"Welcome to Iceland," Erin said, her lips a breath from my ear.
I groaned, something between aggrieved swamp monster and dying tyrannosaurus rex. I'd finished marathons and triathlons without feeling this wrecked before. "We're instating this as the official greeting. Welcome to Iceland, have some sex in the hallway."
"If you're making a habit of coming here," she started, a playful lilt in her voice, "I'll make a habit of greeting you this way."
"Yes, yes, I will be making a habit of coming," I said, all puns intended. "Yes to all of it. Just tell me when you'll have me, woman, and I'll be here."
It required all of the strength in my body to ease some of my weight off Erin and push up on my forearms. Her fair skin was dotted with fingertip-shaped welts and some light beard rash. I bent to kiss each of them.
"It's fine. They'll fade," Erin said, her fingers sliding through my hair. "Come on. Let's climb into bed."
I leaned into her touch as my eyes drifted shut. In that moment—and itwasthat one, not the one where I came like a natural disaster—the months apart and the distance disintegrated. Our relationship straddled the line between impossible and illogical, but it was too fucking right to give up.
* * *
I didn't havethe interest or energy to take in Erin's home until later the following morning. The studio apartment was small, minimally decorated, intensely modern, and filled with books. Seemed fitting.
"Sorry," she said, noticing me looking at the bare walls. "No Civil War maps here."
I studied her, taking in the way her shoulder-length hair fanned out across the pillow and the sheets cast a silhouette over her curves, and decided there was no time like the post-orgasmic present.
"It's all good. We wouldn't want redundancy," I said.
I scratched my chin. Glanced out the window, then toward Erin's sparse kitchen and living area. There wasn't much else to the space. There was a tiny bathroom on the other side of the apartment, and I did meantiny. I'd bullied my way into the shower with her last night, ignoring her insistence that it was only suitable for solo bathing. She was right about that. I couldn't bend my arms without hitting a tiled wall, and the spray was about six inches too low for me. We were stepping all over each other, and there was nothing we could do to keep the elbows from flying. I lost my footing and ended up sprawled on my ass on the cold floor when she accidentally popped me in the jaw while washing her hair.
"I've got the old maps, you've got every book ever written on just about every subject. We're good," I said. "There's nothing else we need. Sure, furniture and stuff, but we'll figure it out. Maybe Lauren can help. You give her something to look for, and she goes all foxhound, especially if you want vintage stuff."
"Really?" she murmured. "Already planning our future cohabitation? Don't I have a doctorate to finish first? Oh, and you have a couple of months of practicing medicine in the developing world, no?"
I threw back the sheets and changed position, moving down until I was resting my cheek on her tummy and smiling up at her. We'd discussed my Doctors Without Borders assignments late last night. She was thrilled about my new adventures, but with that came the recognition that we'd be contending with even more distance and time apart. No one was thrilled about that.
"I am planning for our cohabitation," I admitted. "I want to do this exact thing with you for many, many years."
Erin's eyes widened, as if I'd said something brash but not altogether shocking. A minute or two ticked by before she responded. "Riley texted me the other day," she announced. "Apparently Sam's taking a sabbatical in Maine. A rural fishing village or something of that nature."
Well. That was quite the detour.
"That's fascinating," I said carefully. Sam had been in rough shape when Riley brought him to the ER, and it was no small feat to get him stabilized. The guy had some serious issues to work out, and I wasn't convinced that a solitary expedition into the woods was the safest choice for him.
"According to Riley," Erin continued, "Sam hasn't specified when he'll return. I mean, I'm assuming hewillreturn and he's not going all Henry David Thoreau on us now. It's surprising. He's always liked the great outdoors, but it's only ever been short camping trips. He's quite the fan of city life and creature comforts. I would've pegged him for the executive spa. You know, some place with a sweat lodge or private yurts."
She was right about that. Sam was definitely a high-end sweat lodge kind of guy. "Do you think it's good? That he's spending some time away?"
"It's not necessarily a bad thing," she said. "Getting away…it puts a lot of things in perspective."
I kissed the skin beneath her belly button. I loved that she was strong and fit, but also soft in certain places. It was a reminder that beneath all the stoicism were sensitive spots and womanly curves.
"What did it put in perspective for you?" I asked.
Erin's shoulders wiggled as if she was struggling to land on a response, and then she blew out a breath. "It turns down the noise," she said. "It lets you hear your own thoughts, and then fix the ones that don't sound the way you want them to. It makes you see the lies you were feeding yourself, and the angel-faced devils you trusted. It forces you to prioritize, and that helps you decide what can stay and what must go."
My eyes dropped to her torso. Each of her words was a secret passageway to other stories, longer ones with context and meaning, but I didn't know how to unlock them yet.
"Some people have to leave to find their way home again," Erin continued. "I'm one of them. I went away because it was the healthiest, safest option for me, but there are many reasons why I've stayed away. They're not about grudges or revenge. They're only about needing to find my way home, and no one else can do that for me." She pinned me with a pointed stare. "Not even you, husband."
I nodded, accepting that I didn't get to barge into her world and dictate how she mended her fences. Barging and dictating weren't things Erin Walsh appreciated.
"I can't find your way home, you're right about that," I said. "But you don't have to find it alone, either. I think you've been on your own for so long that you forget you can lean on someone, and you don't have to do everything by yourself."
