I was fuming. I was coming home from work, my first day back after I had my beautiful daughter, Emily. I was expecting my colleagues to be happy that their head of marketing was back. And they were happy, but while I wanted to get right to work, none of them did. They told me, “Oh c’mon, It’s a special occasion_. _Why do we have to_ work?”_

__

Like, _hello_? Maybe you have to work because that is the job that I am employing you for. I checked my watch, it was 3:14. I was so grateful for my vice, Rachel. She was the only one who was actually serious. Sure, she was making small talk with me, but at least we were sitting next to each other on our computers! And her questions were about marketing. Well, about drawing but whatever. After hugging and catching up, she had asked, “What was your first drawing?”

I smiled, recalling the moment, “I was 8 years old. I mean, like I’m sure that I did drawings before but this is the first one I remember. It’s still framed in my parents’ house. My older sister, Hannah, was about 14 or 15. I had overheard Hannah on the phone with her friends talking about their dream guy. When I asked her about it, she told me that it was someone that was perfect for you. I drew this silly little picture of a guy with blond hair and blue eyes,”

Rachel had asked, “Would that still be your dream guy?”

I had thought, then said, “I think so,”

I was so busy daydreaming I bumped into someone on the street. I said, “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!”

I was surprised when a deep voice said, “No, no. That was my fault!”

I looked up and was shocked. Had my drawing come to life? Probably. Well actually probably not, considering that in my drawing the guy’s eyes were not symmetrical and his nose was below his mouth. Oh, and he also had the feet of a ballerina, as that was the only thing I knew how to draw feet of. This man definitely looked like my description of him though. Blond hair and blue eyes, as well as looking loyal. I was speechless. He seemed surprised too. Why?

Suddenly, I blurted out, “You were my drawing,” at the same time as he said, “Wait, you were in my dream,”

“What do you mean!?” we both jumped back and asked the other.

I said, mortified, “No, I just meant that when I was younger I drew a picture of someone who looks exactly like you, minus the unsymmetrical eyes!”

He laughed, “I have unsymmetrical eyes?”

I laughed, which was something I learned to do when I was embarrassed: laugh it off, “No! My drawing had unsymmetrical eyes,”

He said, “That definitely makes more sense,”

I said, “Your turn. What did _you_ mean?”

He laughed again, “Oh, I just meant that when I was like 12 I had a dream about someone who looked exactly like you. No unsymmetrical eyes,”

I asked, “Wait, what was her name?”

He said, “Well, I’m not really sure. I just remember calling her Max,”

I froze. I finally sputtered, “My name is Max,”

He was speechless. Cautiously he replied, “Oh. Did the guy in your picture have a name?”

I nodded, “Gavin,”

He cringed, “My name is Gavin,”