I wrapped my arm around his broad chest and massaged his side as I drifted off.
* * *
The shrill ring of someone’s cell phone was a rude awakening a few hours later. “Mine or yours?” Ryan’s voice did little to soften the sound.
Barely functioning, I mumbled, “I dunno, but somebody needs to change their ring tone.” I didn’t even move toward my phone.
“Not mine,” he announced.
The ringing stopped.
“They’ll call back,” I said. “If it’s important, they’ll call back or leave a message.” I peeked one eye open to see him walking away. Squeezing my eyes shut again, I called after him, “Where’re you going? Come back to bed. I don’t have enough energy to chase you…” The room was far too bright this morning, a feature that I usually loved about this house. The master bedroom faced southeast allowing just enough light from sunrise to shine diffused through the sheers in a way that made everything look airbrushed. Normally, it made the room feel heavenly and made everyone in it look like an angel. But today, I wished for heavy drapes with vinyl linings so that I could block out the bright beauty in favor of a dungeon’s lighting.
After a few moments, Ryan came back into the room. “Can’t a man go to the bathroom? Geez.” He settled back under the covers, leaning, seated against the headboard. I squirmed over to his lap.
“I missed you,” I whined like a two-year-old.
“I was only a few steps away.” He scratched and rubbed my back, firmly applying pressure in all the places my sore body needed.
“I’m hung-over, and that distance seemed like…like…as far as…Germany…?”
His hand paused briefly and then resumed its massage. “Hmmph. Germany, eh? So then, finally, we can talk about it?”
I rolled onto my back, keeping my eyes closed from the brightness. “Meh. Maybe…” I peeked at him again. He had slid down onto his side and was propped on one elbow looking at me. I stretched, and one naked breast sprang loose of the warmth of the covers, immediately angry at the cold air and tensing into a tight little peak.
He covered it with a warm hand and massaged it. “Someone doesn’t like the cold.”
I chuckled, ending my stretch prematurely. “Well, it’s a good thing you have mittens for hands then, isn’t it?”
He kissed me tenderly. As we pulled away, I dared to open one eye in a squint. Yep, angelic. I closed my eye again and thought of everything that one glimpse had shown me. He looked amazing in the morning. His five o’clock shadow had filled in even more and given him a distinguished scruff that I wanted to scratch. His eyes were smoky and warm, still too sleepy to be bright, and his naked shoulders and chest begged to be touched and kissed. He spoke again, “So, then… Germany?” I was still distracted by my own thoughts of how he looked, and with his hand still massaging my breast, I was even more distracted.
I took a deep breath. It was time for this conversation. I couldn’t procrastinate any longer. I rolled toward him and scooted into the shadow of his body, feeling the warmth of my own breath bouncing off his chest and back onto my face and neck. I curled my head so that the top of it was against his chest, creating a space for my warm air to circulate between us, and creating a safe place to put my words. I couldn’t bear to look at him.
“Germany,” I began.
Pulling the pillow under the side of his head, he wrapped his arms around me and completed my cocoon of safety. “Germany.”
“I love you, Ryan.”
“I know.”
“And I don’t want to lose you.”
“I’m gettin’ that.”
“And I want success, I suppose.”
“Mmhmm.”
“But I don’t want to lose you.” He stroked my hair and rubbed my shoulder. “If I go to Germany…” my voice started to crack. I stopped to breathe and tried to control my tears.
“I love you, Jen. You won’t lose me.”
“I’m afraid.”
“Afraid of what? I really don’t understand.”
I pushed away from his chest and looked at him, his arms still bracing me. “I want you to go to Germany with me.”
“Jen…” He looked baffled and stumbled over his words. “I…I…I can’t. You know that. I mean…my family is here…and my job.” He squinted at me, almost scowling. “What—?!”
“Do you want me to go because you’re ready for us to end?”
“What!?” He released me and sat up.
“Ryan, I just…I’m so fucking afraid. And I can’t even find the words, and I feel like you think I’m stupid, and I just wish things could stay how they have been for these past three years. And Germany changes everything. And by everything, I mean these three years are all I get with you. It means I chose Germany, and that means I didn’t choose you. And if I didn’t choose you, then…” I had picked up such speed as I went that I was out of breath. I stopped, gasping and spluttering, tears spilling out. Much more quietly, I began again, “I am afraid that if I don’t choose you, you’ll find someone else who will.”
He sat there in stunned silence, looking at me, watching me cry and try to regain composure. His eyes were a mixture of confusion and something else I didn’t recognize. Maybe he pitied me? He took a deep breath.
“Germany seems to mean an awful lot more to you than I ever anticipated. It’s no wonder you’ve been nearly two months brewing this conversation.” He sounded like a chastising parent, and I resented his tone.
“It does mean a lot. It will likely mean everything.”
“Did you consider asking me how I feel about it?” I lay back flat on the bed, staring at the ceiling, jaw set, arms folded across my chest. “Well…did you?” he pressed.
“Too afraid,” I whispered, feeling emotionally raw and vulnerable.
“What?”
