More than two months since the start of her Junior year and long-distance wasn’t getting any easier. Messaging each other as often as possible and skyping in the evenings was hardly a substitute for time together, and the constant contact didn’t stop her from missing him.
It didn’t help that they were both busy. She had a reading list longer than her arm and multiple essays to write. James was in New York with his new agent, someone Gabriela had introduced him to, and he spent most of his time writing and workshopping his newest play. Despite skyping every day, it was rare for them to be able to talk for longer than a few minutes.
There was so much about him that she missed. She missed the way he listened, the way his attention seemed drawn to her when they were together, regardless of what was happening around them. She missed the affection, how he always wrapped his arm around her shoulders or held her hand as they walked, the kisses he’d press to her cheek with every ‘see you later’. She missed the familiar cadence of his voice when they were pressed together in bed and he read to her, reciting his favourite poems or excerpts from whatever book he was currently lost in.
And speaking of beds, she really missed sex. The feel of his hands on her, the weight of him, the way he knew just where to touch her to make the rest of the world fall away. The way he would write smutty scenes for his plays and put them aside for no one to stage but them.
(She’d discovered a new appreciation of theatre since James.)
But when they are together, on the rare weekends one of them makes the trip between New York and Hartfeld, all the wonderful things she remembered got lost, buried by the myriad of things she’d forgotten while they were apart.
He’s tidy – too tidy. He puts things away before she’s finished with them, washes the dishes before joining her for dinner. He listens, but only until he gets inspired and then it’s almost impossible to get even a sentence out of him, if he even acknowledges she’s said anything at all. He talks through tv shows.
Not that she’s the only one getting easily irritated. She’s heard James’ sigh when she starts humming to herself as she works, she’s felt his hand on her thigh when he tries to stop her fidgeting.
She’s sure they didn’t used to do this, but it feels like the smallest thing is enough to start them bickering.
One night, she’s exhausted, the trip to New York taking longer than expected and once their passionate reunion is over, it feels like only a few minutes pass before one of them has done something that irritates the other. She’s not even sure what they’re fighting about except that it goes quickly from snarky comments to raised voices and soon she’s picking her still-unpacked bag up and heading for the apartment door.
“Really?” James asks, exasperated. “Running away? Again? Because I asked you to stop humming?”
“Again?” He’s talking as though her leaving is a common occurrence, but she hasn’t walked away from him since LA and Yasmin and ‘it feels like you’ve been trying to make up my mind for me’. “James, I’m not running away. I came here because I wanted to have a nice weekend with you and seeing as that apparently isn’t happening, why should I stay?”
James sighs her name and reaches out to gently prize the bag from her hand; she doesn’t have much, never needs to bring anything other than textbooks because she has more than enough clothes in James’ closet. He grips it tightly, as if she might snatch it back, but instead she crosses her arms over her chest and frowns at him. “I’m sorry. Don’t go.”
“Maybe I should,” she says, her tone still biting “It’s not like we do anything but fight when we’re together.”
“We don’t just fight.”
“Okay, so we wait until after the reunion sex,” she said drily, although the memory of said reunion sex was enough to make her crack a small smile. “It’s still a lot of fighting.”
“Are we about to start fighting about how much we fight?”
She chuckles. She wouldn’t put it past them, not with the way things have been, but she doesn’t want to walk away and she definitely doesn’t want to start bickering again, not if there’s a way to fix it. “I think we’re fighting because, when I miss you, I think about everything that makes you so wonderful and I don’t think about how you can’t sit down until the kitchen is spotless or how we can’t get through five minutes of tv without you talking.”
“Or without you tapping your fingers against your phone.”
She raises an eyebrow at James’ interruption but continues on as though he hasn’t said a word. “I don’t think about all of this when we’re not together, but when we are, I’m expecting you to be as wonderful as I remember and for our weekend to be amazing and it didn’t used to bother me but-” She pauses at the sight of James’ smile. “Why are you smiling?”
“‘The heart’s memory eliminates the bad and amplifies the good.’”
“What’s that from?”
“Love in the Time of Cholera.”
“Right.”
“That’s our problem, isn’t it?” he asks. “We’re not remembering the bad.”
“But if we can no longer handle the bad, then we shouldn’t-”
“It’s hardly bad.” James doesn’t let her finish that train of thought. “Yeah, your humming is distracting when I’m trying to work but I like that you do it, even if it hasn’t seemed like that lately. I like how the songs stay in my head long after you leave and every time I think of them, I think of you. I like how you fidget, especially when I take your hand to try and stop you and you play with my fingers and cuddle into my side.” He drops the bag to the floor, the textbooks making a loud thump, and steps closer, taking her hands in his. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a positive side when it comes to you and your habit of chewing the ends of all my pens.”
“I want to make sure you think of me.”
James laughs and raises one of her hands so he can press a kiss to her knuckles. “I always think of you.”
She beams at him, all the remaining tension from their quarrel finally gone. He moves closer, releasing her hands so that he can wrap his arms around her waist and hold her close. “I don’t get your fastidiousness about the kitchen but i do like how you always have new flowers every time I visit.”
She has more to say but he kisses her before she can. She responds eagerly, her hands cupping his face, holding him to her.
“I love you,” she says when they part, still so close that her lips brush his with every word. “A weekend isn’t enough time to show you how much.”
“It’s enough time to try.”
James smirks and picks her up, laughing at the way she squeals in surprise. Her arms are around his neck, his hands are on her ass, his lips on her neck, as he carries her the short distance to his room.
They fall together onto the bed, his lips capturing hers again as her fingers start working on his shirt buttons. She pushes the shirt off as soon as she can, her hands roaming over his bare chest.
His mouth leaves hers and he brushes one teasing kiss to the tip of her nose before moving down the bed. He slides his hands up her leg, nudging her dress higher, following the path with kisses.
“Maybe we should fight more,” she breathes, as he kisses her inner thigh, his mouth moving higher with each kiss until she’s moaning, fists clenching the bedsheets.
She’s humming the next morning. She’s making pancakes as James sits at the table, scribbling down ideas in a notepad. He doesn’t hear the first time she asks how many pancakes he wants, but when she asks a second time, he puts his work away and joins her in the kitchen, brushing a kiss to her cheek as he passes on her.
He takes the frying pan from her as soon as she’s served the pancakes, and she watches with a smile as he insists on washing it before joining her for breakfast.
And maybe she had been too busy remembering the things she loved most to remember his more irritating habits but it doesn’t matter. There’s nothing about him she doesn’t love at least a little bit.