Author's Note: Welcome back - if you follow my Tumblr, I'm relieved to say that I was able to recover the majority of the end of this phic, though some sections still needed to be redone, so apologies for any rough areas on that front. Also, once again, any legal matters involved in this work are based on my own research and personal experience, not professional experience - please let me know if there are any inaccuracies and I will be happy to fix them. Finally, the title for this chapter is based on the Dream Theater song of the same name. We have seven chapters left after this one, folks - stay tuned and let me know what you think, and enjoy!
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Chapter 33 - I Walk Beside You
Erik
Although he had accepted my apology outright, and although he understood why I'd acted as I had, Nadir determined that he wasn't ready to resume our friendship as it had been before the details of my relapse had come to light. He explained as much the next morning when he brought Josephine back home, emphasizing that he wouldn't bar contact entirely, but otherwise he preferred not to see me beyond what was professionally required of us. Yet while I was willing to allow him that distance - willing to be held accountable for exactly why the dynamics of our friendship had changed so dramatically, because the fracture between us was entirely my own doing - that didn't make it any easier to take that much-needed step aside. It honestly made me nervous to consider that the relationship we'd spent over two decades cultivating was shattered beyond repair, and more than a handful of moments of apprehension had left me turning to my wife for reassurance. He's not ending the friendship, Christine had said sympathetically when I'd once again expressed doubt over the issue, You're like a brother to him, he told me that years ago, and I know he still feels that way. He just needs time. And I could only sigh in response, trusting her insight and resigning myself to Nadir's absence, even as I continued to dwell on how indefinite that absence might ultimately turn out to be.
But in the meantime, one of many of my immediate concerns was that I was beginning to experience symptoms of withdrawal. After only a day or so of a grace-period with no tangible repercussions related to ceasing my persistent alcohol consumption so abruptly, soon enough the consequences of my excessive drinking went into effect almost instantly. And even though this wasn't the first time I'd gone into withdrawal over the course of my time as an alcoholic, the overall experience was exceedingly difficult just the same; it quickly got to the point that near-constant headaches and severe tremors and the inability to focus made it necessary that I take time away from work far earlier than what was initially planned for therapy, nevermind one particularly harrowing night that sent me to the nearby ER with legitimate fear over my heart-rate and evident dehydration, regardless of repeated attempts to offset each problem at home. The latter complications had me in the hospital overnight, but it was the former collection of symptoms that kept me out of commission longer, and I resented myself that much more for allowing another disruption into our lives. Still, there was no changing the past; I simply had to accept that and move on, had to continue with the efforts I was already making in order to repair the several months of damage I'd laid behind me.
My arraignment the week following my arrest, incidentally, was the only relatively simple aspect of the whole goddamn debacle surrounding my relapse. In the end, I was given a heavy fine, reprimanded for my behavior at the waterfront, and sent on my way with a warning to exercise restraint in the future; and although Christine had leveled more than a few choice words at me about that unnecessary expense, when everything was said and done, the judge assigned to my case had appeared eager to move on to more pressing matters, rather than to waste further time with me. But the fact that my previous record from Tennessee had been long since expunged had helped me greatly, as well as this being my only significant brush with the law since I was seventeen, and altogether I was able to put everything that had happened in Chicago behind me in less time than it took to get into trouble in the first place. If nothing else, I was relieved by that outcome, but even though I wasn't formally punished for drunk and disorderly conduct - at least not as acutely as I could have been, from a legal standpoint - the problem remained that I was still standing at the very beginning of recovering from the relapse, and paired with withdrawal, the work ahead of me was undeniably daunting.
Specifically, intensive outpatient therapy weighed on my mind long before the first meeting; I wasn't looking forward to it, but I certainly wasn't in a position to argue, either. The program presented me with my final option before being forcibly admitted into an inpatient rehab facility, and I sincerely didn't believe that I could handle that last resort and come out unscathed.
So unless or until something worsened, I was willing to commit to IOP; while I understood that I was walking a razor-thin line between being able to handle intensive therapy and needing rehab, I was still grateful that rehab hadn't become a requirement yet. I had to constantly remind myself that I hadn't hit bottom, but that this was my absolute last chance before that became an irreversible reality. So I squared my shoulders and hauled my ass to the appointed building on time four days a week, and although the clinician often opened meetings with her head in the clouds, I couldn't deny that she was competent at teaching the prescribed dialectic skills that we were working with. Taking time away from my shifts in surgery, at least, didn't require any major upheavals in my schedule - I'd already needed to make adjustments when I went into withdrawal, as well as months beforehand to deal with Gene's estate, and later with Nick's demands for visitation, so my absence wouldn't alert anyone about what was happening unless I wanted that information shared, which I adamantly did not. It was bad enough that my higher-ups needed to be told about what was going on, because I presented a liability and they needed to be prepared in the event that I lost my mind entirely and finally went off the deep-end, but no one else needed to know that I'd been slowly and steadily falling apart.
It was just as well that I preferred not to allow my personal and professional lives to intersect whenever possible; I'd had more than enough to contend with on the personal side of that spectrum as it stood, and the anxiety involved wasn't something I wanted to share with others. Because this time around, therapy was the most difficult it had been since the sessions I'd taken part in immediately following my suicide attempt in New York; intensive outpatient therapy was aptly named, and while the intervening years between any kind of treatment or shorter stints in therapy had brought on their own challenges, what I was trying to cope with here was exceptionally difficult to contend with, even when considering that I'd had more than enough mental health resources available. Regardless, it was almost startling how deeply impacted I was by IOP, namely during the first weeks of adjusting to group sessions and the demanding, meticulous nature of dialectic behavioral therapy itself. In many ways, I had to allow myself to be vulnerable in front of nearly a dozen strangers, and moreover, I had to examine every last one of the problems that I'd formerly opted to keep buried, and as such, I realized how many barriers I'd built in my mind that now had to be steadily chipped away, and in a manner that necessitated both introspection and of distress tolerance, each of which I clearly had limited reserves.
"It's almost painful," I explained to Christine late one evening a month or so into the program, laying next to her in bed once Josie had gone to sleep to discuss what had been bothering me that night. Ever since I'd gotten home, I had been trying to breathe properly again after a particularly challenging session left me scrambling to remember the importance of my participation; it was the official halfway mark, and although I could see evidence every day that it was working for me - even in spite of so many misgivings at the outset - much of that progress came at the cost of being incredibly draining as well, and the effort seemed to finally be catching up with me then. I hadn't comprehended exactly how much help I'd needed until I was actively working on getting it, but after a month of meetings to my name, the difference between the ways I approached problems before and at present was undeniable, and I had to constantly remind myself of that feat. We were still waiting for our court date against Nick and his wife to be set, and between that stress and not having Nadir to speak to about it and everything else that I was facing, I was sure that I would've been ready to drink myself into oblivion had I not already sought treatment. But even so, IOP wasn't something I could do passively, and considering that, I continued to Christine, "It really only works if it's painful, I know that. But I'm used to drinking when I feel this bad, so now I don't have that outlet and it's just...It's not easy."
