Work Text:
I wake up alone, like I have for the past two weeks. My throat is coated with sleep and the gunk in my eyes causes a few tears to form and break off down my cheeks.
I started sleeping on your side of the bed since you left. It helps, to push my face into your pillow and smell your shampoo; makes me feel less lonely while I wait for you to come back home. Our bed feels huge when you’re gone, but it feels wrong to spread my limbs out, like you might arrive late at night and have no space to settle in.
You’ll be home today, I remind myself; trips for work only last a few weeks, a few more hours and I’ll get to hold you again.
I try not to sleep in too late, but it’s tempting. The scratching of paws outside our bedroom door becomes more consistent the longer I close my eyes, so I force myself to get back into Adult Mode and take care of our dog’s increasing anxieties.
Milo, a little dachshund we adopted almost three years ago when we first moved in together, is absolutely devastated whenever you leave. He never wants me out of his sight, which I’ve taken as a chance to be less alone; Milo and I are lonely together, and hopelessly in love with you.
I let him sit on my lap as I wait for the coffee to brew. He loves to curl up on my thighs and press his snout into the front of my shirt, like he’s hiding away and committing my scent to memory at the same time.
I wore one of your shirts to bed last night, the blue one that’s been washed so many times the color has faded and the fabric has softened. It’s almost two sizes too big on me, slightly falling off one shoulder and bunching up at my waist as I sit with Milo, his nose forming a wet spot in the pool of cotton. He sniffs continuously as I pet his back, probably searching for the smell of you; maybe if he finds it, he can bring you home early.
The coffee maker whirs, “Ok, Milo. Down you go.”
He snuggles closer, keeping me from standing, and lets out a soft whine.
“I know you miss papa, but he’ll be home soon,” I pat his head.
His small whimpers turn into desperate cries; I can feel the wetness of his tears replace the cold of his nose at my abdomen. I hold him to my chest, thinking that if I hug the tears out of him, he’ll realize that daddy’s here to keep him company until papa comes home, and then we’ll be a family again.
His tears are mine, so I continue to cuddle him until his sobs begin to slow and he’s back to sniffing the material above my heart.
By the time he finally lets me out of my seat, the coffee is lukewarm.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the two weeks you’ve been away, work has been uneventful. Sometimes I feel like the universe has it out for me, making the time I have to endure before I see you again go in slow motion. It makes me think how easier it would be if we worked together instead of splitting the effort between your exciting ventures in the world of professional sports and my draining corporate existence. Maybe then I’d see you more, go wherever you go, bring Milo along for the ride.
But sadly, I’m stuck in a grey box with only a computer and the family portrait we took last Christmas keeping me company for hours on end.
My coworkers, on the other hand, firmly believe it’s their responsibility to cut open that box, whether I want to be freed or not.
“Eric! How have you been?” Adam, my department manager, peeps his head into my cubicle, his heavily toned voice breaking the sleep-inducing silence of the office.
I glance in his direction, in respect rather than interest, and answer, “I’ve been fine, I guess. Just getting by.”
He frowns, face turning from polite curiosity to sympathy, “I bet. It can’t be easy, without the husband around. How’s that dog of yours?”
“Milo’s fine; sad, but he’ll be ok soon, once Jack gets home.”
Adam pauses, eyes widening before he answers, “...Yes, of course. Hopefully he gets home safe....” he gives me a look that I return with a half-hearted smile. “Anyways, have a good shift, and say hi to Milo for me.”
“I’ll be sure to,” I respond, and turn my attention back to the screen.
Surprisingly, I’m left alone for the rest of the day. I can only hope that this becomes a regular thing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I used to take the bus to and from work every day, but lately I’ve just had an odd feeling about it. I can’t exactly explain it. Maybe I just got tired of dealing with the wait, or maybe I thought the fresh air could help me stop obsessing over your absence; I’m not sure if it’s even helping, but the exercise can’t hurt.
I’m interrupted in my walk back from the office by a text from your mother.
Alicia: Hi honey! How are you doing?
Trying to keep up my pace, I type out a quick response.
Me: I’m fine, how are you?
Your mother is an avid texter, possibly even more attuned to it than I am. She always tries to check in frequently when you’re gone, and answers just as fast; now is no exception.
Alicia: Bob and I are doing just fine
I just wanted to make sure you were doing ok
Your parents are definitely a lot more receptive than mine; I’ve come to see them as family throughout the years and in the last couple weeks, we’ve become closer than I am with my own folks. They always worry that I’m lonely, whenever you’re away. It’s nice, the extent that they care.
Me: Just a bit lonely, Milo is too
Alicia: we’ll visit soon then
I’ll make sure to bring treats for Milo
god knows he deserves them
Me: Thank you, but I’m ok, really
Was actually on my way to pick up some flowers As a gift for Jack when he gets home
Alicia: Oh honey, call me when you can
We love you, we’ll help you through this <3
Me: Love you too
Say hi to Bob for me
I pocket my phone and make my way across the street to our favorite flower shop. We’ve known the owners since college, and it’s always the place you go to when you want to gift with me flowers; when you asked me to be your boyfriend, on every anniversary, and that first Valentine’s when you filled my kitchen with roses. I thought, since you’re finally coming home today, that I’d return the favor.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Hey, Will,” I call out as the door to the flower shop chimes behind me.
