Why?

XXIII

December 1998
Christmas was days away, and being six months pregnant was not helping things. My mother had flown back to Arizona at the end of October, and I was feeling a little lonesome. Lindsey had been working in a little studio downtown, possibly planning an album, but more as a purely creative outlet- though his music always had been that of course. I spent the days relaxing, reading, or writing music or poetry myself, having more freedom in this secret life than I had since my youth. Me and Lindsey had also been attending therapy sessions together and the results were mediocre. The sessions generally aired my insecurities over the potential causes of his betrayal, while he insisted it was a momentary act of lust. The therapist explained the biology behind these situations: that men rarely entirely conflate sex and love to the degree I would as a woman, and that- if Lindsey was genuine about his deep regret- that I need not be haunted for the rest of my life over whether he loved another. However, it was of course pressed that both of us were responsible for our actions, and that honesty and loyalty must be pursued to rebuild the trust we needed for a stable relationship. Additionally, upon learning that sex had almost always been our quick-fix to issues for decades, she recommended that we refrain for a while. Luckily, my now heavy pregnancy would've made such escapades difficult anyway, and he knew I was not yet ready to give my body to him after he had been with another. I had immediately insisted that Lindsey spend Christmas with Will, even if that did involve Kristen and her family, while I'd stay in Phoenix for a few days, though only allowing my mom, Chris, Jess, and Lori to see me of course- my need for privacy still paramount.

We chartered a flight that would first touchdown in LA, then in Phoenix, allowing us to spend the long and gruelling fight together. I was incredibly anxious about flying at this stage in my pregnancy- though my doctor assured me it was safe- hiding my face in Lindsey's neck as we ascended, my heart beating out of its chest as he attempted to soothe me, his hand playing with my hair, the other on my bump.
"Sorry," I said shaking myself and straightening up as the plane levelled out. "I've flown so many times, I was being dramatic."
"You just care about our daughter, it's ok, it's not dramatic."
"Ok, whatever."
"Are we there yet?" He joked after a few minutes had passed.
"Oh please don't start that!" I sighed, only half-serious as he grinned. "Wipe that look off your face, you look like a five year-old boy."

After eating dinner, I was exhausted, and used the small bathroom to remove my make-up and complete my intricate skin routine, then headed for the bed suite, finding Lindsey already fast asleep on it, still fully clothed. We had only shared a bed once in the past few months, when I was experiencing awful cramps around the abdomen that I was horrified by, despite the doctor's dismissal earlier in the day. I'd immediately sent him back to his own room in the morning, hurting him but knowing it was the right thing to do.
After all, there was only one bed on the plane, and we both needed sleep. I slipped into my nightgown, lay in his outstretched arm, and dropped off quicker than I had in years.
Some hours later, sunlight streamed through the oval window as I stretched awake, my upper arm meeting something pointy as I heard a grumble.
"Good morning to you to Stevie"
"Oh shit, sorry, I didn't hurt you did I?" I chuckled.
"No, my poor nose is just fine," he rubbed it exaggeratedly.
"I suppose we better get dressed soon."
"I don't know about you but..."
"Lindsey," I knew that look, especially when it wandered toward my breasts. I pointedly pulled up the neckline of my nightgown.
"I'm kidding. Did you sleep well?"
"I suppose so."
His hand crept to my hip and he looked at me longingly.
"I'll miss you."
"I'll miss you, but I shouldn't have to remind you about...About the rules."
"You don't. I'll call you twice a day until we can go home."
"Five days." He nodded, pulling me closer as we said goodbye through touch. I looked up at him and there was a pause,
"Kiss me," I ordered. He didn't reply, but simply leant toward me, his eyes never breaking contact as our lips, then our tongues met. It was slow and mournful, an ode to what we had missed. He inched off as tears welled in my eyes, pressing chaste kisses all over my lips, cheeks, and nose.
"Like I said Stevie, as long as it takes," he squeezed my hand as we sat up, preparing to face the outside.