"No, I can't imagine how it would be," she responded as she moved to lay closer to me, holding me securely in her arms in the darkness of our bedroom, pausing for a beat before adding, "But you're doing well. You know that, right?"
"I know," I half-shrugged, "Most of the time."
"You're doing well, Erik" she repeated firmly, "You really are, and I'm proud of you," she murmured, and I'd be lying if I didn't admit that her confidence exceeded my own when sessions like the one I'd gone through earlier were so overwhelming. But I still made sure to pull from that confidence even so; she was sharing it with me for a reason, and I'd be insane not to take that support when it was clearly extended to me.
~~oOo~~
Christine's confidence was a significant factor in carrying us through the distinct unease that accompanied the day we were eventually informed that our court date for Josie was scheduled, and well into the legal proceedings themselves. By the time of our official hearing, it was spring, less than a month away from Josephine's sixth birthday, and I had successfully completed the intensive outpatient program without incident. And, beyond my wife's support, it truly couldn't have been anything short of divine intervention that I'd already finished the program when we finally went to court, because without regularly practicing the extensive set of dialectic behavioral therapy skills for the past several weeks, I could say with complete certainty that I wouldn't have gotten through the process without collapsing once again if it weren't for that additional set of mental and emotional armor.
Even before the day of the actual hearing, Christine and I had a substantial amount of work to do in preparation for it, largely involving formal documents and statements describing the events surrounding our failed mediation - specifically, why exactly we were unwilling to submit in any manner to Nick's list of demands - as well as dealing with legal precedents and technical jargon that only our family law advocate could put into proper perspective for us. Our circumstances were decidedly more complicated than others, solely because they were so unorthodox. The majority of child custody cases see parents that have separated, or grandparents seeking custody or other types of visitation rights because of separated parents. But in our situation, we didn't meet that criteria. Rather, cases involving parents that remain married but still refuse contact with grandparents is uncommon, and so to state the reasons why Nick and his wife should not have a presence in Josie's life whatsoever was our burden of proof. Thankfully, the judge assigned to our case was said to be familiar with untraditional problems like ours, yet even so, we had to be ready to be cross-examined by Nick's lawyer all the same, and quite frankly, to be essentially interrogated like that was terrifying.
My fight and subsequent arrest in Chicago was called into question, of course - it was a part of the public record by that point, and we weren't surprised in the least that Nick's representation had used against us - as well as my PTSD, which Nick had known about through Gene, and feigned concern over in front of the judge. Our work schedules were also challenged, leading to questions about childcare arrangements and doubts over whether or not we were providing our daughter a nurturing homelife as a result of our careers. It was ludicrous, but our representation adeptly responded that Josie was thriving in her life and routine as they were, and pointed out that Nick and his wife wouldn't be of daily benefit from Pennsylvania in the first place. But in many ways, Nick and his side hinted that they would seek more mandated time with Jo, and there were moments that this hearing felt more geared toward gaining custody, rather than annual visitations at best, and that left me uneasy. I wouldn't have put it past them to make the attempt, and I didn't appreciate having our competence as parents thrown under a microscope for the sake of my father's deranged need to get back at me for indirectly uncovering his affair when I'd first met Gene so many years ago. None of this should have been happening, and I was desperate for this to end and for Nick to be forced to let the issue lie for good.
It was a demanding and lengthy process, made that much worse when we were required to let Josie speak to the judge face-to-face; but even though they would have their discussion in private, without the scrutiny of an audience to intimidate her or sway her responses in either direction, Christine and I both hated to send her off, knowing from the start how unwilling our daughter was to participate in anything related to Nick and his wife. Although she wasn't aware of the details regarding my relationship with my father, nor of the conflicts that he and I had been engaged in since the day we met - still too young to understand the nuances of familial contention - we were honest with her about why we had to go to court at all, explaining everything to her in the most child-friendly terms possible. Yet never once did she express interest or excitement about the prospect of suddenly having a new set of grandparents to see more regularly, especially when she had been so close to Gene and still talked about how much she missed him. Gene was Grandpa, but Nick and his wife were strangers, and what few interactions they had shared had made her uncomfortable. Therefore, it took more than a little pleading on our parts to convince her to come along to the courthouse with us and share her thoughts on the matter with the judge when it was her turn to do so, and I found myself pacing outside the courtroom the entire time she was gone.
A shred of reassurance only appeared when Nadir and Sahra arrived and offered their support - apologizing for each of their respective work commitments making them get to us much later than they had initially hoped - as Christine and I waited for our hearing to resume after the judge had finished talking with Josie. I'd barely spoken to Nadir since before starting in IOP, but despite my stubbornness, I wouldn't hesitate to admit that I missed his companionship, and to see him then - to have his hand clasp my shoulder in an unspoken gesture of alliance and simultaneous cessation of our distance - helped immensely to release at least a portion of the tension that had settled in my chest. And when the time came for everyone to return to the hearing, I felt that I could do so with that much more bravery.
Josie was ushered to wait outside the courtroom with Samantha, who had generously offered to stay with her while we were in court that day, and I was grateful that Christine's friend had been so willing to help us and care for our daughter when we needed as many people on our side as were available. But still, while her assistance was appreciated more than we could properly express, Christine and I returned to our seats with a sense of nervousness clutching at us that was almost tangible; the judge had announced upon his own return that he was ready to make his decision, and considering the way our hearing had unfolded so far - even despite having friends nearby to cheer us on and knowing that we were justified in our stance - we were feeling less than optimistic about whether or not the day would turn out in our favor, and my actions over the past several months had played a considerable role in doubting our success then, just as Christine had feared the day she'd learned about my relapse. But even so, she and I had come this long through this unwarranted nightmare together, and we would see it through to the end in exactly the same manner, I was sure. The judge's final determination could very well change our lives, but neither of us would be alone, no matter the outcome; I repeated that notion to myself to the point of distraction as we settled in and waited for the judge to speak.
Christine held onto my hand tightly, her other hand clutching anxiously at the emerald pendant on the necklace at her throat, as the judge gave his closing statements and prepared to make his ruling, reading extemporaneously from a sheet in front of him while he spoke, his tone authoritative as he began, "Ordinarily, I try to encourage family members to work through their conflicts so that all parties may be present in the lives of the children in question. I believe that the relationship between children and their grandparents is fundamental to the emotional development of the child," he paused, clearing his throat, "However, Dr. Durant and Dr. Riley have shown that Mr. and Mrs. Riley made no effort to cultivate that kind of relationship until after Gene Riley's passing, and that leaves me reason to question the motivations at hand here. Josephine Riley had a loving relationship with her great-grandfather, and her grief has been properly nurtured by her parents, not her paternal grandparents."
"Everything's going to be fine," Nadir whispered from his seat behind me, his voice low enough not to be a disruption, almost vanishing on the air altogether - but I had heard him, and God only knew how much I needed those words then. This obviously wasn't a criminal trial, and yet I still felt as if I was waiting for a guilty verdict.
