10/5/12

Louisville

“I’m just sayin’ if she would have spent as much money on her studio time as she did on her album release party, maybe she’d have a fuckin’ listenable record.” Dori, the music editor with the beautiful dark skin and close-cropped blonde hair, took a long swig from her half-price pint of Bud Light. “And that’s on her for fucking that up, not on me for writing that.”

“Preach.” Scott, her red-ponytailed writer, hoisted his pint in approval. “How come you get all the really great or really shitty records, and I’m left to figure out how to polish all the turds in between?”

Dori grinned at him. “Because you need the challenge, and I need the entertainment.”

“OK, OK, but listen.” Mikey, the 30-something restaurant critic, whose waistline reflected his line of work, leaned halfway over the table and into the conversation, snatching a nacho off the plate in front of me. “Who’s gonna listen to her shitty record if she doesn’t have a decent album release party? She has to tell people about it, doesn’t she?”

“Of course she does, but Jesus, that record sounds like it was recorded in a bathroom stall.” Dori grimaced as she flagged the server for another beer.

“Hey, but that’s a sound,” I pointed out. “Probably not the sound she’s looking for, but it’s a sound. That could be the next big thing, and that kid’ll be on the cutting edge, like a fuckin’…bathroom rock hipster. You don’t know!”

“Ah, don’t be nice, Meg.” Scott waved a dismissive hand. “Then every-fuckin’-one and their mother will be opening a recording studio, instead of just everyone.”

A loud buzz came from the center of the table, shaking the stack of phones whence it came.

Kate held up a hand to pause the conversation. “Wait for it...”

Another buzz, and the stack of phones fell like a late-stage Jenga tower. “Just Want You to Know” filled the silence, followed by a mock-accusing chorus of “Ahhhh…”

“I’m not answering it, you guys!” I protested, even as my face grew warm and a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. I stacked all of the phones on top of mine. “See? Not answering.”

“Look at that shitty-ass grin.” Mikey cackled. “You better take it, or he’s just gonna call a groupie next.”

I rolled my eyes. “I wish Google had never been invented, you sons of bitches.”

Kate grabbed a nacho, waving it at the stack of phones. “You’re signing your own death sentence with that ringtone, boss lady.”

I tried to glare at Kate, but the smile on my face made it hard. “I also wish there was an actual rule about drinking with your boss.”

Kate batted her eyelashes at me. “You love it.”

The ringing stopped -- then resumed five seconds later, collapsing the stack of phones again. One call was easy enough to ignore. Two was probably urgent.

“Damn it!” I fished my phone out of the pile. A silly selfie of Brian, taken while I’d been in the shower one day, mugged at me from the screen.

“Drinks on Meg!” Dori crowed.

I swiped my thumb across the screen as I hopped up from the table. “Hi,” I said to Brian, the word coming out on a smile, as I headed for the pub’s front door. “You on the ground?”

“Um, not the ground you’d think I’d be on.” He sounded as if he was on his way to a funeral.

“Oh.” I felt myself deflating a little as I pushed the door open.

“Yeeeeeeeah. My flight got delayed again. Mechanical problems. I’m about ready to rent a car.”

Damn it. I watched the sinking sun reach through the clouds at the end of the street, glinting gold off the downtown windows. It was the first time we’d seen the sun at more or less the same time of day since I’d moved here. He even had Baylee this weekend, and I had no idea how long it had been since they’d seen each other.

I stood bolt upright. Baylee. Shit. “When do you think you’ll get in?”

“I don’t know.” He blew out a breath. “They’re saying we’re gonna take off at 7 now, but that doesn’t put me there before 9. And that’s if I get out of here on time.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “And when are you supposed to be picking up the kiddo?”

“Weeeeeeeellllllll…” He stretched out the word to a full two seconds. “That’s the other reason I’m calling.”

It didn’t take rocket science to put those pieces together. I rubbed my forehead. “Really?”

“7. She’s supposed to meet me halfway. It’s probably about an hour from downtown. Maybe a little longer with traffic.”

