Each morning she wakes up, keenly aware that one side of the bed hasn't been slept in, still perfectly made and cold. She stays there for a while, wishing somehow to go to sleep until he'll wake her up with a morning kiss, cup of coffee, and his clever line, "Morning, Sleeping Beauty." He thought he was so damn clever, but really she had been the one to first use that line on him.
And she waits.
When it becomes clear that she's taken long enough to get out of bed, Veronica pulls herself up— feeling the hangover of poor sleep and a heavy workload. She groans, rubs her eyes, and heads to brush her teeth. She had never been the kind of girl to usually care about what she looked like. In high school, while Lilly was around, she cared a lot. But after her perky best friend wasn't around to badger her into shopping sprees, she wore what she wanted without giving a single damn about Neptune High. Her clothes guarded her, hid her from the cruel world. Her armor. Then he happened. She had no use for choppy hair and army jeans. Once he happened, everything had been set right in the world. Even though it lasted only momentarily in the scheme of life, his sparkling eyes and, "God, you look beautiful," stayed with Veronica until she finally had him again. Now she dresses professionally, but casually. Nothing like she would have worn around a law office and not even close to FBI attire. She doesn't know why she cares about what clients think, they'll pay her regardless.
When Veronica's done getting dressed she heads to the bathroom to quickly put on makeup. Mascara, blush, lipstick. Nothing fancy. She hasn't been required to look fancy since the last time she had dinner with him. She's gotten so used to his warm hands slipping around her waist while she leaned over to apply her petal pink lipstick that now, when it doesn't happen, she has to keep herself from glancing out into the hallway to see if he's coming. Sometimes she's a glutton for punishment and will peek, knowing he won't be there.
And she waits.
She's taken up reading. That's what all of the message boards have said to do. Miss them? READ! Can't sleep? READ! Keep listening to their voicemail so you can hear their voices again? You guessed it, READ! He had always been the literary in their relationship, so finding books was easy enough. Finding books that kept her interest was an entirely different thing. She finally picked up Time Traveler's Wife, which according to critics it was supposed to be good. She had flipped to the first page and begun reading,
"Long ago, men went to sea, and women waited for them, standing on the edge of the water, scanning the horizon for the tiny ship … I wait for him. Each moment that I wait feels like a year, an eternity. Each moment is as slow and transparent as glass. Through each moment I can see infinite moments lined up, waiting. Why has he gone where I cannot follow?"She couldn't read that book. She hasn't tried reading anything else since then. She glances at the bookshelf as she passes by on her way out of the house. She can see the thick spine of the book. Exactly where she had last placed it after telling herself, "I'll let him read it." Forgetting, of course. She passes by the shelf, but it feels like it's watching her, judging her. Now she knows she's lost it. A bookcase judging her? But nevertheless, she rushes to the door and slips out as quickly and quietly as she can. She turns to look at the view from her front door. Ocean. His ocean. It's peaceful at five in the morning. Surfers are already out, but the hustle and bustle of the day has yet to begin. Slowly the waves rise and crash into the sand. Veronica watches for a few minutes, drinking it in like she does every morning. Squinting she tries to see has far out into the ocean as she can— past the horizon. What she's looking for is as unclear to her as it is to the old man who walks his Dalmatian past her each morning. But she doesn't care. She watches. She sighs.
And she waits.
And this goes on for days, weeks, months: wake up, get ready, watch the ocean like some maniac, go to work and solve cases for actual maniacs, eat, watch TV, slip into bed, try to sleep. Repeat.
And she waits.
But then it's February 20th, and it's throws a wrench in her cycle. Veronica wakes up, trying to contain the smile that threatening to break her face. It's so big, it literally hurts… or perhaps it's been that long since she really smiled. She doesn't wait to get out of bed. She nearly hops out of bed and rushes to the bathroom. She brushes her teeth and mentally makes note of what's in her closet.
She settles on black jeans with a forest green blouse that dips a little lower in the front than Veronica usually wears. In the bathroom she dons her typical mascara and blush, but adds eyeshadow and eyeliner along with a darker shade of pink lipstick. She finally has a reason to be fancy. Before leaving she slips on heeled boots. Checking herself in the mirror, she smiles back at her reflection. Her watch says she still has ten minutes before her dad arrives so she sits at her kitchen table which is cluttered with paperwork from MI. Taking a deep breath.
She waits.
Waits.
Waits.
A knock on her door wakes her from the perpetual ticking of the second hand on her watch. Keith stands, smiling with a nice suit on. Maybe she should have dressed up more for this? It feels like it's the millionth ceremony like this that she's been to. Each time she feels out of place. Like everyone has a handbook that she had forgotten to read. It's probably on that damn bookshelf of his. Keith hugs her and smiles, "You ready?" She nods and they're off. She has the time it takes to get to the dock down to the second. She knows she'll drive herself crazy staring at the digital clock on the dash. So she peels her eyes away and focuses her attention on the buildings and trees they pass.
And she waits.
It's an abnormally hot day for February, and everyone is so close to one another the temperature seems to have raised at least ten degrees. Babies cry. People cough. A dull murmur of conversation fills the air. Veronica fans herself with a homemade sign Keith had brought along with them. Truth be told, if you looked at her and her dad, it would be hard to decipher who was more excited for the day. But that was because she kept all her anxiety and excitement deep within her. She told herself not to jump for joy until she counted every finger and every toe to know he was in one piece.
Finally cheers erupt, indicating the men were on their way to the crowd of loved ones. Men with newborn babies first, as tradition, followed by those who won "first kiss." After they disperse the rest of the men will trickle through the crowds, searching for a familiar face. Music begins to play, loudly, through the already chaotic air. Keith squeezes her arm as if to say, 'Almost time.'
And she waits.
She's short compared to most people, even in her heels. So she stands on her tiptoes, not able to contain her excitement any longer. Then she spots him. Wide smile, quirked eyebrow.
"Logan!" Veronica calls and waves frantically. He drops his bag, and runs to her with abandon.
He's here. He's home.
One hundred and eighty days ago, he had kissed her nose like he always did before he left.
"Wait for me?" he had asked.
And she waited.