almost

Coming home from work always brought me so much joy. I couldn't be bothered by the rush hour traffic between the office and the apartment, or even the way the sun was positioned right under my visor and blinded me through my sunglasses.

Today, I could wait.

The sun in my eyes made me grouchy. I just wanted to get home.

Home.

Could I still call it that?

Time seemed to drag on forever, and I was at this weird point where I was both eager to get through the traffic, but also I could spend eternity here. I wanted it to drag out a little longer. Maybe just that little bit of time would change things.

But soon, I found myself at the door of our apartment. The elevator ride felt like nothing. All I could think of was the sound of my own heart beating in my ears. I took a quiet breath at the door, holding the key as if frozen for a moment, biting the inside of my cheek.

In. Click. Open.

She was home. Which would've been the entire source of my joy. But I only knew she was home because I could hear the microwave. She wasn't humming or singing. She was silent.

I hung up my jacket in the small boot room of the apartment, kicking off my shoes. It felt like the longest thirty seconds of my life.

Even after I entered the kitchen, she was silent. I placed my bag on the table -- the table we would otherwise be about to sit down and eat dinner at. The microwave timer went off, and she opened it, without looking at me. She'd heated up a plate of leftovers. For herself.

She was about to walk into the other room when I decided to speak. I didn't even realize I was talking until I heard my own voice.

"Can we just pretend it didn't happen."

It wasn't a question, but it was supposed to be.

She hesitated, for a moment. Her head turned slightly towards the hallway, and she let out a small sigh.

"For a little bit?" I pleaded. A real question now. I tried to cover the crack in my voice, but it didn't help.

She looked toward me, somewhere close to me, but not at me, and said, "For a little bit."

She went into the other room, presumably to eat her leftovers on the couch while watching TV. She kept the lights off, just the screen of the television illuminating her food.

I hesitantly looked toward the hallway that led to our bedroom. I knew what I would find there, but I was still trying to hold on to the world where I didn't know.

A suitcase. The suitcase she inevitably packed while I was away at work. But I couldn't be angry at her for not telling me about packing. Not when I told her that I was at work that day, when I wasn't.

My lungs filled with cement.

I looked back to the living area, deciding to take a leap.

She didn't look at me as I sat on the couch next to her, or while I lifted the blanket and snuck underneath it. Or when I crawled next to her and put my head against her shoulder. I thought of putting my hand on her leg, or making a move to hold hers, but thought better of it.

I could almost imagine that everything was fine. That we were just cuddling in to watch TV. That we would fall asleep on the couch after a movie night, and we would wake up in each other's arms, like every other morning.

I could almost convince myself it was just any other day.

Almost.