When our bodies start to slow, I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her tightly against me. Our breathing is labored and mixed until eventually, we both sag against each other, her heart pounding against my chest. My lips find her forehead as I breathe in her scent and the sense of familiarity. She’s familiar, even though I’ve only been with her hours. Days. Yet a lifetime of friendship that serves as our foundation.
As much as I hate to, I need to get rid of the condom and she’s fading fast with exhaustion. First I help her stand, and then I help her get into the bottom bunk, pulling the pink comforter up to her chin. I slip into the bathroom and remove the condom, wrapping it in tissues to try to hide the evidence we’re leaving behind in the trash can. Using a washcloth, I clean my body, then open my shaving kit and use my toothbrush.
When I’m done, I silently leave the bathroom and join Cricket back in the bedroom. Since I put her in the bottom bunk, I’m fully prepared to either climb that small ladder and maneuver my body into the space between the mattress and the ceiling or to just crash on the floor. That decision is not necessary when she opens up the comforter and slides over in invitation.
No other place I’d rather be.
I snuggle in behind her, our bodies pressed together in the small twin-sized bed, and just breathe her in. She’s still wearing my shirt, and now there’s a mix of her sweet scent tagging along with mine. It’s the reason there’s a smile on my lips as I close my eyes and hold her close, slowly drifting off to sleep.
***
“I want to see the Bean,” she says as we walk down Michigan Avenue on Monday evening.
We left her parents’ house in Decatur after lunch and drove north to the city. Cricket booked us a hotel downtown for two nights, just a stone’s throw away from major Chicago attractions. I was able to extend my rental reservation, as well as switch up my flight home to Wednesday morning out of O’Hare. Now, after having pizza at Giordano’s, we’re slowly making our way, hand-in-hand, to Millennium Park.
“You got it,” I tell her, slowly weeding through the crowd of people all making their way to and from one of Chicago’s great landmarks.
“So, what’s it like in Tennessee?” she asks as we carefully make our way around a mother and small child.
“Well, Pittman Center is a really small town. Like five hundred people, or so. I live on the mountain, which is pretty awesome. It’s just slow enough and small enough for my liking, but is super close to all the touristy shit in Gatlinburg and surrounding areas.”
“That sounds perfect,” she says, a touch of longing laced in her voice. “I’ve never lived anywhere but in a city. I couldn’t imagine being on a mountain, surrounded by trees.”
“And a view. Don’t forget about that, because the view is what sold me on my place. It’s small,” I tell her with a shrug, “but it suits me just fine.”
She squeezes my hand. “I can’t wait to see it,” she says, a small smile on those kissable lips.
“What’s San Francisco like?” I ask as we cross the street and into Millennium Park. There’s a large crowd hanging out at the big stainless steel landmark taking selfies and group photos.
Cricket sighs. “It expensive,” she says with a chuckle. “And believe it or not, it’s actually small for a city. Everything is so close together. Did I tell you I sold my car after a few months?”
I glance down and shake my head.
“It was so expensive to pay for parking, and traffic is a nightmare. I could walk almost anywhere I needed. Plus, they have a lot of public transportation that made it easy to get anywhere I needed to go. It’s super foggy a lot, especially during the summer. It’s not hot and humid like I was used to in Illinois, and I remember my first summer there, I actually thought I’d missed that entire season. It was nothing like home.
“Real estate is crazy-expensive. It’s like there’s too many people and not enough places to put them. Rent keeps going up and up every year, which is really why I haven’t moved. My place is rent-controlled, and every place I’ve looked at that might give me more space is three to four times higher a month.”
“Sounds…interesting.” Interesting? Not really, but it’s her home, so what do you say? I think being on top of your neighbors sounds like a nightmare, personally, but I’m not about to tell her that.
She chuckles again, but it lacks humor. It sounds almost…sad. “Yeah.” Then her eyes light up and she reaches for her phone. “Come on, let’s go take a selfie!”
Cricket tugs on my hand and maneuvers us to an open spot in front of the Bean. She turns her camera to take the picture and stands in front of me. I wrap my arms around her shoulders and pull her into my chest, my chin hitting just above her ear. We both smile at the camera as she takes a few photos. I move, angling my head down and placing my lips just above her right eye. I close my eyes, savoring the feel of her body against mine, the way it seems to have been made just for me, and the taste of her soft skin.
I’m going to miss this when she’s gone.
She slides her phone back in her bag and turns in my arms so she’s facing me. There’s so much I want to say. I want to tell her that these last few days have been the best of my life. That her throwing herself at me as my pretend girlfriend is something I’ll never forget. That the thought of her getting on a plane Friday and flying away makes me want to throw up.
But I don’t say any of those things.
Instead, I just hold her against my chest and let my mind venture into “what if.” What if she stayed? What if I went to San Francisco? What if we really gave this whole relationship thing a shot? I want more than just a week, more than just phone calls and text messages.
I want her in my life.
And not as my friend.
When I glance down, I almost confess everything. I almost tell her she’s quickly becoming my whole word, that she’s everything I didn’t even know I wanted.
But I don’t say it.