Me:Miss you already, xo.
Turning off the screen, I take another calmer breath, feeling a little more grounded. I’m going to be okay. We’ll get through it. We’ll go back to video calls and constant messaging. It’s not ideal, but it’ll work. It’ll keep us connected. At least until we can be together again. It’ll suck not to be able to touch him or kiss him… lie naked with him. But that’s not what ever held us together anyway. Our hearts do. Our hearts connected over a thousand miles. That means something.
My phone buzzes twice as I board the plane. I head straight for the back—thankful for unassigned seating—and stuff my backpack into the compartment above.
Only once I’m buckled and finally settled do I unlock my screen to read Jordan’s message.
Jordan:I wanted to read this to you in the car before you got out, but I understand why you needed space. Turns out, I do too. I don’t think I would’ve made it through the first line without choking up. Thank you for flying here, Miles. Thank you for everything. I can’t tell you what it means to me that you cared that much. I will ask the universe every day to keep you safe until we can be in each other’s arms again. XO
The message right after that one is not a normal message, and it makes tears instantly well in my eyes. I screenshot it immediately, just in case I can’t open it while we’re in flight.
Jordan:
“THE SWEETEST ANCHOR”
Basking here in evening light,
The moonlight warm, the silence right.
No need to move, no rush, no plan.
Just you, your love, your gentle hand.
The world may tilt, the winds may roam,
But in this stillness, I’ve found my home.
You hold me steady, you keep me true.
Here, in my darkness, I fall in love with you.
I read it so many times that I don’t even realize the plane is moving until it’s too late. The jets roar under my seat, telling me I’m too late to reply.
But I type it anyway, knowing it’ll go through as soon as I touch ground.
Me:FFS, Jordan. I was doing okay until that. Now I’m sobbing. Because I’m in love with you too! So deeply and stupidly in love with you. xoxo
****
I survive solely on autopilot for the first few days after I get back. Jordan and I text often. Maybe too often. I sneak peaks every second while at work, and we call each other every night. In a way, it’s familiar. But in another, it’s like this part of our relationship was a lifetime ago. A dream. It’s weird now to only connect through a screen, when for two and a half blissful days, I’d connected to Jordan in every way humanly possible.
The hotel room feels hollow each time I unlock the door after work. Lily has avoided me so far, like my leaving was the ultimate insult. It just makes it worse.
I need her infrequent head bumps.
Ana has asked me a dozen times about my trip, and I know I owe her an explanation since she covered my shift and took care of Lily, but words just haven’t come yet. Maybe tomorrow.
Dropping my work bag by the door, I kick off my shoes and stand in the entrance for a minute. The air smells a little stale, like dust and old coffee grounds. I should open a window. Unpack. I should do anything besides crawl under the sheets and wish another day away. I’m helping no one by moping.
Sighing, I wander to the kitchen, limbs moving out of habit more than intention. I open the fridge, unsure of what I’m looking for, then blink at the shelves.
That’s when I notice them, and for the first time since I arrived back in Salt Lake City, a bubble of laughter slips up my throat.
“When did I…”
I reach for the container of pasta salad on the top shelf, made of the same colored noodles and full of the same vegetables Piper used for her salad at the barbecue. Next to it, a clear plastic take-out container holds a small stack of ribs. There are even strawberries and whipped cream.
The absurdity of it hits me in the gut, and I resist sinking to my knees, laughing until I cry. Grief and loneliness make us do weird things.