I pulled my phone away from my ear. It was already 5:45. My car was still at the office, three blocks away. “Damn it, Brian, seriously?” I said.

His voice had turned desperate. “Please, girl, I’m dead meat otherwise.”

I had very little interest in driving halfway to Ohio, but I could probably lead-foot it out there. But what was I going to do with a kid I barely knew for two hours?

And how in the world was I, said kid’s father’s girlfriend, going to look his mother in the eye? I suppose I had been half-praying I could make it through our entire relationship without ever crossing paths with her. That was a pretty stupid wish, considering there was a kid in the mix.

Damn it. I sighed. “All right, text me the details.”

“Thank you so much, sweet girl. I know you don’t really want to meet Leighanne. She…she’s really not that bad. Once you get to know her.”

I rolled my eyes, even though I knew he couldn’t see me. “You called her Voldemort to my face, Brian.”

“I did not. I called her She Who Must Not Be Named. Baylee’s not into Harry Potter.” He paused. “Thanks, Meg. Really. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Let me know when you’re about to take off.” I ended the call and banged my head backward against the window.

I strode back into the pub, back to the LEO gang’s table, and grabbed my purse from beneath my empty chair. “Sorry, nerds, gotta run.” I picked up my half-empty Mich Ultra from the table and drained it in two gulps.

“What? Why?” Dori protested.

I sighed heavily, probably a little melodramatically, as I pulled a $10 from my wallet and tossed it onto the table. “I gotta go pick up Brian’s son.”

The chorus of “Ahhhh…” greeted me again.

Mikey sniggered. “Welcome to the stepparent club. We’ll fit you for a jacket next week.”

“So I guess you get to meet the ex, huh?” Kate cackled again. “Let us know what a life-size Barbie actually looks like.”

I pointed my wallet at her. “I’m revoking your Google privileges.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Scott cleared his throat and rubbed his thumb and fingers together. “You broke the phone rule. Fair’s fair.”

Double damn it. I dropped another $10 onto the table. “Just buy yourselves another round. I think this qualifies as a happy hour emergency.”

A little over an hour later, I was pulling into a Love’s Travel Center at an exit that pointed to Indiana, the Sirius Classic Vinyl station blasting on the stereo. The sun was just peeking over the overpass, and I had exactly one bar of phone signal. I glanced around the parking lot, fingers tightening around the wheel. A lot of 18-wheelers, a Toyota Camry with Virginia plates and a screaming child standing outside, an ancient Datsun whose back bumper was blanketed with punk rock stickers…

My eyes landed on a champagne-colored Mercedes SUV. It stuck out like a sore thumb – like a rose among the thorns, I was sure its driver thought. Behind its wheel was a blonde woman wearing enormous sunglasses. Before I could look away, she waved in my general direction and swerved into a parking space.

Damn it all. The things I did for this man. I muttered a curse and pulled into the space next to the Mercedes.

I climbed out and walked around the front of the Edge, which suddenly felt like a cheap imitation of the Mercedes, just as Leighanne unfolded herself from the front seat. She had long, wavy blonde hair and was wearing a pink sweater that had almost certainly cost more than my car insurance. She was at least as tall as Brian, and I wanted to hide as she stood in front of me.

“Hiiiiii,” she trilled, taking off her sunglasses to reveal what, without makeup, was probably a fresh, natural sort of beauty, like a Neutrogena commercial or something. She was several years older than me, I knew, but it was hard to remember. She was willowy and sophisticated, and God help me, a tiny piece of me wanted to be her.

This was my boyfriend’s ex-wife, the mother of his child, and my frizzy hair and schlubby journalist’s togs – sweater and chunky scarf and not-that-casual Friday jeans – had never felt less adequate. It didn’t so much matter right now that Brian had chosen me. He’d had the chance because she had rejected him. I couldn’t imagine needing anything more than I needed him, at this moment, to kiss my forehead and reassure me that she was Voldemort and I was winning.

