Another day, another gig in Germany, another flight back home sitting with Will, another night sleeping back to back with the man I loved the most in the entire Universe.
That had been the summary of the last forty eight hours. There had been moments of laughter and joy, but little had they to do with my marriage.
The show in Leipzig had been wonderful and everyone had been pleased backstage. We had had a day full of activities, a meeting, some football against our crew and playing videogames had all been opportune distractions from my current turbulent personal life. Chris had not been rude, not at all, but he had been subdued and sort of gloomy. A few minutes before getting on stage, however, his mood lifted and he became the ball of bright energy he was known to be. Nevertheless, I knew him too well by now and could see behind his façade of optimism.
Behind that cheerful guy on stage there was a hurting, confused and stubborn soul; one that had been a part of me for so many years that it felt utterly devastating not being able to reach it.
When the plane heading back to the UK had taken off last night, I had mentally crossed another day off our rift on the calendar. I completely hated it. I miraculously hoped Chris and I could wake up the following day and start with a kiss, a “Good morning, love” and some lovely time before breakfast, but of course, that had not happened.
That morning had started with Chris getting out of bed just as I had groggily sat up. It was almost eleven, pretty late, but we had arrived home almost at five am, so it was understandable.
“I’m going out running,” he had said before leaving the bedroom.
I had unhurriedly got up, had chosen one of my favourite outfits to wear just because I had remembered reading about pampering yourself to feel better. It turned out I did not feel any more loved by Chris after wearing my jeans, my black t-shirt and my red checkered shirt than I had a few minutes earlier when I was sporting grey pyjama bottoms and an old t-shirt.
At least, I looked more presentable to go out for some breakfast. So, after having received our clothes from the dry-cleaning guys, I had scribbled a short note on the kitchen’s board to Chris and had left our house, ready to clear my mind, get some fresh air and some delicious treat for breakfast.
Chris and I used to go out to get breakfast every morning, but since our row four nights ago, that part of our routine had been skipped, or I hoped, put on hold, which meant our meals had been monotonous and not really great since neither of us was a good cook. I loved bacon and eggs, but the few times I had tried making it, it had been awful, and well, Chris and the stove, or even the microwave oven, should not interact under any circumstances, unless you wanted the fire department on your door shortly after.
Therefore, I walked the short distance to the main street near our home and scanned the cafés. I resolutely ruled out our usual one. What if the people there asked about Chris? What if Chris had been there earlier? No, besides, there were too many happy memories there. I decided on the one next to the cinema. Chris and I had occasionally been there, but were not what one could call regulars, although we did visit it every time we went to see a film. I also had been there with my old school mates when they came for a visit and even alone to get some coffee on the go.
It was cozy and the air smelled of a mixture of coffee and freshly baked muffins, my stomach grumbled as I sat down at a little table near the window.
“Good morning,” she said with a smile on her face when she approached the table.
“Good morning.”
“Lovely day, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, at least it’s not raining,” I replied.