Unaware that anyone else had spoken, the judge continued, "Furthermore, Josephine has indicated her dislike of Nicholas and Trish Riley clearly, and I don't believe that forcing her to spend time with them, against her parents' wishes and her own, will be of any benefit to her as she grows up. That said, while I acknowledge the struggles her father has faced with alcoholism and post-traumatic stress disorder, and while I certainly don't condone his recent behavior, it appears to me that he is handling those issues appropriately, and that he poses no threat to his daughter. Regardless, I see no reason to uproot Josephine's life to meet the whims of people that essentially have no connection to her beyond biology, and I cannot abide using her as a pawn in a long-standing family conflict for which she has no blame or involvement. My ruling is in favor of Dr. Durant and Dr. Riley. Josephine Riley is to have no visitation with Nicholas and Trish Riley unless her parents permit as much, but they will not be legally compelled to do so."
The gavel fell in the wake of that final word, the dense wooden object projecting a definitive echo around the room and in my mind all at once, and at the sound - at the judge's determination - I exhaled sharply, not realizing until that instant that I had been holding my breath. I'd been dreading the alternative for so long that winning our case was almost jarring, but the relief I felt in the end was staggering. Still holding on tightly, I kissed Christine's hand quickly before letting go, each of us making a concentrated effort to maintain our composure then; regardless of our victory, it would have been bad form to celebrate outwardly at that moment, and we both knew without having to say so aloud that we didn't want to draw further attention to ourselves. Rather, we finished up with everything we'd had left to address in the courtroom - largely related to the expected points of social etiquette that I had no patience for, and was eager to leave behind me - for as long as we were obligated to be there, but then went directly back to Samantha and Josie the moment that we were formally dismissed.
Later, Nick had scoffed when we made eye-contact on the steps of the municipal building housing the family law division of the courthouse, looking at my wife and our daughter and our small group of friends with unmasked disdain as we all prepared to head to our separate vehicles to leave the city; he'd appeared to want to say something before thinking better of it, seemingly at his wife's coaxing, but in the end he simply turned and walked away with her. That was the last time we would see either of them in-person, and although we would be obligated to speak over the phone a handful of times through the coming years, each exchange would prove to be concise and stilted: otherwise, their absence was welcome. After everything Nick had said and done, after what he'd put my family through, there was absolutely no salvaging even a fraction of our familial connection or basic civility between us, and I was satisfied to allow Nicholas Riley to remain as my estranged father and nothing else. Whatever relationship we could have had, if the circumstances were different, that potential had died the day we met, all those years ago by the library in Pittsburgh, and the animosity and resentment that we'd come to hold toward one another - albeit for dramatically different reasons - had only settled firmly with that initial pained interaction, and had steadily grown ever since. And so, with no reason or desire to alter that truth, I was more than willing to move on once and for all.
And that was the end of it, the months-long ordeal over in nearly as many moments.
~~oOo~~
Resolving the custody case was an immense relief - in spite of the hell we'd gone through since the previous summer - which warranted a steady change in outlook; after nearly a year of managing Gene's estate, dealing with Nick and the legal troubles he'd brought, and facing off with my own abrupt relapse that resulted, to suddenly have only my grandfather's absence to contend with without overlying problems to cloud my judgment and occupy so much of my attention was somewhat startling, but necessary. We'd already experienced holidays and other occasions without him, but over the last year I'd been drinking to cope with my anxiety and depression, and now I didn't have or want that crutch, so I had to consistently remind myself to focus and keep my reactions under control while our lives settled down once more. As such, for the next several weeks after the success of our hearing, I resolved to simply resume spending time with Nadir and his family as we had before falling out, and Christine and Josie and I were initially content to stay home together whenever possible as well, and very little else, now free of the stresses that had been placed on our shoulders by my father while we handled family court. So we tested the waters that much further by celebrating each of their birthdays at the beginning and end of May, before making the effort to look forward to the upcoming break after Josie graduated kindergarten.
After the first anniversary of Gene's death had come and gone - even beyond it, when we saw Josie off to the beginning of first grade in September, and then moved ahead with the highs and lows of our lives through autumn to Thanksgiving and into winter - we continued to go on in my grandfather's absence, knowing that we needed to return to normalcy, or at least find our new normal, all the while. During those months, Christine and I finally had the chance to discuss his loss at length, something that we were unable to achieve properly after the fact. Christine had been adamant that my grandfather wouldn't have wanted us to continue to disrupt our lives on his account, repeating as much when we'd broached the topic again near Christmas - once Josie's elementary school had gone onto winter break and we were attempting to decide what to do with ourselves for the second holiday season without Gene - and I couldn't deny her logic; she'd known Gene well enough before the end of his life to understand his perspective, and I'd agreed with her assessment. I missed my grandfather, and regretted that our time together was so much shorter than it should have been, but if he had any way of knowing just how badly I'd reacted to his death - even now that I was doing considerably better - I was sure that he would have been disappointed and deeply saddened, and I couldn't allow that to contribute to his legacy any longer than I already had.
If any lesson that Gene had imparted to me over the years had resonated, to carry on was crucial, and so that's exactly what we hoped to continue doing. Before I knew it, I'd quit smoking again, and had reached a full year of sobriety in January, and by then I'd had the good sense to feel proud of those accomplishments for what they were, and to appreciate all of the undeniable good that had happened since. Life went on as it was meant to, and then it was already almost spring again when Christine approached me late one night with an unexpected proposal; we'd both had the day off from work earlier, and Josie had been in bed for hours while Christine had disappeared upstairs for about that long, but I'd been busy trying to catch up on charting while she was occupied, so her sudden reappearance in the muted lighting of the living room almost made me jump. Concentrating as I had been on the work that I'd put off from my last shift at the hospital, I'd completely missed the sound of my wife coming downstairs, and the absurdity of feeling so startled nearly had me laughing in spite of myself, the feeling made that much stronger by her answering smile as she sat beside me on the couch.
"Do you have a minute?" she asked, eagerness painting her tone, and I was genuinely curious to find out what had inspired that quality in her voice, "I have an idea."
Setting aside my work, I responded, "I'm listening."
She smiled again, "I want to take you and Josie to San Diego."
~~oOo~~
Christine
Since Erik and I had gone on our honeymoon traveling up the Pacific Coast Highway, neither of us had returned to California, and we hadn't even gone further south than Huntington Beach while we were there at that. Going back to California at all - namely, back to where I'd grown up and had subsequently experienced my life's most profound losses - wasn't a decision that I'd made lightly, nor quickly, and my thoughts honestly might not have even gone there to begin with had our present situation been any different. But watching Erik continue to work through the aftermath of Gene's passing had compelled me to carefully consider exactly how long I'd been away from the coastal city that had once been my beloved home, my connection to my own family - witnessing my husband address his complicated emotions and overcome the unanticipated hardships therein had helped me to realize that there were better memories to be made in the wake of our grief, but we had to be proactive in that process to make those kinds of memories happen. Because admittedly, unlike Erik, in many ways I hadn't been proactive in that sense, but all at once I was aware that I wanted to be.