I looked at him and scowled, “I said I was too afraid, all right. Fucking scared. Fearless at work and an imp at home. Okay?! There, I said it. Are you happy now?”
Ryan giggled. “Yep. Happy as a clam.” He slid back down onto the bed next to me, propping himself on his elbow again. He cupped my chin and drew my gaze toward him. “Listen here, my scared little imp.” He kissed me. “I love you. And Germany is nothing but a place. And in that place, you’ll find more success. I want you to shine. You’re brilliant at work. And clearly, they need someone like you there to take the German sporting goods market by storm. I’m proud to be with someone so successful. And when you’re gone, I’ll be bragging about you the whole time.”
“And what about us?” I looked down at his chest.
“What about us?”
“Why won’t you come with me?”
“You know the answer to that. Is it really fair of you to expect me to traipse over the globe after you? I have a job here and a life. My family and friends are here. Just as I want you to have success and happiness in your life, I want to find that in my own life as well. And that life is here. And in a year, when you get back, I will still be here, still loving you, still proud of you, still wanting to be with you.”
“But I’ll miss you,” my eyes searched his for reassurance.
“And I’ll miss you, babe.” He drew me into his chest and held me close. I entangled my legs in his and tried to lose my body inside his. “I’ll miss you a lot,” he said. We lay in silence for long minutes. I wept silently.
* * *
The call that had come that morning had been Dullberth again. I finally called him back and accepted the job in Germany. I spent the next month in a flurry of training my replacement and getting ready to go; making sure I had my passport, and that the offices in Germany had everything set. Did I have an apartment? Was there a company vehicle? What did I need aside from my bags and my passport?
And I made sure to spend time with those who m
attered to me.
I started with my best friend, Talia.
I took a weekend trip to California to see her, and as my plane touched down in central California, the months that had passed since I’d last seen her suddenly felt like years. As I walked through the airport, making my way to baggage claim, my heart hastened along with my steps.
She was standing by my baggage conveyor, five foot six and with an attitude that made her seven feet tall. We’d met more than a decade ago in a class on developing successful business training strategies. The class was taught poorly and dragged on miserably. It was nearly unbearable, so much so that we built six months of a relationship during the three weeks we spent in Detroit attending it. We had similar work ethics and similar views on personal accountability. And we both loved Italian food. We did our assignments in tandem, and then searched Detroit for its redeeming qualities. Talia was one of the first women I loved and accepted in spite of our vast differences. First, her salsa music was so abhorrent to me that I graciously offered to drive whenever we went out on the town. Secretly, I was hoping that being the driver meant that I had more than a fifty percent say about what was played on the radio. Talia saw things in their objective reality, whereas I always added an emotional ‘human factor’ when I analyzed the same problem sets. She charged me with being blinded by emotion while I jovially called her heartless. She was stoic, strong, and unapologetic while I was strong, independent, but hoping to find friendly footing with everyone I met. Our differences were many and yet… we worked. We loved and respected one another wholly and even sometimes joked that if it weren’t for the lack of sexual interest, we’d be married.
And there she stood now in the baggage claim, unaware that I was approaching. As soon as I saw her, I felt calm. I wanted a cup of coffee and a drive around the block. I approached at a normal pace, enjoying watching her without her realizing I was there. Her long thick black hair was tied back in a single pony running down her back, her lips colored a natural rose hue, and her coral rouge bringing out her Puerto Rican olive skin. Her complexion was perfect, her skin always silky, and she smelled of the tropics.
“Boo!” I said, sneaking up behind her.
She turned around with eyes like razors, and then softened immediately. “You know I might’ve cut you if there wasn’t something familiar in that voice,” she warned.
I shrugged and then hugged her. “You know I got ninja moves. Never would’ve been a scratch on me.”
“You must’ve forgotten who you’re talking to.” She sucked her lips and feigned irritation.
“Gonna be a long weekend with you, I see. You do know I have only a couple of days, right?”
She hugged me. “No. It’s not that. It’s just been a long morning.” Her tone lightened. “How was your flight?”
We talked about the cheap airlines I had used for this flight—how cramped the cabin was, how unorganized the gate processing had been, and so forth. Eventually, my bag came, and we headed out into the beautiful California summer air.
We spent the weekend talking, shopping, and planning her trip up to Vegas the following month. We’d been friends for so long at this point that each time we saw each other needn’t be filled with special occasions—presence was enough. She was the one I trusted implicitly, the one who knew me, the only person to whom no door was locked. It was no surprise then when she started the conversation about the impact that Germany might have on my feelings about Ryan.
“So, hun, how are you feeling about Ryan and you?”
“Talia, I love him so much, and things are so amazing between us.”
“And Germany? Did you ever get that sorted out—your feelings about him staying while you leave?” I looked at my hands. I couldn’t pretend with Talia. I couldn’t act like it was going to be okay, that I had faith, and that the sky was filled with stars and rainbows. I knew she would want the truth, and I really needed to vent it out anyway.
