Just drive, I tell myself. The last thing I want to do is be late when Henry gets off that plane. I throw the truck in reverse, carefully maneuver around Christian’s truck, my thoughts briefly shifting to the fact that two of my friends now own trucks, and though their businesses require it of them, it still feels very odd. Pulling onto the old road behind the shops, which parallels Main Street, gravel sprays out behind the tires.
For the first ten minutes on he road I keep thinking about the comment I made to Christian. I need to quit thinking about it. I flip on the radio but am unable to get a station on the ancient device. Finally, I give up and play music on my phone, dropping it in the hollowed compartment next to the door handle.
Singing at the top of my lungs, I enjoy song after song—Adele crooning her woes, then R.E.M. groaning about the world coming to an end. My heart skips a beat and a lump forms in my throat when the next song comes on. “Only In Dreams” by Weezer. I glance down at the tattoo on my wrist, staring at the words, ‘I just might take the chance.’ The memories of that night come flooding back.
When Christian and I first split, I used to listen to this song over and over, crying myself to sleep. I soon figured out that not listening to it at all was best. I thought of his match to my tattoo on his wrist that read, ‘She’s in my bones.’ We were twenty and at a music festival. We were young, in love, with the rest of our lives ahead of us. At the time we thought there could never be another for either of us. After all, we’d been together since our mid-teen years. We’d seen it all. Together we endured the death of his parents, the destruction of my family life, and any hope of reconciliation with my mother. We were in a place where we trusted each other completely.
I was so naive. Weezer came on, the crowd was electric, and the energy swept us up. After the encore, we didn’t want the night to end. Our friends went out drinking, we knew that wasn’t a good thing for Christian. We walked around, under the stars, quoting the lyrics from our favorite songs to one another. I don’t remember whose idea it was first, but once the idea was out, there was no stopping either of us.
The tattoo guy told us it was a good idea that we were tattooing lyrics instead of names, because when we broke up, it wouldn’t be something that was hard to explain to your next partner. Christian proudly told him it didn’t matter because he was going to marry me one day. There would never be a need for such an explanation. He was naïve as well.
As the song comes to an end, I see the airport exit coming up on my right, and with a quick glance over my shoulder I swerve across two lanes, narrowly catching the exit. With a deep inhale, I tell myself to put Christian out of my mind. I love Henry, and Christian is just a friend, I think.
I weave my way through the lanes of traffic and make my way into the airport parking lot. Driving the truck is completely foreign to me; I might as well be driving a tanker. I park at the end of a row with empty spots all around me. I don’t trust myself to park next to another vehicle.
I jump from the truck, slam the creaky door, and head for the entrance. My heart begins to race. I’m about to see Henry; I’m so excited I can hardly stand it. I want to hold his hands in mine, kiss his tender lips, and feel him pull me close with his masculine grip. Damn it! Being away from the man you love for a month can really make a girl horny.
The sign says his flight is slightly delayed. I pace at the gate. I’ve been looking forward to this moment so intensely. With Christian’s hard body in front of me day in and day out, it’s hard to keep focus on my fiancé. I need to hold him, look at him, feel him, and that will put all those other thoughts, which I didn’t want racing through my mind, to rest.
Finally, his plane lands, and though it feels like the disembarking process takes five years, he is here, walking off the plane, and smiling at me. His eyes have dark circles around them, and I can see he’s clearly exhausted, but he still has a smile for me. Running across the waiting area as fast as I can, I leap into his arms. He sees me coming and doesn’t hesitate, dropping his carryon and bracing for my approach.
“Paige,” he cries, and then wraps his arms around me, moaning softly. A sensation of home fills me. Almost instantly, though, I feel the change in his body. Pulling away from him, I examine him closely, squeezing his side.
“You’re so thin.”
“I guess I miss your cooking,” Henry answers with a smile, shifting uncomfortably.
“No,” I continue. “This is more than that, plus we both know I can’t cook worth shit.”
“You’re learning,” he defends me chivalrously.