Leaving San Diego to start med school, beyond what was practical at the time, also meant avoiding the pain I'd felt in California - whether a conscious avoidance or not - and insisting that I'd never go back. But nearly two years after losing Gene and noting the ways we'd changed in turn, I finally allowed myself to acknowledge what I'd given up myself by doing so; and, moreover, what potential there was for our family to continue to heal together. Though I had known more losses in San Diego than I cared to consider, it was also one of the places that I'd been the most content before meeting Erik and setting off on our life together. I'd been sincerely happy with my father, with my grandparents, even with Raoul when our relationship was still relatively simple, and I wanted to share that feeling, to share some positive associations with the past where they could be found, with Josephine and Erik. Although we'd made great strides in mourning Gene, I truly couldn't say the same for myself regarding my side of the family, but I wanted to do better, to set an example for my daughter as much as to prove to myself that it was possible. At any rate, we'd spent far too long in the dark as it stood, in our own ways, and to keep fostering improvement, a brief change in both environment and perspective was clearly in order. In my mind, a new destination in lieu of visiting Gene in Memphis - the opportunity to establish new traditions as a balm for the loss of the former ones - made the most sense.
Once I'd explained my reasoning to Erik - what had eventually inspired my decision and why - he agreed with the plan and looked over travel details with me. Then, some weeks before the fact, he and I were able to make our formal requests for time away from work that coincided with Josie's spring break, and I was grateful that our requests were approved quickly, and that Josie's school calendar just happened to be arranged the way it was that semester - that factor alongside the range of dates we'd asked for from the hospital fell on a very specific point in the schedule that I was absolutely determined to have line up just right somehow. Because that time of year, widespread bioluminescent algae would come in on the tide every night to create an amazing display, but the phenomenon lasted only a few weeks before leaving again for the season, and Josie's school break was near the end of that timeframe. Our travel window was narrow, but feasible, and I was thrilled with our luck. The bioluminescence was something that I hadn't seen myself since I was a teenager, when I was still in high school and had gone joyriding with a group of friends out to the local beaches to play in the bright blue water, but I would never forget how stunning the sight was - the water itself would sparkle with every wave, with every point of contact, the bioluminescence activated whenever the tide rolled in and rushed away again, and I was looking forward to seeing Erik and Josie react to it for the first time.
It was well worth the wait, but there was a wait to be had. When we finally set out on our trip near mid-April, the three of us had taken an early flight to San Diego, so we'd had quite some time to spare before sunset, but it was time well-spent.
I'd surprised myself with how relaxed I felt upon arrival; I hadn't been ready or able to return for so long by then, but the distinct feeling of homecoming was unmistakable the moment I took a deep breath of that somehow still-familiar ocean air, and the memories that this one gesture alone inspired were better than I could've imagined, accompanied by a catharsis at being able to explain as much to Erik, to have him understand my state of mind as he drove our rental car out of the airport's roadways toward the freeway, regarding me considerately while I spoke. But soon enough I felt that I'd said everything that needed to be said on the matter, at least for the time being, and we decided to explore the city before checking into our hotel and getting ready to head back out to the beach in the evening. I played tourguide as Erik drove - we'd set up the auxiliary cord with the radio for a playlist from my phone to serve as the background for our journey, hearing everything from Etta James to Green Day to Creedence Clearwater Revival and then some. Erik would smile when I sang along, would drum his hands against the steering wheel to whatever beat was guiding the music, the volume low enough to allow conversation between us and for Josie to interject easily from her place in the backseat when something interesting caught her eye, but both of them offered their full attention each time I pointed out a landmark or an old favorite haunt.
After our day around the city and stopping at the hotel once more for dinner and to change, we decided to go to La Jolla, one of the rocky public beaches near where we were staying, just as the sun was setting; although the temperature outside had been close to the eighties through the majority of the day - fairly typical for springtime in San Diego as a rule - it had managed to cool off considerably by nightfall, and after we'd parked and found the sidewalk leading to the expanse of the beach, I noted that we weren't the only family to have come out in jeans and hoodies above our sandals to make our way to the shoreline. Only the locals sported true swimwear and shorts, regardless of the month, a habit that I'd long since abandoned after acclimating for so many years to Chicago's extended cold seasons and often windy nights, and I couldn't help poking fun at myself for the drastic difference between my former tolerance to Southern California's dry heat and what I was experiencing then. It felt strange to essentially be a tourist even though I'd been born and raised there, but it was amusing to take it all in stride just the same. At any rate, I was far more content to simply enjoy our walk through the sand, stopping at fairly regular intervals whenever Josie would find a half-buried shell or a unique pebble by the beam of the flashlight on Erik's phone before we continued to our destination.
The beach was crowded, people in groups of varying sizes drawn from all over just like us to see the bioluminescent algae in-person. I understood the appeal; this would be so much more amazing than watching brief video clips from news stories online. Lifeguards were still on duty then, their hours extended to accommodate the influx of beachgoers for the natural event, and it was a comfort to have the safety personnel stationed nearby when we reached the water and the sun had disappeared below the horizon entirely.
But that detail quickly left the forefront of my mind when the first wave actually roared in and touched our bare feet. Sandals cast aside further up the shore to keep them from being stolen by the ocean's pull, Erik and I held Josie's hands tightly on either side of her and let the water cascade forcefully around our legs, her peals of laughter mingling with our own even with the minor discomfort of denim clinging to our soaked skin. It was incredible to share that experience with my husband and our daughter, and everything that I'd hoped it would be from the second I'd gotten the idea to come home. The glow of the bioluminescence shimmered with the steady ebb and flow of the waves, undulating whenever we reached down to swirl the water with our hands. The blue light flashed and sparkled vibrantly as we three walked back and forth for a time, the shine of unusual nature reflecting off of Josie and Erik's faces whenever they paused again and knelt to take a closer look at the water once more. Erik's eyes, that distinct hazel of his irises, seemed almost ethereal when combined with the bright blue of the waves, and more than once he caught me staring, offering a smile of his own that made me wonder where his own thoughts had turned to. I was able to take pictures and short videos of the scene on my phone, but I was sure the resulting images could never do justice to reality - still, I was glad to have the images to look back on later.
It was only when Josie was visibly struggling to fight off her tiredness that we decided to head back to the hotel for the night. It was still relatively early in the evening, but she'd had so much excitement leading up to that point that was well beyond her usual routine, nevermind the novelty of this beach trip itself, and at just a handful of weeks shy of seven years old, there was only so much that she could handle in a single day before exhaustion won out over all else. Yet even so, as Erik carried her while he and I walked side-by-side back to the parking lot, she couldn't stop talking about the bioluminescent tide she'd just played in as if it had come to her directly from a fairytale, her words animated in opposition to her weariness, and the smile that I'd been wearing in response grew with every word she spoke. We would make an occasion of going to the beach again that week before returning to Chicago - that was a necessity, if her reaction was an accurate gauge of the success of this visit - but nothing in the world compared to that first instant when she saw the ocean transformed into something from her dreams. Josephine's joy and the curiosity behind her smile, Erik's vibrant eyes and the easy manner that he rarely permitted himself to display so openly - those were sights that I'd never forget.
