-o is made from horse's hooves and glue and now I will never eat it again."