Between Octobers

March 15th

March 15th

We'd been arguing. Evan remained adamant in his opposition and I was not budging. But I would not let any disagreement drive a wedge between us.

His hotel room was empty as I kicked my shoes off by the bathroom door and set them on my carry-on bag. I couldn't stay long. I had to be at work the next morning, but it was a much shorter flight from San Francisco. I was compelled to come. The phone just wasn't good enough for the type of conversation we needed to have. I had some things I needed to say, and I didn't want him to take them the wrong way. He could be a bit dramatic sometimes—getting angry at the drop of a hat—and I did not want to fight with him. We were both at fault.

Evan and I never gave ourselves an adjustment period. We were getting to know each other one day, and the next we were a married couple. Then he had to leave. And the slippery slope of a blended family was trickier to navigate than I thought. It was hard for me to know when or where I should allow him to step in and even more difficult when I disagreed with the things he wanted to do. I didn't want to make it any more complicated for him than it already was, but I couldn't compromise my values, either.

The room was a jumbled mess of books, scripts, laundry, and dirty ashtrays.  

Evan didn't like me picking up after him, but he never did it, and that left me no choice. I took off my sweater and rolled up my sleeves. First, I cracked open the door on the balcony to counter the stifling warmth of the room. Then, turned on the controlled air. The garbage was overflowing so I tied up the bags and set them in the hall, stowed his toiletries in the medicine cabinet and washed out the sink. Next, I hung up the damp towels and separated the clean clothes from the dirty, placing them in the plastic dry cleaning bags from in the closet. Clean laundry got hung up and the dirty was stuffed into my carry-on. When I was done with that, I sorted his numerous pairs of sneakers and made the bed. Lastly, straightened up the cluttered pile of books and scripts on the nightstand, and set them next to his laptop on the dresser.

As I stepped back to admire a job well done, my heart sank. I wanted to see him so badly, and when he got back, we had to talk about Noah. It was a struggle to find a way to be gentle. As upset as I'd been with his actions, I understood his motivation came from a good place. But the audacity was offensive. Anger knotted my stomach while I mulled over what to say. 

The lock on the door beeped and the knob twisted. My heart skipped the moment I saw his unkempt brown hair peeping around the line of the door. The sight of him soothed me and I was no longer nervous or upset—well, not enough to care about anything but holding him.

"Gracie! You're here?" His eyes bulged in shock.

I threw my arms around him, practically shoving him out the door with the force of my excited landing.

"I missed you," he smelled my hair and neck, clutching me to him as he made his way in and shut the door behind us. His eyes were still wide with surprise. "I thought you were cross with me?"

I shook my head, confirming his suspicions and ignoring mine. "We'll talk later."

He didn't notice any of the changes to the room—as he was attentively focused on undressing me. His phone sounded several times but he ignored that, too. There was nothing but us.

His hold was tight, molding our forms together. My breath caught as he whispered in my ear, speaking words I'd never heard him say; coarse words that felt tender. He begged me to never leave. My mind swirled, wondering at the intense change in him.

The air was raw, manifesting in poignant rhythms that carried me to new heights as the low sound of jazz carried up from the street below. It added to the ambiance and our shameless adoration. My pulse raced as I struggled to contain all he gave.