~~oOo~~
As fun as the springtime trip to San Diego had been, our commitments and responsibilities back in Schaumburg could only be set aside for the limited span of our vacation, and soon enough we were boarding our flight home. Still, though the chance to rest was very much appreciated, it was good to return to our day-to-day just the same; I'd missed my friends and my colleagues and my patients, Josie was looking forward to being back in school and busy with her afternoon activities, and Erik generally felt more content with our longterm routine overall, even as he'd admitted to enjoying the shift from that routine that our break by the Pacific brought us. As it happened, he had liked the trip so well that he'd been the one to suggest making our way back there more regularly, and I found myself agreeing easily, so we planned to go again later that summer when we would have more work hours to spare. By the time we went back at the beginning of August, we could swing the extended paid time off from the hospital, and Nadir, Sahra, and Zach were even able to join us - although Zach was around six years older than Josie, the two of them had always held a relationship much like cousins, and going to San Diego had allowed yet another common interest that bridged their difference in age nicely. Meg was more than willing to have Rex and Willow stay at her house to spoil her fur-baby niece and nephew - as she'd affectionately called them - and thus each element set the stage perfectly for an annual California vacation shared between our families.
After our trip in August, Josie was ready to start the second grade, doing so with all the enthusiasm of a seven-year-old. She genuinely loved everything about her school and the work she did there, I was glad to observe, and in her class, she had a close group of friends from our neighborhood that she saw often - between playdates with them outside of school that gave me a chance to catch up with the other parents, and her ongoing piano lessons and the beginning of her youth league soccer games on weekends, it was rare that she was without entertainment or companionship, and Erik and I were happy to see her continuing to thrive in each area of her life. I had been much the same as a child, my father and grandparents always wanting to keep me content in spite of lacking a relationship with my mother, yet Erik's only outlet when he was young had been his godmother and the music lessons that she'd insisted on, but otherwise he'd been adrift in the foster care system until his emancipation. So as our own daughter grew up, it meant a great deal to him that she would never have to experience those seemingly endless days without structure or a sense of achievement that we could praise her for, nor the loneliness that Erik had felt himself in turn. As such, Josie was given countless opportunities to break that cycle, to make friends and learn new things whenever possible, and I was both proud and fascinated by the way her personality further developed all the while.
She still enjoyed putting together art projects with me, though, as well as working on the holiday baking that we'd take over to my oncology department and to our neighbors that began as soon as the weather turned cold enough to make the constant churning out of recipes worthwhile - each of which were more traditions we'd shared, just the two of us, ever since she was little. But as Josie grew older, her preferences shifted from the simple crafts we'd scoured YouTube to find to more complicated work, going on to largely favor paint-by-number kits the best, and over time she announced that she'd wanted to add the final products of her efforts to the baked goods that we would bring to the hospital during the holiday season. That was one of my favorite aspects of all that I shared with her, just as Erik enjoyed the activities that were strictly father-daughter; he was the one to take the training wheels off her bicycle and teach her to ride a two-wheeler, to help her with piano practice between her formal lessons with her instructor, approaching each endeavor with a sense of patience that he reserved only for his child, and more than once I was reminded of my own father in witnessing my husband and daughter together. I was sure that Dad would have adored his granddaughter, but while that notion made the sting of his absence more apparent with each passing year, I was certain that he would have been proud of the person that Erik and I were raising all the same.
Another year came and went; we celebrated Josephine's eighth birthday in near-disbelief at how quickly time was going by with her, Erik and I spent an overnight trip lost in one another in Chicago for our wedding anniversary, and enjoyed the rest of the summer break in San Diego with the Khans before Josie started the third grade in September.
By that point, it was with no small amount of relief that my oncology residency had been successfully completed as well, though delayed, and with that completion I was given the option of moving beyond Cook County Hospital for employment or staying on as a fully-fledged physician in the department. It took considerable thought on my part, and more than one discussion with Erik on the matter, weighing each of the benefits and the drawbacks of either opportunity, but ultimately I chose to remain at County for the foreseeable future. I had spent so many years there, and had built a rapport and sense of trust with my coworkers, as well as my patients and their families, and I found that it was impossible to let any of them go, especially the patients whose treatment extended over several months and whose conditions necessitated recurring visits with me. I felt that I could reach more cancer patients and their families through the county hospital system, and looking to the upcoming years in my specialty, I aimed to spend my time accumulating resources and other types of assistance for them, namely the ones that were otherwise without access to such resources as a whole. Meg was in my cohort and finished out her residency alongside me, and had felt similarly about remaining in our department, and so we would go on to team up with our work and outreach projects together.
As I settled into my newest capacity as a doctor, Erik had been given his own opportunity for advancement in the surgical department - Dr. Reyes, the current chief of surgery there, announced that winter that she was planning on stepping down by the next academic year in favor of having more flexibility in her work and time with her family, which was well understood and supported, but her absence meant that the position was available to many of the long-standing doctors on staff, and Erik was among those that had earned such seniority. However, in the end, he chose to turn down the role when it was offered to him - while Dr. Reyes had been one of many that had saved his life after the shooting all those years ago, and while she had recommended him with high praises for his work, he determined that his time and skills were better used solely in the department itself, rather than managing the administrative side on top of having surgeries stacked in his schedule. Erik appreciated Dr. Reyes speaking favorably of him, acknowledged the friendship that they'd forged from so long working on the same team, but the thought of the commitments to seeking grants and overseeing faculty and countless other additional burdens that risked keeping him away from home was concerning, and when all was said and done, he was satisfied to have his work-life balance remain unchanged.
"It is a prestigious position, though," he'd reminded me, only a hint of hesitance carefully hidden beneath the casualness of his tone, when we had one last conversation on the issue before he was due to give his final answer to his higher-ups the following day. It was a particularly cold evening near the end of February, and he and I were holed up in the warmth of our bedroom then while Josie finished homework in her own room, both of us laying together on the floor to talk things through before his appointment.
"It is prestigious," I confirmed, then added, "But really, only on paper, and I agree with you that more responsibilities means more stress, and you didn't become a surgeon just to have to live behind a desk until you retire. Besides," I paused, leaning over him and kissing him quickly before continuing with mock-seriousness, "I didn't marry you for the prestige. I married you because you knocked me up."
He immediately responded with a broad smile, laughing deeply and losing himself in my unexpected humor; it took him a moment to compose himself, and I was happy to share that levity with him, that I had drawn out the reaction that I'd intended - he hadn't wanted to become the chief of his department from the start, that much had always been clear, but for all his stubbornness, I also knew him well enough to understand that he wouldn't make that decision without examining every possible angle, either, and it was a concern that had been nagging at his mind since it was first brought up. So when he informed his department leaders at their meeting the next morning that he was definitely and resolutely turning down their offer, he and I were both assured that he had done so after careful consideration and nothing less. Over time, he was informed that the search for the position was extended, and had ultimately been given to someone from outside our own hospital altogether, the role taken by Dr. Enoch Mirmotahari - a skilled, no-nonsense surgeon that Erik was immensely relieved to find that he worked well with, largely because the man refused to mince words and never pried into the personal affairs of his staff, instead only offering advice and conversation not related to their work when directly approached - and thus the search for the new chief of surgery was completed without incident.