“You must be Meg. I’m Leighanne,” she said, stating the obvious as she extended a well-manicured hand that I shook with a confidence I didn’t feel. She still had a touch of a Southern drawl.

“It’s nice to meet you finally,” I lied. “Did you have a good drive down?”

“Oh, I think so.” She glanced back into the car. Baylee sat in the leather front seat, engrossed in a Nintendo DS. He raised his eyes only momentarily, to glower at us. “I think this guy needs to use the bathroom, and I could use a trip to the powder room. Come on inside. We’ll chat.”

Baylee climbed out of the car, eyes still on his game, and Leighanne shouldered a purple leather handbag. I grabbed my purse from the car – there was no leather in sight – and followed them into the truck stop.

The walls were one big cooler, boasting every drink imaginable, and a Brad Paisley song was playing overhead. The music was a little louder in the ladies’ room, and the floor was grimy, but they did have one of those nice hand dryers that rippled the skin on the back of your hand. I was already admiring the waves on my hand, like a little kid, when Leighanne came out of her stall.

“I meant to ask you,” I said, ripping my hands away from the dryer, “has Baylee had dinner?”

She turned on the faucet and started washing her hands. “Yep.”

Silence fell as Leighanne scrubbed her hands. I rubbed an imaginary makeup smudge from beneath my eye. My stomach growled out loud; those nachos hadn’t done the trick by half.

“So Brian’s flight got delayed,” she said as she turned off the faucet and shook the water from her hands.

“Yep. I guess we’ll go pick him up together.” I couldn’t think of anything else to do, so I fished Chapstick out of my purse and reapplied it. “He felt so bad. He’s so excited to see Baylee.”

“Well, I’m excited for him to see Baylee finally.” The exasperation in her voice wasn’t hard to miss, and I wanted to stick my hand under the faucet and splash her.

“He’s glad you moved here,” Leighanne added, without preamble. She seemed to look past me in the mirror. “Brian, I mean. So I guess I am, too.”

I nearly dropped my purse. She shook the water briskly off her hands and reached past me to the hand dryer. “I know what you must think of me,” she went on, still not meeting my eyes, “but I do still care about him. I do still love him. He’s the father of my son, and he always will be. He’s spoken real highly of you. And good for him. He still deserves to be happy.”

She straightened up, and now she finally looked me in the eye. It wasn’t the lightning strike I’d expected, but it made me shrink against the wall, for entirely different reasons. “I hope we can get to know each other. I don’t think you’re going anywhere.”

What a bizarre fucking conversation. My brain seemed to have frozen solid. I was still holding the Chapstick in my hand, and I shoved it back into my purse and gave her the biggest smile I could muster. It wasn’t much more than a show of my teeth, I knew.

“I’m not planning on it.” The words came out in a nervous rush. “I…I love him, too. Obviously. And your son is awesome.”

She smiled, a bit brittle, but in a way that seemed unconscious. “I hope you two get some quality time here.”

As abruptly as she’d engaged me, she brushed past me and walked out. I stared at my reflection in the mirror and laid a hand on my forehead, just to make sure I wasn’t delirious with fever.

Out in the parking lot, Leighanne handed Baylee his backpack and hugged him fiercely tight. “Mama loves you, honey. Give me a call when you get there.”

“I love you too, Mom,” I heard Baylee mutter as he opened my car door and climbed into the front seat. Well, if it was OK at home, I supposed it was OK here.

Leighanne extended a hand to me again and smiled. “Take care, Meg. I’ll talk to you later.” I could not tell whether there was an ounce of warmth in it, but I could swear she was trying. A bigger part of me than I was willing to admit wanted to believe she was.

Music and video game beeps were the only sounds in the car for the first 10 miles. I stole a sidelong glance at Baylee, still engrossed in the game.

I forced a cheerful tone. “Your mom’s a nice lady.”

Flatline. George Harrison was singing obliviously on the stereo: “Tell me, whooooo am IIIIIIII, without youuuuuuuuu by my siiiiiiiide?”

