We’re so close now, in this small space, and he’s looking at me in a way that’s hard to read. There’s affection there, maybe? I’m so full of nervous energy, I’m practically vibrating. And I’m suddenly very aware of how gross I am in this rumpled dress, after so much running and sweating and the long car ride in the desert heat.
“I’ll help you with your bags,” he says finally.
“What bags?” I have to laugh. RIP to my favorite sundress and expensive Korean night cream.
“Oh!” A smile spreads over his face. “Uh.”
“Do you want to just…come in?”
A terrifying few seconds pass while he considers it. But he shakes his head like he’s judging himself, opens the door, and gets out.
“After you,” he says, extending one arm toward the front door. I fumble with my keys in the lock and step inside, toes flexing with relief once I slip off my sneakers.
He follows me in, and then we’re standing there staring at each other, air thick with all the memories living in this house—the confidences and false starts and old versions of both of us that we shed as the years went by.
I don’t quite know where we stand. If I lost his trust in a way I can’t get back. But here he is, anyway.
Greg gathers me up in a tight hug, and tears quiver at the edge of my vision again.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he says into my shoulder. “I was scared there for a minute.”
I give him a squeeze. “Could you…stay and sit with me for a bit?” I croak out.
“Okay!” He sounds relieved. “Twist my arm.”
“I’m disgusting.” I take a step back, out of his hug. “I should get cleaned up. Want to watch TV?”
“Yeah.” Greg gives me a tired smile. “Sure.”
I hurry to the bathroom, ridiculous train of this gown trailing after me, and turn on the shower as hot as I can. While the steam builds, I wrench off this cursed dress and toss it in the hamper.
It’s a relief, getting under the hot water. Somehow even after that deep sleep in the car, the sensation of running lingers inmy body. The anguish before it, and the adrenaline during, and the crash after—it’s like I felt the whole range of human emotions today.
I dry off and put on a big T-shirt and shorts, the ones I usually sleep in, and tie my hair up in a loose scrunchie. And I pad my way back to the living room, stopping short at the end of the hall, where I have a view of Greg in profile—sitting on the couch, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, chain out today. He’s got one leg pulled up underneath him, at home here, a socked foot peeking out.
Maybe I was testing him—giving him an opening to change his mind and walk out the door without direct confrontation.
But there he is, still waiting. He notices me hovering, glances over.
And there’s something complicated in the way he’s looking at me, in my new change of clothes. Like he has a lot going on under the surface, but he’s trying his best to be restrained.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey.” I sit on the couch next to him, tucking my feet up under me. “Thanks for staying.”
It still feels like a barrier is raised between us. All those years of fighting how we felt, bad timing, missing each other. All that time we wasted, disciplining ourselves not to think about it, mutually misunderstanding.
A pang of longing hits me, but I’m scared to move—especially since I already tried to kiss him once today.
The corner of Greg’s mouth tilts up. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
“I’m just glad to see you.”
I close my eyes, breathe in and out.I already did some scary things today. Might as well keep up my streak.
I lower my head onto his shoulder, tense all over, wondering how he’ll respond.
At first it seems like Greg is holding his breath. And then herelaxes into it, shifts his weight on the couch to give me a more comfortable resting place, and throws an arm over my shoulders.