Once that decision was finally put to rest, I noted a definitive change in Erik's demeanor. After he had completed his most recent therapy program, returned to sobriety, and was able to properly mourn for Gene, over the years Erik had settled down significantly in terms of his anxiety and the more disruptive symptoms of his PTSD - but while certainly wasn't without his share of struggles on either account, on the whole his day-to-day outlook and behaviors tended toward the peace that he'd been granted in the time before Gene's passing, when Josie was younger and our marriage was still relatively new and we hadn't needed to contend with circumstances that forced our family to the limits of what we could handle. Whenever he and I were given the chance to meet during work when we'd had similar shifts, he would make a point of taking my hand while we walked together, whether to have coffee quickly or share a meal if the schedule permitted, and he made sure to kiss me soundly at every greeting and parting. At home, if he wasn't occupied with me or Josephine, I'd more frequently catch him simply allowing himself to relax in his familiar surroundings, playing the piano or sometimes reading one of the old novels from the shelves in the office or the living room, other times going through recent issues of the medical journals he'd bring home from the hospital, but by then he addressed the latter with less urgency than he had in the past, his approach a reflection of his contentment.
On one such occasion, Josie and I had just come into the house after I had picked her up from school, and I'd walked over to the living room to to set down my keys and purse to find Erik lounging in front of the couch reading Bag of Bones, the tattered paperback among his favorites of Stephen King's novels from the 1990s. It was Erik's first of three days off on one of the consistently warm days after Josie's ninth birthday - the afternoon almost bordering on uncomfortable outside, but not quite enough so to warrant running the air conditioner while indoors - and so Erik had offhandedly mentioned shutting Willow into our bedroom upstairs earlier in favor of keeping the door leading out to the yard open to allow the steady breeze to cool off the space and keep air circulating. Rex was sprawled out on the deck then, and the sun streaming in nearly made the room glow, and I immediately felt at ease in the environment that Erik had created as I went to help Josie unpack her bag at the dining room table, listening to her chatter excitedly about that night's homework assignment all the while; as she explained, she was supposed to rewrite the ending of a fairytale of her choosing, and had decided on one from Hans Christian Andersen, but was unsure if we still had our copy of his works. I assumed it was still around somewhere, but with all of our books scattered in nearly every corner of the house and no real system in place to keep track of each of them, I couldn't make any guarantees.
"Check the office, babydoll," Erik chimed in from the living room where he'd continued to lounge - book in hand and never looking up from the pages entirely, I noted from where I stood between them at that point - but apparently catching enough of our daughter's words from just past the dining room's threshold to feel able to respond even so, "That's where I last saw it. If it isn't there, then we don't have it, but I'd put money on it being there."
"Thanks, Daddy," Josie said brightly as she passed the living room to begin her search.
As she disappeared in a rush into our small office beyond the staircase, I made my way back to my husband, sitting down on the floor beside him with a sigh that reflected my busy day and my subsequent gratitude to be home, and only then did he set the book aside and wordlessly put one arm around my shoulder, holding me close as I leaned into his familiar embrace and reached up to take his hand, absently brushing my thumb over his wedding ring in the silence. He knew without having to be told that I simply needed to be, and I appreciated his instinct. It was moments like this that I felt my greatest fulfillment beyond my work, reflecting on everything that we'd achieved and overcome through the course of our relationship, and I knew that he readily shared the sentiment. So many paths had irrevocably led us to where we were then, to the people that we'd become, and it was impossible to consider how our lives might have unfolded had anything gone differently; I was perfectly content in the assurance that I didn't have to make any such considerations, and as Josie eventually returned from hunting around the office for the book she needed - waving the object in question above her head with obvious pride for her success - not for the first time my good fortune echoed around me.
Sadly, though, even the best of times were marred with bouts of darkness - that was an inevitable matter of existence that we had no choice but to accept. In particular, after a fairly uneventful year had passed seemingly in the blink of an eye for our family, when she was just months shy of ten years old late in the following winter, Josie experienced the second significant tragedy of her life when we found out that Rex had to be put to sleep.
He had been fighting benign tumors on his body for the past two or so years by that point, but for the most part we were able to keep them under control by combining veterinary care and careful dosing of the medications prescribed. The elderly dog had been comfortable during all of that time, always maintaining his characteristic playfulness and affectionate nature, but recently the tumors had turned malignant, not uncommon for his breed, and the cancer spread quickly to his lungs from there. When it reached the extent that he was suffering, it was clear what we needed to do next, what the humane option was - but still, that didn't make committing to the choice any easier for us. Erik and I had experienced our own strong feelings on the subject, but it seemed that Josie was the one that was truly devastated, and understandably so. She was a well-mannered and mature child in many respects, but she was only a child nonetheless, and so initially she couldn't quite comprehend what it meant to put a dying animal out of its misery before allowing it to live bordered on cruelty. But Erik had adopted the dog years before we even met - Josie had never known a world without Rex, and to her, losing her pet was as devastating as the death of her beloved grandfather so long before. In her eyes, each soul was equal, and she was inconsolable when we sat her down to explain that Rex would be going to the vet soon, and that he wouldn't be coming home.
We allowed her to miss school the day of the appointment, and after spending that morning spoiling and cuddling Rex and making peace by saying our goodbyes to him, Erik and I determined that Josie could handle taking the dog to the vet with Erik and staying with them during the euthanization process. For my part, I knew that I wouldn't have the strength to join them, opting instead to stay at home with my tears and offer my support when it would be needed, but as soon as Erik and Josie returned without our old boy in tow, each of us fell apart together. It was something that our family had to go through as a unified front, the sad reality of owning a pet, and yet the pain of our loss would remain long after the fact - long after Rex's ashes were given to us with a hand-written sympathy card from the vet's office some weeks later, and Josie had made certain to hold a ceremony with an air seriousness and reverence beyond her age while Erik buried the box of ashes in the backyard. Jo had dedicated long hours to painting Rex's name and image on a large stone to serve as the grave marker, and cried in my arms when Erik set it up for her after his work on the burial was done, and my heart ached for my daughter all throughout the little memorial service she'd insisted upon that meant so much to her.
However, it quickly became apparent how empty our house felt without a dog sharing the space with us and Willow. Erik and I agonized over the decision, and faced more than one instance of unwanted criticism from beyond our immediate circle over how we'd eventually chosen to move forward, but in the end, we knew without a doubt that we would be wise to look into adopting another dog - mindful as we made our inquiries that we were most assuredly not relacing Rex, but rather hoping to give a loving home to an animal that needed one instead. We were the kind of people that considered our pets to be a part of the family, and anyway, Erik still needed a service dog to aid in managing his PTSD symptoms whenever they arose, which proved themselves time and time again to be unpredictable even with his history of therapy and use of antidepressants. So Erik reached out to the same group that he'd gotten Rex through, and after several weeks and numerous home visits to ensure that any potential adoptee would be the right fit for us and vice-versa, we were introduced to a dog named Tulula. As Rex had been, Tulula was trained to work with combat veterans like Erik, but she was also comfortable in more casual situations and with other animals and people of all ages, and after Josephine herself had expressed more than once that she approved of this specific adoption, we welcomed Tulula home, and she settled in with us perfectly.