“That doesn’t make you carsick?” I finally said.

“Hold on…” he muttered. A mournful chord issued from the DS, and I assumed he’d lost. He shoved the game into his backpack in the footwell.

He eyed the stereo. “Can we listen to something else?”

I couldn’t resist the opportunity to school him. “Something besides the greatest Beatle?” His eyes bored into me, and I sighed and nodded to the radio. I was sure he knew how it worked. “Take your pick.”

He started poking at the buttons on the radio, the snippets of music and talk forming a distorted mosaic. Finally, he landed on a classic country station, where the bumper was just finishing. Johnny Cash introduced himself, to wild applause, and started strumming the opening notes of “Folsom Prison Blues.”

I turned my head to stare at him incredulously, but he only said sweetly, “You should watch the road.”

Little smart-ass. He was so his father’s son.

The song was infectious, always had been to me, and I couldn’t help but sing along. “And I ain’t seen the sunshine since I don’t know when. I’m stuck in Folsom Prison—”

To my shock, Baylee chimed in, his voice bouncing off the window as he watched the road roll by in the near-darkness. “And time keeps draggin’ on. But the train keeps a-movin’ on down to San Anton’.”

Our voices made a strange mix, a woman who would never cut the mustard at open mic night and a little boy who’d clearly inherited the beginnings of his father’s gift, but we sang along to old country music all the way to the suburbs. You couldn’t make it up.

It was only 8:15 when we hit the airport exit. At a stoplight, I grabbed my phone out of the cupholder and checked my texts. Brian had texted at 6:55, saying the plane had just left the gate. That still gave us an hour to kill.

Baylee was staring at me as I checked my phone. I dropped it into the cupholder again and faced forward.

“Do as I say, not as I do,” I muttered. “Texting and driving is very bad.”

Baylee made a dismissive sound. “John does it all the time.”

I shot him a sidelong glance. “John’s your stepdad?” Baylee nodded. I thought I remembered Brian mentioning him. An investment banker or something equally snooty that let Leighanne maintain the lifestyle she’d grown accustomed to, he’d grumbled once after taking a call from her when I was there. I kept it all to myself.

“Um…” I tried to think of something to say, something to do. “Your mom said you’d had dinner?”

“Yeah. Before we left.”

An idea suddenly came to me. I was awesome. Oh, I was the best. I picked up the phone again and pressed the home button. “Siri, where can we get ice cream around here?”

Siri ended up sending us to a Steak n’ Shake across from the airport. The smell of steakburgers made me dizzy, sharpening my hunger, but I had fully committed to ice cream, and Baylee was looking around like I’d just walked him into a GameStop.

“I haven’t been to one of these since I was, like, 6,” he said as we slid into opposite sides of a booth.

“They don’t have these in Ohio?” I grabbed a menu and looked at it, resisting the urge to take a bite out of the corner.

“They do, but Mom doesn’t like to go here.” Disdain crept into Baylee’s voice. “Mom doesn’t like fun.”

“You shouldn’t say that about your mother,” I said reflexively, but not quite with a straight face.

A very young waitress with a long blonde ponytail and an angry red pimple on her cheek walked up to us, clicking her pen. “What can I get you folks?”

Literally everything on the menu, I wanted to say, but instead I ordered a strawberry milkshake.

Baylee was still studying the menu. The backs of his feet made little thunks against the bottom of the booth. “Can I get a root beer float?”

“You get whatever you want,” I said.

The waitress was already writing down Baylee’s order. She produced a paper hat from a pocket of her apron, fluffed the top and laid it ceremoniously in front of him.

“Coooooool. I haven’t had one of these since I was way littler than 6.” Baylee looked up at her. “Can she have one, too?”

The waitress winked at me as she pulled out another hat, fluffed the top and handed it to me. “And one for Mom.”

“I’m…I’m not…” I began as she walked away.

