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"are you worried i'll forget you?"
a want for domesticity cottons your stomach. it pulls at you in the tub while you stare, gaze absorbent to take in the image of pete's bare back.
shaving is your favorite action of his. it's predictable: the leftover cream forgotten on his earlobe, the fingers used to stretch the skin, the clean scent he gives off as he passes you, and the soft cheek that rubs against yours when you pull him close.
roger had said you were far too close to pete, that when he broke things off at the end of the tour you wouldn't be able to handle it. you stare at your cuticles and play with a hangnail on your thumb.
"pete," you call out into the cloudy bathroom.
"mmm-hmm?"
"this is all going to be over soon, right?"
"what?" he asks. from your peripheral vision, you can see him turn to you with a half-white spattered face. "what do you mean?"
"i mean us. i can't go back home with you, so this time will just be . . ."
you can't find the word and you're sure he's heard this before by sticky girls with big hearts. under the water, you fumble your hands.
he clears his throat. "we'll go our separate ways. are you worried i'll forget you?"
"yeah," you breathe out, pitiful.
the razor clinks against the sink when he sets it down. "i won't," he says your name. "promise."
he's not very good at keeping those promises: secret bottles of whiskey, an instigation with roger. but still you're here, because all this is a dream. it's what you told him on your first night together, thisismydream.
pete's finished his shave, looking a few years younger as he runs a wet hand through his hair. he leaves you to dress. and to think. only a few more days of the tour. he hasn't even considered what you've considered and his wife and daughters cause you to swirl the water in the bathtub and pull the drain.
you dress afterwards and make him breakfast: eggs, toast, potatoes, a glass of milk. he eats and smokes a cigarette on the hotel's balcony after reading out the funnies in the paper. you take your own meal and sit with a dull mind.
for a moment you imagine yourself as the wife, lonely with a large, near-empty house and draw your legs to your chest. you haven't yet figured out if you're a bad person.
before pete finished his cigarette and as you take the first bite of your toast there's a knock out the door. knowing who it is, you get up, and welcome roger inside the room.
he's jovial and bouncy and smirks when he sees dirty pans in the sink. "so what's this?"
you shake your head and he's about to tease you more when pete steps back inside. the nicotine scent carries from his smoke. their reunion makes you step away, back into the kitchen as they talk over the tv. you scrub stuck-on eggs like you always pictured you would.
( something to get me back into the writing mood )