~~oOo~~
As Tulula continued to bond with us and make her habits known and stake her claim on our household overall, Erik and I were also surprised around that time to receive a wedding invitation from Raoul and his fianceé, Eva Pérez, another physician from his residency program at Northwestern; I'd known through short text conversations with him every now and again that he had gotten engaged some months ago, and that he was legitimately head-over-heels for her, so I was glad to see that their wedding plans had worked out in spite of the several disagreements that he'd said had taken place between the parents on both sides of the family. Remembering Raoul's parents and their keen dislike of most people outside of their exceptionally tight social circle, I couldn't say that this detail came as any real shock, and I honestly felt bad that Eva had been made to deal with any of their needless drama surrounding her big day - but by my understanding, she typically carried herself with both stubbornness and poise, and thus was able to face their demands and judgements head-on.
"Good for her," I noted after I'd finished explaining the situation to Erik, speaking as he mulled over the invitation that was sitting between us on the dining room table the afternoon we'd opened it, "I think she's done the impossible."
"No kidding. The Chaneys sound like a colossal pain in the ass even on a good day."
"That's...putting it politely for them, yeah," I replied, not wanting to think for too long about the way they had treated me when Raoul and I were still together, before moving on, "Anyway, will you come with me? It's just the reception, and they've invited our old cohort and the Khans, so you'll know a lot of people from County there."
He sighed, and at the sound I mentally prepared myself for his refusal, but as another surprise that day, he just nodded, "It won't be the worst thing in the world," then he half-smiled, a teasing expression, "I'm only doing this because I'm into you, but you're worth it."
I laughed, "I would think so."
The reception itself was rather elaborate, which was exactly what I would have expected from the Chaneys, to be honest.
But admittedly, their expensive tastes also made for a good time for all of the guests, and after giving my congratulations to Raoul and Eva - who truly was an absolute sweetheart in-person - it was nice to have the opportunity for an informal reunion with everyone that I'd gone through medical school with while I was there, spared of the awkwardness of not knowing anyone besides the groom and his relatives, as well as to catch up with friends from California that I didn't get to see often anymore; we all got to show off pictures of our children and flash brand-new house keys and talk about every other possible bragging right that we'd each cultivated since we had last shared time as a complete group, and there were many interesting conversations to be had as a result between the traditional wedding festivities. Even Erik was willing to concede, midway through the evening after the garter-belt had been tossed, that accepting the invitation had been worthwhile after all, and in a display of casualness that differed greatly from his ordinarily reserved manner amid our colleagues, he was sure to remove his surgical mask and capture my attention for every slow dance that the DJ had on his list; arms around one another throughout the collection of classic love-ballads, we stole kisses in the middle of the crowded dance floor, neither of us caring who witnessed what we were doing, and altogether, I was thrilled that my husband was willing to come along with me.
After the wedding, Josie's tenth birthday swept us up in turn - and moreover, it once again gave Erik and myself a resounding pang of bittersweet sentimentality to realize that our baby girl was much closer to being a teenager now than an infant; but still, we were sincerely excited for the milestone regardless of the perspective it illustrated about the fleeting nature of childhood, and we wanted to observe that milestone accordingly, if not with a bit of flair. But since her birthday was at the beginning of May, school and work scheduling constraints meant that we needed to stay close to home on her birthday itself; we hosted a small celebration for her at our house in Schaumburg with her friends, and gifted her with passes to the San Diego Zoo and Knott's Berry Farm - the latter further inland from our usual coastal destination, but equally as appealing to our child, and thus worth the drive up to Buena Park - that we would use a few weeks later in June and forego the trip in August. Erik preferred to keep out of the crowds as a rule, and would likely hang back at the hotel from the zoo and the amusement park while Josie and I went with the Khans to both on separate days, but he was planning to come with us all to the beach as we had every year previously since that first summer we'd returned, and on the whole I believe that I was looking forward to the vacation as much as my daughter was.
As it stood, it was fortunate that Zach had come to California with us instead of going camping with his friends as he tended to that early in the season, because he was more than willing to go on the thrill-rides at Knott's with Josie, and therefore his presence allowed Nadir and Sahra and I to explore the areas of the park that were less oriented toward children, so we were all able to spend the better part of the day seeing and doing as much as we possibly could without getting burned out by the sprawling venue entirely. By the end of the trip to San Diego itself, Josie couldn't decide whether she had enjoyed Knott's Berry Farm or the San Diego Zoo more, chattering enthusiastically about her favorite aspects of each on our last full day of the trip; Erik had met us at the hotel to help prepare to spend the rest of the afternoon at the beach, and we were lucky to have arrived at just the right time to secure a firepit for our group. Once we'd settled, Josie and Zach went to scan the shoreline in search of shells, and while we kept a close eye on them as they wandered, Erik and I maintained our own easy conversations with Nadir and Sahra, all of us happy to simply be in one another's company as the fire grew in its cinder-block crater and Sahra provided music from her phone over the roaring waves ahead of us. And when the kids returned from their hunt and I'd found myself sitting on Erik's lap in his camp chair, I couldn't imagine a better scene for the people that I loved the most.
Still, as unquestionably brilliant as that day had been, a part of me was distracted at intervals by looking forward to the evening that Erik and I had set aside.
It was our final night in the hotel before we flew back Chicago early the following morning, and even though the trip was largely centered around everything that we'd arranged for Josie's birthday, that year our travel schedule just happened to fall close enough to our wedding anniversary that we decided to take advantage of being away from home for that event as well. We celebrated our marriage together every year since the wedding, of course, but those celebrations were usually local to us by necessity, spent at our favorite venues and coffee shops and walking paths in the city, so this time around we took the opportunity to use the novelty of being elsewhere to make the occasion - or near enough to it, at the very least - become that much more memorable, simply because we cared enough for each other to make the gesture in the first place. So, knowing that we would appreciate the time on our own and why, the Khans agreed to take Josie in their care until they needed to bring her back for her bedtime, and with her occupied with the dinner and sightseeing drive that they'd had planned, Erik and I were free to spend that handful of hours alone together for a date night - a rarity itself with our lives as busy as they were, our moments of intimacy generally stolen late at night in the darkness of our bedroom when our daughter was already asleep and the house was shut down.
Considering little liaison that Erik and I had decided on for our night, I'd dressed up a bit in preparation for it, wanting very much to feel particularly feminine and strong and alluring for our time together - characteristics that I knew appealed to him greatly in terms of our physical relationship, as much as they bolstered my own confidence as a whole in turn. While I got myself ready and shut off all but the two bedside lamps, leaving the room in a muted glow and casting sharp shadows in every corner, Erik had taken a shower after me in order to wash away the sand and smoke that stubbornly remained from our small bonfire at the beach earlier that day; when he emerged from the whirling steam of the ensuite, my efforts to highlight my appearance and show off my curves had brought about the exact effect on him that I'd wanted, and I smiled inwardly at his regard. Only half-dressed himself in dark clothing - just boxers and a button-down shirt that he'd left hanging open on his body - he visibly paused when he first noticed me lounging on the bed with music playing at a low volume from my phone on the nightstand, a distinct look of mingled desire and intrigue flashing in his eyes as he approached me in several quick strides.