Baylee was already putting his hat on, tugging it down over his unruly curls. I followed suit, though it was a little harder to get the hat onto my larger head, over my bigger hair. We both folded our hands on the table and regarded each other mock-solemnly for a long moment. He had Brian’s eyes, that was beyond dispute, and maybe even his curly hair, but the round shape of his face suggested someone else. Maybe he’d gotten the best of both his parents. He was a very handsome kid, and I knew he’d be breaking hearts before long. That probably came from his dad, too.

“I don’t think the waitress meant to call me your mom,” I said, putting our menus back in their rack.

“I know.” Baylee picked up his placemat and started folding it. His voice was nonchalant; he’d probably already forgotten.

“You remember what I said about that on Thanksgiving?” I stopped as the waitress returned with glasses of water for both of us.

Baylee gave me a baleful look. “I remember stuff that happened when I was 6.” He went back to folding his placemat, and I could see a paper airplane coming together. “You said you weren’t gonna try to be my mom.”

“And I meant it.” I took a long sip of water and watched as Baylee took aim with the airplane. Would it be counterintuitive to ask him not to throw that?

Baylee set the airplane back down on the table. “You should probably take that up with my dad.”

I almost choked on my water. “What’s that mean?”

“I dunno. I just know he’s really happy you live here now.” He started tearing little notches in the wings, creating flaps. “Where do you live?”

I pasted on a smile, grateful for the distraction. “I live in an old school. Did your dad tell you that?”

He shook his head. “Do you have a chalkboard?”

“No.”

He glanced up from his airplane with one eyebrow cocked. “Then what’s the point?”

The waitress returned with my milkshake and Baylee’s float. He sat up as straight as he could and started digging in, with an enthusiasm I couldn’t remember showing anything in at least a decade. The first taste of my milkshake, though, was a pretty good contender.

“Holy cr…cow, that’s good,” I mumbled, taking another long pull on the straw.

Baylee was shoveling ice cream into his mouth. He stopped to swallow. “Wanna hear a cow joke?”

I smiled. There was his dad again. “OK.”

He tapped his spoon against his glass. “Why did the cow cross the road?”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. “I don’t know. Why?”

“To get to the udder side. What do you call a cow you can’t see?”

I sipped my milkshake again. “What?”

“Camooflauged. What do you get when you cross a cow with a duck?”

“What?”

Baylee grinned triumphantly. “Milk and quackers!”

He was so visibly proud of himself that I burst into laughter, which only made him look prouder. “I got lots of these,” he said eagerly.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 8:50. “Maybe when we get to the airport. You better eat your ice cream.”

“Okaaaaaaay,” he said, dragging out the disappointed syllable, as he returned to work on his float.

The arrivals area at Standiford Field was small, deserted. Brian’s flight was running a few minutes late, and we sat on the chilly silver-flecked floor, backs against the wall. Baylee had his nose in his video game again. I thumbed through Twitter, but I barely read the posts.

My heart was starting to flutter with anticipation. I’d be going home alone tonight, the better to keep attempting to fool this decidedly not-stupid kid, but that didn’t make me long any less just to feel Brian’s arms around me, after so long. Somehow, even calling the same place home, this was the longest we’d gone without seeing each other in the year-plus we’d been together. I hadn’t been wrong about that part, and I hated it.

The foot traffic passing the security line picked up. I stowed my phone in my purse and stood up. Baylee got up as well, still engrossed in his game.

“Baylee, help me watch for your dad,” I said. No answer. I exhaled through my nose and counted to five. This not-being-his-mom thing was already harder than I thought, and we were only two hours in.

“Baylee,” I said, more firmly than I’d intended. “You can always play later.”

He looked up at me as if a sewer had backed up under his nose, but paused his game and shoved it into his coat pocket. Dead silence for at least a minute. I felt only a little guilty.

“What do you get when you cross an angry sheep and a moody cow?” Baylee finally muttered.

Across the terminal, I saw a man in a weathered UK cap, a nice black peacoat.

“I don’t know. What?” I deadpanned as best I could, my heart now beating so fast that my voice shook a tiny bit.

