It was the same thing I said to him before every flight back to London. I always got the same response ("I wish I didn't have to," or "Trust me, baby, I don't want to"), but I hoped that one day he'd say, "OK, I won't," and then we'd turn around and go back to my place and make sweet, sweet love. That's what happens in my daydreams, at least.
We were at the Original Pancake House taking small bites of our pancakes, trying to make them last.
"This was the best trip yet," Cayden said, after washing down a gulp of hot coffee.
"Really? What makes you say that?"
"I don't know. Well, for starters, neither one of us got sick."
He had a point.
"I just felt so comfortable. I feel so at home here," he said. "Back in London, well, that's not home."
If my life were a movie, this is where Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zero's song "Home" would play in the background while I reached across the table to grab his hand and tears welled in my eyes. The scene would fade to black and you'd never know if we ended up together.
But it wasn't a movie. It was real life. The only background music was the sound of scraping forks and clanking plates. No boom mikes. No camera crew. No makeup artists to touch up my foundation when mascara streaked down my tear-stained, hot, red cheeks. I wouldn't get to go grab a drink with my coworker when the director yelled, "That's a wrap!"
"When do you think you can come back?" I asked, trying to be optimistic.
"I'm not sure. I have to move to Reading and start my new job first and then see how the holidays work there," he said. "But I'm aiming for the first week of July. That will be two years from the day we met. Two years since that night on your roof."
"Two years since I kicked your ass."
"It's been a crazy two years," he said, wiping his mouth on his napkin and checking his watch. It was time to go, but neither one of us wanted to say it.
"The time will fly by," Cayden said, noticing my mood change.
"You know it won't. It never does."
"I know. But at least you have the bear to cuddle with now. And it even tells you goodnight."
"It's not the same," I said. I knew I was being a Debbie Downer but I couldn't help it. That bear couldn't spoon me. That bear couldn't kiss my neck down to my collarbone. That bear couldn't eat pancakes with me in the morning. Well, I guess it could, but that would just be weird.
I swallowed my last gulp of coffee and Cayden reached for the check. It was go time.
Cayden kissed me in the parking lot. Again in the car. And again in the parking lot at DFW airport. I didn't want him to stop.
"See you in two months?" I asked, holding both his hands as we stood next to the line for security. That was always the setting for the Crying Scene. This is where I'd lose my cool and leave a tear/snot splotch on Cayden's shirt, on the upper part of his right pec. This is where people would watch us and wonder what had me so upset. This is where I'd finally let go and he'd look back at me three times from the security line before I walked out the door.
It's all in the script for the Crying Scene. It never changes. But this isn't where the Hysterical Crying Scene takes place. That happens in the car right before the Lock It The Fuck Up and Go To Work Scene.
"That's a wrap!"