"You look amazing tonight, Christine," he said in an even tone - although the intensity of his gaze betrayed his true feelings just the same as he took in the flowing black skirt and dark red blouse that I'd had no intention of keeping on for much longer, before he leaned over me where I had moved to the edge of the bed. Then, the instant that we were face-to-face with each other, he carefully held my head in his hands and brushed his thumbs tenderly against the sensitive skin on my jaw, kissing me deeply, and I was nearly overwhelmed by the ardor he extended in that embrace. The kiss that he'd given to me only hours ago at the beach, when he'd taken me tightly in his arms as I sang along to the Cranberries sounding from Sahra's phone, had been a promise of what was to come as much as a sincere display of affection while we sat alongside our family's carefree laughter and the sunset in the haze of smoke from our firepit, and the touch of his lips to mine in this moment told me in no uncertain terms that he was going to make good on that promise now.
"Thank you, so do you," I responded honestly when we'd parted, thrilled by my attraction to him yet still wasting no time in kissing him once more, my actions bordering on urgent as I drew him closer to me, stopping the kiss only long enough for a murmured Come here as I maneuvered our positions to have him sit beside me. When he complied, I gave him a meaningful, coy glance before meeting his mouth with my own again, and then broke away and knelt onto the floor in front of him, trailing my lips slowly down his chest and stomach along the way. That contact - the deliberate hint of what I was doing next - was enough to spark his arousal that much more, and in his anticipation, when I finally did look directly at him, I could see his manhood coming to life before my eyes. Freeing him from the fabric of his boxers, I reached for the flavored condom that I'd set aside on the nightstand and rolled it onto his length - an item that we'd enjoyed in the past and kept around for fun lately - before taking him in my mouth in one deft motion. There was no question that he was getting satisfaction from what I was doing - he kept one hand tangled in my hair at the back of my head, the other gripping the side of the mattress fiercely - but soon enough, as I continued to to move my head to an invisible and steady rhythm and run my tongue up and down his shaft and back to the tip, he suddenly moved to pull me away.
"Stop, just...hold on," he said, his voice tight even as it was apologetic for the abruptness of his interruption, "I don't want this to end here, but if you keep doing that, it will," he added. Smiling and understanding his meaning - and feeling more than a little smug for how I'd affected him in only a matter of minutes - I nodded and slipped off the condom, doing so carefully in the wake of his words, before moving up to sit beside him in the middle of the bed. I was about to shift to be able to straddle him when he halted my attempt, "Turnabout, babe. And if you touch me right now, I'm done for."
Another smile on my part, and a soft laugh that he quickly returned, but each expression was soon stalled by his lips set firmly to mine once more. Allowing wandering hands up my arms and resting them on my shoulders, he gently pushed against me to have me lie backward, and then he positioned himself just barely over me on my side, running one hand down my body, yet never breaking our kiss as he came into contact with the intricate lace hidden under the waistband of my skirt - then, all at once, that hand was beneath the material and easing long fingers skillfully inside of me, touching the bundle of nerves above as he set to work.
"Tell me what you want," he whispered between movements, each long-practiced and perfected, the purposeful slide in and out of my core leaving me breathless and gripping his wrist to drive him onward, "I need to hear you unravel for me."
Still, even though he'd left my thoughts racing and disjointed, I managed to respond, "I want you, I want all of this. Go faster...keep going - yes…"
He pressed his forehead to mine and ground against me as he continued, doing as I had asked and then some - and, losing track of the world in the expert attention of his fingers, I found myself crying out for him as sparks burst within my mind, my body shuddering and clenching with the intensity of it all. When I returned to my senses, I urged him to lie above me, and he did so immediately, shifting his weight by bracing his arms on either side of me before lowering his head and resuming our kiss, now decidedly softer than those initial frenzied exchanges that had set this encounter into motion, but soon he had deepened that kiss, until I felt his tongue at my lips, demanding entrance, and I opened my mouth to meet it with my own.
We sat up together again an immeasurable time later, pausing our kiss long enough to share further touches and only those, and then to rid each other of what remained of our clothing, until we were completely bared in front of one another. His broad, graceful hands were cool against the mild sunburn I'd gotten on my shoulders as he brushed them along my arms, my collarbone, teasing at my breasts for a time before winding his arms around my back, and he just looked into my eyes then, nothing but love shining in searing hazel. He was still so thin - that would never change about him - but overall handsome in his way, in spite of his past dismissals of my insistence on that point, and my admiring stare roved over his pale skin, taking in the scars along his right arm and across his chest, each as much a part of him now as the tattoos that had faded over the years since they were first etched into the canvas of his flesh. But, as always, it was his scars that captured my attention the most, and as a show of gratitude for the scope of his drive toward survival, I leaned in and gently kissed one of the distinct marks that the bullet through his chest had left in its wake. It was impossible to forget the origins of his scars whenever I saw them, but we'd discussed them countless times before tonight, and for the moment, the matter only had to be acknowledged, rather than dwelled on for too long.
Even so, Erik knew without having to be told outright where my thoughts had suddenly turned, and he spoke softly, as if reading my mind and understanding the need to be heard in that instant, "That was all worth it to come back to you."
I smiled, unable to find the words to express everything that I'd wanted to, everything that he meant to me, so instead of filling the air with anything else at all, we just silently agreed to move on from there. In the next instant, our lips and tongues met again in slow and languid kisses, hands moving on to heated skin, our breaths heavy and our hearts racing in time with one another.
He gasped sharply when my fingers lightly moved downward over his stomach before trailing still lower, gripping his arousal and once again shifting us so that I was lying down and he was on top of me, a long-preferred position between us. Drawing my legs up on either side of him and smoothing his disheveled hair back from his forehead, I opened myself to him, and he entered me with one steady motion - and before I knew it we had fallen into sync, connected at the cradle of my hips and moving in time immediately thereafter. He leaned down to kiss my lips, then my neck, his hand on my breast as the other clasped one of mine and raised it high above my head, entwining our fingers there, and he rocked his hips against mine as he moved within me, drawing out his name on my voice in response to his alternating between maddeningly slow and powerfully insistent thrusts. I had to keep my eyes closed tightly to concentrate on returning everything that he was extending to me, but he clearly approved of my efforts even so; he kissed me again, hard and demanding, and I felt myself coming undone once more beneath him, around him, and in turn he froze for a beat, perhaps no longer than a second, very likely brought over the edge by my own completion. As I felt the strong, hot pulse of his release, his kiss remained firm, his every inhalation as unsteady as my own all the while.
When it was done, we held each other close as we allowed our breathing to return to normal, lying side-by-side in a tangle of white sheets and the lingering sensitivity that we felt resonating in our bodies by what we'd just experienced together. Close to fifteen years with the man from the time that we'd first met, and he had never once failed to make me see stars at his touch ever since - I loved him so much that it hurt.
Pulling me from my thoughts, yet once again seemingly reading my mind just the same, Erik held me more securely to him as he spoke, "Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me, do you know that? I don't think I say that to you enough," he sighed, "I don't know what I'd be without you…I can't even imagine."
"Well, you don't have to imagine," I said firmly, setting my hand gently on the scarred side of his face and ensuring that I made eye-contact with him as I continued seriously, "I'm not going anywhere."