William, with the same unruly red hair he’s had since he was a freshman, is behind the counter with a few bouquets in progress in front of him, “Eric! I’ve been waiting for you! I’m almost done with your order. I’ve been working on it all day; wanted to make sure it was perfect since...you know-”
I give him a genuine smile, which are few and far between these days, “Thank you so much for this. Jack’s gonna love it.”
“Oh! Of course he will, Eric,” he averts his gaze to the bouquet in front of him. “He loved- I mean...he loves you, of course he’ll love these too.”
I approach the counter, and Will finally looks back at me.
“Eric...are you ok?”
I freeze, reach up to touch my face; my hand is wet, and my eyes burn.
“Sorry, I-”
“No, Eric! There’s nothing to apologize for,” he pauses. “...Actually, these are free; on me.”
My eyes widen, “I couldn’t-”
“Seriously, take them,” Will is never one to back down. “Consider it a gift from me...to Jack.”
I sigh, “Fine...thank you, Will. I owe you one.”
He laughs, a little sad, “No, you really don’t.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bouquet in hand, I unlock the door to our apartment. Milo comes scattering down the hallway almost immediately, chubby paws scratching at my ankles and his breath coming out in little puffs.
I reach down to pat his head with one hand, “Hey, sweetie. How was your day?”
Milo barks excitedly in response.
“Sounds eventful,” I laugh, moving to put the bouquet on the island counter. “It’s dinner time, isn’t it?”
More yelps follow, and I take that as my cue to fill his bowl. Milo almost tips it over with his snout when I set it on the kitchen floor. He has one hell of an appetite, just like his papa.
As he continues to inhale his meal, I make sure to refill his water bowl before grabbing the bouquet and my keys from counter, “I’m going to go meet papa and then I’ll be right back, ok darling?”
He gives a quick glance in my direction, then goes back to the task at hand.
And with a half-hearted chuckle, I’m already out the door.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I still feel uneasy about the idea of taking the bus, but it’s getting cold and the walk back home would go well into the night, so I’ve made an exception for today.
Besides, these flowers are too pretty to risk dropping them, and I’ve never been as strong as you, to carry them for so long.
I’m dropped off in an almost vacant lot, hopefully meaning that this reunion will have some semblance of privacy. The cold air bites my lungs as I step out of the bus, carefully gripping the bouquet in the crook of one arm as I make my way down the two steps and to the asphalt below. I rub at the numbness of my nose, and my eyes begin to sting once again with the chilly weather.
Holding the flowers close to my chest, I quicken my pace.
After about five minutes of walking (somehow, I keep myself from getting lost), I see you. My chest tightens, and I can feel my eyes starting to thaw from the warm tears wanting to escape them. It feels like ages since I last saw you, even though it’s only been two weeks.
I break out into a run, and I swear I can see the smile forming on your face; you’re always handsome, but man, when you smile...it’s like the clouds could open up and swallow me whole. Your warmth is like the sun.
Running, running, slowing to a stop in front of you.
The tears are flowing now, threatening to drown me, but my happiness dams them.
I drop to my knees, clutching the petals against my heart, crushing the stems between my palms. My eyes are shut with a tightness that makes me see fireworks, but through it all, I can still see you. You’re here, right here, and you’re never leaving again.
Deep breaths, in and out. I release the plants from my death grip, place them at your feet, lean forward and press a kiss to the cold hardness of your lips. Jack Laurent Zimmermann, it says, right below your heart; a name we share, despite it all.
God, I miss you like I never thought I would have to.
My jacket shoulders begin to dampen, and I look up. My hair is soaked, rain mixing with tears. The grass is getting muddy, and the flowers placed at surrounding stones are being drowned by the downpour. If you could feel it, you’d chirp me for not bringing an umbrella.
“Still not used to northern weather, eh? How long has it been since we moved here?” you’d let out a small laugh, but your smile would give you away (I was always the only one who appreciated your dry sense of humor).
You were always used to the cold. You practically spent your whole life on the ice, and when you got the opportunity to coach for the sport you loved, I wasn’t going to stop you. I loved seeing you happy too much to worry about hypotheticals, so you’d pack up your things every other month and get on a team bus to wherever the game would take you.
I should have stopped you from getting on; I should’ve known.
I’m not comfortable taking the bus anymore.
I rest my forehead against yours, feeling the scratch of concrete and the ghost of your hair brushing mine. You were so very far away for so long, I was so close to forgetting how you make me feel;
How I’m never alone, even when you’re gone.
Why did it take a tragedy to bring you back to me?
My heart aches, my voice cracks, a barely-there whisper,
“Hi, honey. How was your trip?”