Baylee seemed to forget what he was saying. His face changed, and he hopped up and down, waving. “Dad!”

The minute Brian reached us, he dropped his carry-on to the floor and pulled both of us into a hug. With little other choice, I put one arm awkwardly around Baylee as I wrapped the other around Brian’s neck.

“Welcome home,” I whispered to Brian, squeezing him tight. I simply could not get close enough to him right now.

Brian kissed my forehead, then bent his head and kissed the top of Baylee’s head. There was no mistaking the emotion in his voice. “Good grief, I missed you two.”

“I missed you, too, Dad,” I heard Baylee say, muffled by Brian’s shoulder.

A lump solidified in my throat. Was this what being a family would feel like? What being Brian’s family would feel like? The idea of not being Baylee’s mom floated away, and I rubbed his shoulder while I waited for my throat to stop burning.

Finally, Brian let go of both of us, clearing his throat. He shouldered his bag again, grinning at both of us. “I thought we were never gonna get here. You don’t know how much I just wanna sleep in my bed.”

That made two of us, but I wasn’t about to say so. Instead, I took his hand and squeezed it. “Let’s get you home, chief.”

As we started toward the door, Brian wrapped one arm around my shoulders and the other around Baylee’s. “I’m a lucky man. My lady and my son.”

I could almost hear Baylee rolling his eyes. “Da-ad.”

In the car, I flipped the station back to Sirius Classic Vinyl. Baylee was strapped into the backseat. I expected to hear his game again, but all I heard was music.

“Did you guys have a nice evening together?” Brian addressed both of us, reaching over to squeeze my knee.

I waited for Baylee to respond, but only a muffled snore came from the backseat. I glanced in the rearview mirror. Baylee had dozed off, head at an angle that made me wince.

Brian chuckled, dropping his voice. “That kid can sleep anywhere. No idea where he gets it, of course.”

I pulled onto the interstate, feigning nonchalance, matching his lowered voice. “Oh, good, the old sleeping-pill-in-the-ice-cream trick still works.” Brian emitted sort of a strangled half-chuckle, and I rolled my eyes. “I’m kidding. We had a nice evening. Johnny Cash singalong in the car and ice cream before we came to get you.”

“Good. I guess you wore him out.” Brian glanced in the mirror again, then back at me. “Thanks again for picking him up.”

“He’s a good kid.” I allowed myself a smile. “He’s a tough little nut, but he’s fun.”

“I’m happy to hear you say that.” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the smile on Brian’s face. He cleared his throat, fiddled with his phone. Finally, he prompted, “And, uh…?”

I glanced in the rearview mirror to be sure Baylee was in fact asleep, then gave a studied focus to the road, watching for our exit. “She’s…not the worst person I’ve ever met.” Brian exhaled, and I added, “But I’ve also met Nickelback.”

Brian chuckled again. He pulled one of my hands away from the wheel, laced his fingers through mine and kissed the back of my hand. “I sure missed you, sweet girl.”

I glanced over at him just long enough to smile as the exit crept up. “I missed you, too, Brian. Can I have my hand back to drive?”

“Nope.” He tucked my hand into the crook of his arm. “You’re never getting this hand back. I might take it back to England with me.”

I huffed. “What am I supposed to do without my hand?”

His voice shook with barely suppressed laughter. “We’ll get you a hook.”

Baylee didn’t stir until we pulled into Brian’s driveway, and then, it was only to grab his backpack and climb slowly out of the backseat, eyes at half-mast. I looked at the clock right before I turned off the car. It was past 10. I had no idea what his bedtime was at home; I hadn’t asked.

“You tired, buddy?” Brian was saying to Baylee as I walked around the car. Baylee just nodded, and Brian ruffled his son’s hair. “All right, we’ll get you to bed.”

Inside the house, Brian set down his bag, shrugged out of his coat and kissed Baylee’s forehead. “Love you, buddy. We’ll catch up tomorrow.”

