Jia
This morning was the first morning in a while that I’ve woken up in my own bed.
Paul was called away on business yesterday that took up all day.
It feels weird that I went a whole day without seeing him, and all of today too.
I ended up going to Montrose Place and looking around the building. It was the first time I’d been there in a while, and last time, I didn’t own it.
Now that I do, I wish for the spa to be here again, but I accept that it might not be.
The idea of the spa here was everything to me close to a month ago. As I stood there, I marveled at how my mind changed. When I left, the question of the past weighed on me because in two days’ time, our thirty days will be over, and I want to make sure Paul and I are on the same page.
As I get out of my car and make my way up his drive, I’m thinking about it. I’ve tried so many times to push it out of my mind only for it to come back and haunt me.
It’s the last thing I want to fill my thoughts with when we have only two days left. But realistically, the reason why the problem keeps coming back is because it’s a problem. Pretending it doesn’t exist for the next two days isn’t going to help me. In fact, it might drive me crazy.
He opens the door and instantly pulls me into his arms and kisses me.
The scent of his aftershave tickles my nose and lures me to get lost in him like always, especially when he cups my face and looks at me like he is.
A man who can look at me like this with so much fervency and love isn’t the kind you have a thirty-day relationship with. He’s for keeps.
“I missed you,” he says with a heavy sigh. We keep saying that, and sometimes it’s in reference to the time we spent apart over the day, other times it’s in reference to the years we spent apart.
“I missed you too.”
He kisses the top of my nose and smiles, ushering me inside.
“I thought we could order in tonight, or I could make you something,” he offers, and I chuckle.
I’ve barely cooked for myself over this last month. We’ve either eaten out or he’s cooked for me. It’s been amazing.
“Or I could cook,” I offer.
“No way, I love cooking for you.”
“How about we cook together?”
He laughs and kisses me again. “Okay, we can do that. “
We get into the kitchen and agree on homemade pizza. It was his mom who taught us how to make it. It was my favorite thing of hers, and because I was so fussy with food when I was growing up, sometimes it was all I ever ate. She still checks up on me to make sure I’ve eaten enough for the week and sends me recipes for pizza.
We make vegetable pizzas with a hint of spice, which smells amazing, and we eat out on his terrace, devouring it in no time.
All the time we ate and talked, I’ve sensed that we both have something on our minds that’s bothering us. I had the same sensation days ago. It’s stronger tonight, probably because the clock’s ticking over our heads and reality is seeping in.
“That was so good I could have more. Your mom would be so impressed with how much I ate,” I state when an awkward silence fills the space between us. That’s me trying for a mundane conversation instead of what I truly want to ask him.
He smiles. “She’d be very impressed. She still messages me every day to make sure I eat.”
“I get a weekly text with a recipe.”
He seems surprised to hear this. “My God, really? She messages you every week?”
I nod. “I haven’t mentioned it because I guess I was so busy with you.”
Although he smiles, the awkwardness returns to his eyes. “I guess I’m going to have to tell her as well… about us, I mean.”