Five Days

I ascended the wooden staircase to Abraham's front door. The weather was nice for February, and his front door was open save for the storm door.

He heard the clack of my heels on the weathered stairs and appeared behind the glass door lugging his suitcase with him; I would not be entering his flat.

He looked me up and down. "You look nice," he said quietly.

I opened the storm door for him and stood back as he locked up his home. I clacked back down the stairs.

He followed me to my hatchback where I opened the backseat for him. "I didn't clean out my trunk," I explained.

Abraham laughed as dog hair flew away from the car and into the wind. He loaded his luggage into the back seat.

We got into the car and buckled up. He leaned across the center console and kissed me.

I sighed. "I don't feel right until we kiss."

I put the car in gear. Abraham slid his hand into my lap. "You really do look nice," he said.

I knew I did. I came directly from work, but I specifically wore a dress he'd never seen.

I slipped my hand under his. It's something I do often—when we watch TV, when I'm laying on his chest, when we're quiet and alone together. I like to feel the warmth of him.

I merged onto the highway and into the HOV lane. Toward the city. Toward the airport.

I forced small talk, but my mind was occupied. I already miss you, and you're right here. He prattled on about the friends he's leaving me to vacation with. To my dismay, for the first time in the history of the world, traffic wasn't bad. Forget never coming to a complete stop, we barely even slowed down.

"Which terminal, North or South? I always get them backward," I said.

"South," he said.

"See? I was thinking North."

I exited to the lower loop of the World's Busiest Airport. He's almost gone now.

"You're coming back on Tuesday?" I clarified.

"Yep."

"And what time is your racquetball game on Wednesday?"

"7 o'clock."

So he'll be done by 8:00 p.m. I can make it to Wednesday 8 o'clock. It's not even a week away. It's... five days.

"I'm going to miss you!" I cried.

"Awww!" It was more of an endeared noise than it was a word.

"And it's not that I'm not going to see you. It's knowing that you're going to be so far away!"

"Just pretend that I'm in the city and ignoring you," he smirked.

I swatted him.

"Are you going to text me?"

He playfully rolled his eyes. Of course he would be in touch. "I can't. Don't have international texting."

"You're leaving the time zone, not the country."

"I can't text out of state," he joked.

"You texted me from D.C... which isn't a state."

"See?"

"You texted me from the airport! Was that in Virginia or D.C.?"

"D.C."

"Argh!"

We passed the baggage claim of the South terminal. The drop off was just ahead. I pulled over and turned on my emergency lights.

He unbuckled his seat belt and looked at me. I don't know if he read my face, or he remembered that the currency for the ride to the airport was one really good kiss, but he grabbed me and kissed me. He kissed good and hard and desperately. When he was done, he kissed me again.

And then he was gone.

I left the South terminal and passed the signs welcoming me home. There was an honest-to-God lump in my throat. Over five days. Five freaking days. I already explained the answer—it wasn’t the time but the distance—but there was a larger, scarier reason: I was officially emotionally invested in this relationship.

Before the night was over he sent me a picture of the snow.