Chapter 1: Reunion
The concrete step still held the ghost of her laughter, or maybe that was just the chalk. Sarah (3B), scrawled in a fading sunbeam yellow, and beside it, the smudged impression of a lipstick kiss from two Tuesdays ago. Matt traced the edge of it with his sneaker toe. The air was cool, smelling of recently watered dirt from the pots on her neighbor’s rail and, faintly, of the coconut scent of her shampoo on the doormat. He shifted the sunflowers in his grip. Their faces were wide and stupidly hopeful, like his probably looked.
Three weeks was a geological age. A travel ultrasound tech’s schedule was a chaotic mystery, a puzzle of red-eyes and distant hotel rooms. He’d existed on pixelated screens and emoji hearts. Now he was here, real, on her doorstep as the sun bled gold over the roof of his pickup truck parked at the curb.
He knocked. The sound was too loud in the quiet.
Footsteps, light and quick. The deadbolt clacked.
The door swung open and there she was, backlit by the warm lamplight of her apartment, haloed in gold. She wore soft jeans and a grey sweatshirt, her hair damp at the ends from a shower. Her smile wasn’t instant; it was a slow, real thing that started in her eyes, crinkling the corners, before it ever reached her mouth. That hit him, right in the solar plexus. Air left his lungs.
“Hey,” she said, her voice a little rough, like she hadn’t used it all day.
He didn’t say anything. He just stepped forward, one arm looping around her waist, the other, flowers and all, coming up behind her back. He pulled her into him, burying his face in the space between her neck and shoulder. Coconut. Soap. Her. He breathed it in like a man coming up for air. He felt her laugh, a quiet puff of warmth against his ear, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders.
Then he lifted her. Just a few inches off the ground, a quick, effortless surge of pure feeling. She gave a short, surprised gasp that turned into another laugh.
“Matt,” she said, but it wasn’t a protest.
He set her down gently, his hands sliding to cradle her face. He looked for permission, finding it in the quiet amusement in her hazel eyes. He kissed her then, not a hello peck, but something deeper, a re-mapping of a familiar territory that had gone too long unexplored. She kissed him back, her fingers threading into the hair at the nape of his neck. It was warm, and sweet, and when they finally pulled apart, they were both a little breathless.
“Sorry,” he whispered, his forehead resting against hers. “Not sorry. I missed your presence.”
She smiled, her thumb brushing his lower lip. “My presence, huh? You talk like a pastor sometimes. It’s the flowers. They’re making you poetic.” She took the sunflowers from his loose grip, her fingers brushing his. “These are gorgeous. Ridiculously gorgeous.”
“They’re yours.”
“I see that. Come in, let me put them in water.”
He followed her into the organized chaos of her apartment. A suitcase lay open on the living room floor, half-unpacked. A laptop glowed on the coffee table beside a stethoscope. She moved to the kitchen sink, filling a tall mason jar. Her movements were efficient, practiced.
“How was Cleveland?” he asked, leaning against the doorway.
“Flat. Full of very polite people with impressive arteries.” She trimmed the stems with a pair of scissors. “You look good. Did you get a haircut?”
“Yesterday. For the occasion.”
“The occasion of seeing me? Or minigolf?”
“Both. Primarily you. Golf is a distant, treasured second.”
She shook her head, arranging the sunflowers. They looked violently cheerful against her plain kitchen wall. “You’re a lot, Matthew. In the best way.” She turned, drying her hands on a dish towel. “I need one thing before we go.”
“Anything.”
“Five minutes of absolute silence. My brain’s still halfway over Ohio. The constant pinging of your enthusiasm might short-circuit it.”
He mimed zipping his lips, throwing away the key. He watched as she slipped on socks and shoes, grabbed a leather jacket. The domesticity of it, the ordinary ritual, was better than any kiss. He’d missed this. The being around.
In the truck, he cranked the engine. The old V6 rumbled to life. “So, windmills or pirates? Or that one with the space aliens that’s kinda racist?”
“Aliens,” she said decisively, buckling her seatbelt. “I’m feeling aggressively fluorescent. And I want to beat you at the UFO hole. It’s a matter of pride.”
He pulled away from the curb. The neighborhood slid by, houses casting long, sleepy shadows. “You think you can? My putting has gotten very philosophical during my time of mourning.”
“Mourning?”
“Your absence. I channeled my grief into a revamped short game. It’s about the journey of the ball, not the destination.”
She laughed, a real, full-bodied sound that filled the cab. “God, I missed you. Even when you’re like this.”
“Like what?”
“So… Matt. Just fully, utterly yourself. It’s exhausting and adorable.”
He reached over, his hand finding hers on the center console. He laced his fingers through hers. She didn’t pull away. She looked down at their joined hands, then out the window, a small, private smile on her face.
For a few blocks, they drove in a comfortable quiet, the only sound the rumble of the road. He wanted to ask the big questions spinning in his head. Did you miss me like I missed you? Do you ever think about this being more permanent? But he held them back. They felt too heavy, too soon after three weeks of distance. He didn’t want to scare the silence away.
“You’re quiet,” she said finally, squeezing his hand.
“Thinking.”
“About the profound journey of the golf ball?”
“About how I wish you didn’t have to leave again in nine days.”
The words hung there. He felt her hand stiffen slightly in his, just a subtle tensing of the tendons.
She let out a long, slow breath. “It’s the job, Matt. You know that. It’s what I do.”
“I know. I’m not… I’m not asking you to change it. I’m just stating a fact. I wish it wasn’t nine days.”
“Me too,” she said softly, almost to herself. Then she lightened her tone, giving his hand a final squeeze before pulling hers away to adjust the vent. “But tonight, it’s aliens. And I’m gonna whoop your philosophical ass. Focus on that.”
He did. He focused on the fading light, on her profile against the passenger window, on the simple, monumental fact of her being beside him in this moving box of warmth and noise. The questions were still there, buzzing in the back of his mind, but for now, the road ahead was lit by the dash lights, leading to fluorescent greens and artificial turf. For now, it was enough.
She was right here.
“Alright,” he said, signaling a turn. “Prepare for a journey of spiritual and sporting significance.”
“Just drive, Romeo.”
He drove, the weight of the unsaid things settling between them, not as a wall, but as a third passenger, silent and waiting. For now, he ignored it, chasing the sight of her smile in the glow of the oncoming headlights. For now, he let himself just be happy she was back within reaching distance. He could drown in the distances later.