I took a deep breath. “We talked it out, and I supposedly feel better about it. And we’ll call and IM and Skype and e-mail, and things will be great, and…” I paused for effect, and then began singing in the softest whisper, “Pink fluffy unicorns dancing on rainbows…?”
She laughed and joined me in singing the meme, and then she put an arm around me. “Oh, honey, is it really feeling that bad?”
“A lump in my throat, Talia. A pill I can’t swallow. I really don’t think we’ll last a year. I bet we won’t last ‘til Christmas.”
“You might,” she began weakly. “I mean, Jen, this guy loves you pretty seriously. So, unless you force the issue, I doubt it’s going to simply end because he got bored waiting. He doesn’t strike me as that kind of guy.”
“He isn’t. But long distance doesn’t work.”
She pursed her lips and made a sound like she was trying to cough up a hairball. “Really? That simple, huh? ‘Long distance doesn’t work?’ That’s what you’re going with?”
“It’s true.”
She rubbed my back. “I hate to be the bearer of logic here. I realize that you wanna live in some other world where logic doesn’t exist, but one of my jobs is to keep your perspective aligned to some variation of realistic. Sure, yep, you guys might break up, but probably not because long distance doesn’t work. Let’s just get that part outta the way. How long were you guys together before you ever met?”
“We weren’t.”
“Weren’t you talking for like two years or something?”
“Talking isn’t together.” I air quoted ‘together’ and said it snidely.
“I think I’m in this conversation alone.” She looked around. “Where’d Jen go? Can you bring her back? Because this little three-year-old thing isn’t working for me.”
“Not funny.”
“Neither is this weak-ass woman sitting here, trying to split hairs over when this relationship began. You guys have been talking for five years now and physically living in the same house for three.”
“We’ve been together for three and living in the same house for two and a half, unless you count the time he moved out because I won’t marry him. In which case, we can subtract—”
“Shhhh.” I stopped talking and gave Talia a dirty look. “You’re making my head hurt. Stop it.”
“Well, it’s the truth.”
“Girl, here’re the facts as I see them. One, this guy is a good catch, quit trying to act like he’s some run of the mill guy. Two,” she grabbed her fingers, counting off her points for visual effect, “Germany is a really good opportunity, and you will do amazing there and find more professional success than you know what to do with, and three, you’ll come home to find this guy still wanting to marry you when you get back here…unless you get stupid and push him with some insecure silliness like I’m being forced to endure.”
I sat there feeling like a chastised child. “Talia, I’m just scared. I’m afraid that if I’m not here to be with him, to hold him, to make love to him, to cook for him, or to do all the things that I do when we’re together, he’ll start thinking about why I’m not there, about the fact that I chose Germany. And then maybe some woman will appear and make herself available. And anyways, I’ll be in Germany. I’m just so afraid to lose him over this. I know my fears don’t make mental sense, but since when are people’s brains and hearts on a first name basis? I mean, really, my heart says we won’t make it to Christmas.”
“I know how you feel, and I can picture the faces of the men who made it so. Ryan’s face isn’t there. And, hun, I really hope that you won’t personally, prematurely, add Ryan to the list of guys who broke your heart. I just don’t get that from him. Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think so. He feels like a lifetime thing. From where I sit, you two will be together long after Jesse and I break up.”
My eyes widened. “What?! Is something going on with Jesse?”
; She picked at the edge of her cuticle. “I’m looking for apartments.”
“Oh, my God, hun! With all my life changes and such, we haven’t even talked about you. I am so sorry. When he wasn’t here, I just assumed he was out of town on business, as usual. Tell me what happened.”
“Turns out ‘business’ also goes by the name Becky…” she began. And so, conversation ebbed and flowed for the rest of the weekend as was typical for us, and Sunday night came far too soon. As I boarded the flight, she reminded me that this was ‘to be continued’ when she got to Vegas in one short month.
* * *
In the weeks that followed my trip to California, Ryan and I spent time together doing all the things we loved and hadn’t recently made time for. We spent time lounging on the couch, watching movies, or reading books. We cooked together, took walks along the strip, and visited some of our favorite places in town. And we made love; we had sex often and everywhere. It was an extended good-bye of sorts, and I appreciated every minute.
Ryan also spent time with the guys, riding and hanging out. I went to watch as many times as I could, sitting on the sidelines with Chris and talking about his accident, the guys, his recovery, our lives. He really was a great kid. I still brought food, though more often, it was fast food as I was short on time for cooking.
The track was less than a half hour from the house, out on the edge of town. There were thin aluminum bleachers near the parking lot. They faced the track, but the truth was that you really couldn’t see much of what was going on out there until the riders came back around again. The place smelled of two-stroke oil/gas mix that burned in the smaller dirt bikes, and of dirt and dust kicked up by the riders. It was a place to inhale your desert environment and let it settle in your nose.
And yet I loved it here. I loved to watch the guys ride. And as I watched Ryan in these last few weeks, I wished that I had done it more often these past three years. Ryan was a natural on his bike and seemed in his most joyous and complete self when he was riding. Seeing him like that made me love him all the more.
Sunrise Fires Page 6
