I smashed my forehead into Dale’s shoulder and whispered, “Stop.” I was too drunk to think my command wouldn’t work. The universe should obey my wishes if I just believed enough. Like Santa Claus might exist.
But time didn’t stop. The people kept chanting.
I forced a laugh and the alcohol inside me rolled with it until I sputtered.
“Five, four, three, two, one…. Happy New Year!”
The band played Auld Lang Sang. Dale put his hand under my chin, tilting it up, and kissed me like it wasn’t tomorrow, like yesterday was still clinging to our hearts.
Tears stung down my cheeks.
He pulled back, thumbs wiping them away. “I think I need to put you to bed.”
I don’t remember how he got my drunk ass back to the cabin. If he carried me, I’d be mad I missed it. I liked the idea of him carrying me. I wanted to experience that.
Things came to me in flashes. Dark and light.
Softness.
“There you go. You’re all right. Just sleep it off,” said a loving voice.
“I ruined our night….”
“No, beautiful. You didn’t. I love you. More now than ever.”
He said the L word. And I was too out of it to wallow in the moment. I wanted to say it back, but the words got all jumbled and stuck in my garbled mind.
I loved Dale to the point of pain right now. So much more than I could ever wrap my mind around.
I fell asleep mad. My dreams yelled at me for not succeeding in stopping time, for something I couldn’t control.
The next morning,after I hydrated and showered and took aspirin and felt better, Dale and I talked.
We could do this. A relationship amidst our busy lives. We were going to make this work.
When I got into my car and shut the door, a pain sliced through my chest. Already, Dale was too far away.
We caravaned back to the city, our phones turned on the dash screen the whole way. Talking to him as we drove made me feel better, but when we separated off the highway to each head home, I felt the muscles of my throat tighten.
Dale reached his condo first. He had to hang up so he could unload his car and get inside.
The silence in my own car made my breath catch. “You can handle this.” I spoke the words aloud.
I pulled into my own condo driveway and hit the garage door opener. The lights came on. It felt like I’d been away for a long time.
I wheeled my suitcase inside. Everything was too quiet. And cold. Immediately, I turned on the heat.
I had to be at work by eight a.m. I was exhausted. And hungry.
I’d cleaned out my fridge for my vacation and there was nothing much in there but butter, soda, mustard and pickles.
I had frozen dinners in the freezer and threw a chicken pot pie in the microwave. It steamed in the air as I took it and a Coke to my couch, cuddled under a blanket, and ate in front of the TV.
Normally, I was content doing this. I loved my condo, and I loved calling all the shots in my life. Being alone was not uncomfortable for me.
Not now.
Everything was wrong. Except the pot pie was pretty good, though that alone wasn’t enough to change my mood. I could be an emotional eater. But this meager dinner didn’t soothe me.
