Conversations From Afar

goodbyes / 28

I stand in the circle of his arms as we wait for his flight to be called. His chilly fingers have slipped beneath my jacket and shirt, and rest tinglingly at the small of my back.

My face presses against his chest, hiding the tears and smelling his comforting cologne-and-detergent-smell one last time. His cheek touches the side of my head, and his hands come out of my shirt to stroke my back over my shirt.

"Hey, it'll be okay." He says, softly, swaying us a little bit. "We've gotten through two and a half months, and in a few weeks it's Thanksgiving."

"You're coming home?"

"Yes." I sniffle, pathetically, and lean against him more. He doesn't waver. "You're so strong, Katherine, you'll be fine without me for a little while."

"Not that strong." The shiver in my voice is muffled by his shirt.

"So, did you have fun this weekend?"

"Of course."

"Okay, well, we can do that again." He replies, dancing his fingers up and down my back, drawing a short, surprised laugh from me. "And after Thanksgiving, is Christmas."

"Yeah?"

He kisses my hair, then holds me at arms length. I take him in; his dark, assessing eyes, mouth turned down in a concerned frown, brown hair shorter than he wore as an undergrad and almost entirely hidden by a ball cap.

We both hear the first call for his flight.

I rise up to my toes, because this is it, and touch my lips to his. We kiss, and he presses me closer, and there's something so sad and sweet and final about it, that when he pulls away I'm crying again.

He brushes my tears away with both thumbs, trapping my face between his hands.

"I love you, Kat." And with a forehead kiss, he detaches our hands and is walking away.

It's even worse than last time.