“I love you, too, Dad.” Baylee hugged him around the waist, sleepily, halfheartedly. He turned to me. “Thanks for the ice cream, Meg.”

“You’re welcome. I had fun.” I didn’t know what to do, so I just reached out and hugged his shoulders, swiftly, awkwardly, patting his back. He half-responded, one hand on my back. The moment stretched out for years. I caught Brian’s eye over Baylee’s head; his knuckles were pressed to his lips, but couldn’t hide a sentimental smile.

Baylee plodded down the hall. I heard a door open and close. As soon as it closed, Brian turned to me and wrapped his arms around my waist, slowly, hands sliding along my back.

His eyes made his intentions clear. “You should stay.”

His voice, barely above a whisper, extended all sorts of invitations I couldn’t accept, and I sighed inwardly as I wrapped my arms around his neck. “No, babe, I really shouldn’t.”

“I know.” He brushed his lips against mine. “But don’t go home just yet.”

The light, teasing touch set my nerves humming. I tightened my arms around him and kissed him back, a kiss that deepened, remembered, explored, took its sweet time.

Thoughts fought through the haze of arousal that settled around us. He was here until Tuesday. That gave us Sunday night and Monday to, um, catch up. Even with work, we’d get some time together, without a child across the hall.

Oh, but this kiss, this kiss that I’d been longing for the entire time I’d been in Kentucky, this didn’t have to wait until Sunday. I ran my fingers through his hair, drinking in the taste of him. He settled his hands around my waist, squeezing me.

When at last we came up for air, Brian kissed the tip of my nose. “OK, maybe you should go home before I have my way with you on that couch.”

Wouldn’t be the first time. I grinned up at him, then slipped my arms around his waist and laid my head on his shoulder, breathing him in. “I do miss you, though.”

“Don’t.” He kissed my forehead. “Miss me on Wednesday.”

We stood wrapped in each other’s arms for a long moment. It was his turn to run his fingers through my hair, playing with the crazy curls. “What do you have going tomorrow?”

“I gotta do some work in the morning. And probably clean some.” I traced little circles on his back through his flannel shirt. “Should I come by in the afternoon?”

“Yeah, I’d like that. Maybe we can all make dinner.” I felt his smile against my forehead. “Or, you know, go for pizza.”

“Yeah, that sounds more like it.” I lifted my head and winked at him.

He unwrapped his arms from my waist, slowly. “All right,” he muttered, dragging the words out. “If you’re sure I can’t convince you to come to bed with me…”

“Tease, tease, tease.” I pinched his stomach, and he shrugged down at me, blue eyes twinkling, unrepentant. They stole my heart again, and I reached for his hand. “Welcome home, Brian.”

“You don’t know what that means coming from you.” He tilted my chin up and kissed me one more time, lightly.

I barely heard the Moody Blues song on the stereo, barely saw the houses and streetlights pass by outside the car. The smell of Brian’s cologne still hung in the air, and I could not wipe the smile from my face. He was home. For how long, it hardly mattered right now.

I parked the car next to an old school building. Rusty metal letters above the door still mostly spelled out St. Theresa School – one of the Es in Theresa was missing – but we had a locked front door, a nice bank of mailboxes and doorbells, and only the high ceilings in my apartment suggested that it had ever been more than a place to sleep. The kitchen was still small, but there was nice carpet on the floor, and the closets were enormous. I breezed past the kitchen counter, plucking my phone from my purse, setting my messenger bag on the sofa where I knew I wouldn’t miss it in the morning.

It was only in bed, when I swiped my phone to life to make sure I’d set my alarm, that I noticed the text from Brian.

U r where I call home. :) Sweet dreams

A grin spread across my face again. I lowered my phone to my chest, holding his words close, my face warm with pleasure. I stole another glance at the screen, and my fading smile renewed. I locked my phone and set it on the nightstand, but the sweet words lingered.

“This can’t last,” I whispered to the ceiling, closing my eyes.

Being right really sucks sometimes.