"No thanks," she answered, smiling weakly. "How much longer do you think we have?"
"We should hit Burlington within the next hour," he guessed. The resort was on the other side of Burlington, Vermont, which ran parallel with upstate New York and was just inside the state line.
She watched him pump the gas and sighed to herself. Being stuck in a rut was no fun. She turned in her seat to see her baby girl sitting in her car seat in the back, playing and singing to herself. She smiled.
Ross reentered the car after not too much longer and she looked at home from across the consol. He was intentionally averting his eyes from her-- she could tell. She wanted so badly to talk about what had occurred between them that morning, but she knew that wouldn't solve anything. They'd never worked anything out by 'talking through it'. No, that wasn't them. They struggled with it individually and mutely, screamed at each other at the pinnacle of their frustrations, and then knew they loved each other too much to leave or hold onto it, in the end. That was much healthier than being able to 'communicate'...
He put his hand on the back of her headrest to back the car up, and she felt her heart skip a beat. She rolled her eyes right after she realized what she'd done. Sometimes she felt like they were still 'right there', as she'd put it to Chandler so many years ago-- right at the beginning of their relationship, but not always in a good way. Sometimes they would still have stretches where it was just 'sex and talking' all the time, and that was good and made them both feel alive and young, and, ironically enough, was just the type of thing that usually alleviated the issue Ross was having now.
Sometimes, though, they were back at the beginning, and not in a good way. They were back there in the sense that they were still too uncomfortable and nervous around each other to really speak their minds. All of the familiar commodities that come with being in a long-term relationship-- the unspoken understanding, the comfort, the security-- weren't always there for them. Those things were taking a vacation, now, as a matter of fact. Rachel wondered how there could be times when she wouldn't even have to be looking at him to know exactly what he was thinking...followed so quickly by times like these, when they could be sitting 2 feet from each other and still be miles apart.
She starred out at the passing by scenery. She saw him only through the distorted reflection in the window. He looked so stern-- his teeth clenched firmly as he gripped the wheel with a locked fist. His jaw was taught and his eyes were fixed austerely on the road. She admired him for a moment, and wondered how he could ever think that age had caught up to them. It wasn't as if they were old. His hairline had not even begun to recede, his muscles were still definitive, his skin still tanned, and his eyes still that same chocolaty brown. She recalled recent nights of partying, campaign sipping and loving-making marathons. She smiled briefly, lost in thought. The man still possessed the will to bring her to her knees, screaming and begging for mercy. How could he yearn for a past when it was, in her eyes, no better than the present?
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Snow was just beginning to flurry down as they pulled up to the ski lodge. It was only early afternoon, but they were already visibly exhausted and carried their luggage to the room in almost complete silence. Emma was asleep in Ross' arms the entire way.
The suit was nice, with a gorgeous view of a massive frozen pond in the foreground and the snow-covered slopes in the distance. Off of the cozy living room, with raised ceilings and deep-stained hardwood floors, was the master bedroom off to the left and a wet bar and kitchenette off to the right. Everything was decorated in rich, deep colors and Native American patterns. It was everything you might think of if someone said 'ski lodge'. The ambiance was dampened a bit, though, by the thick silence that still governed over them.
"I think I'm going to join Emma for a nap," Ross whispered with a soft smile, heading off into the bedroom with his daughter slung over his shoulder. Rachel nodded but was secretly frustrated. She'd counted on a chance to talk once they reached the inn.
She wrapped herself in a thick afghan that was thrown over the back of the couth in the living room and ventured out onto the balcony. She looked out over the miles of frozen snow and ice and whiteness. It was all so untouched and new--so virgin. It looked like a clean slate. Maybe it could be one for them. Maybe this weekend could be the moment they've been waiting for-- when they can make love for the first time in a long time without guilt or sadness or neediness looming over their heads. Those things aren't always bad, and they certainly never negated the love behind the sentiment, but she longed to make love to him the way they used to-- for love's sake, and nothing else. She did miss that about 'the old days'.
She remembered entire days when they hadn't left the bed-- they couldn't-- they'd been so wrapped up in each other. She sighed and smiled reverently, wishing for all those spaces between the silences to be filled again with promised of forever and all the words that had been missing for so long.
The problem was simple-- they both wanted all the undying, irreplaceable, unduplicated love they'd harvested after all these years without all the baggage.
And that was simply impossible.
They'd never again be able to have that same blind passion that had consumed them so many years ago-- that was buried along with their first relationship, and they were no longer blind or naive. Those feelings had been amazing and inspiring...but they'd also been childish, and they had no time for silliness like that anymore. They had their own child, now.
Rachel waited for the onslaught of tears that she was sure would be coming, provoked by this revelation. Somehow, though, she found herself oddly comforted in this epiphany. Those feelings had been smothering and exhausting, and admittedly even a little unhealthy at times. They'd lived for that all-encompassing consumption of love-- for the sex marathons and the reckless abandon and the responsibility to no one but themselves. And that had burned them out, in the end.
Maybe this new dynamic would just take some getting used to. In leaving all of those things behind-- in growing up and letting go-- what were they gaining? They'd never stopped to think of that. They had so many things now that had been foreign to them as young, irresponsible lovers.
They had the security and stability of a home. It's not that they no longer were ABLE to sneak around and forge lovers' trysts under the radar of their roommates-- it was that they no longer HAD to.
They had jobs they loved, and more importantly, were now accountable enough to balance them healthily and contentedly with one another.
They had the means for weekends away, like this one, to enjoy the world together and step outside their monotonous, sheltered existence inside The Village.
They had a child together. Emma. They had a tangible manifestation of all the twisted, fated, contrived moments in their lives that had lead them inevitably back to one another. And she was beautiful-- a perfect combination of them.
No, they could never again be the same "Ross and Rachel" that had ogled so awkwardly and childishly over one another 7 years ago. They were different now-- more grown up and more mature-- and they'd never go back. They had more baggage and more scars, more memories and more stories, more days together and nights apart, more tearing aparts and coming togethers, more loose strings and frayed ends. They had...more. They were more, now.
She got up and walked back inside, closing the sliding door quietly behind her as to not wake them. She shuffled slowly into the darkness of the bedroom and stepped just inside, leaving the door cracked behind her just the tiniest bit. A soft ray of light in the shape of the crack crawled across the floor and up the mattress to rest across his sleeping form. He did not stir, though, or even wince. Emma was curled up at his side, her face burrowed into her father's shoulder, both of them sleeping soundly as babies.
She made her way to his side of the bed and kneeled down on the floor. His five o'clock shadow was darkening. She smiled. Usually, if he had any hint of a beard at all, she'd tell him to shave it. She kind of liked it, now, though. It was sophisticated. It fit him. She ran her hand up his arm to his bicep, marveling at the tension of his muscles. They seemed to shift and tighten, even in his sleep. She moved her hand across his stomach and rested it there, watching it rise and fall with his even, shallow breaths. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. A thick wave of his cologne wafted towards her and she took it in.
She felt something softly graze her hand, and she opened her eyes. His face was turned towards her, now, his eyes open slightly. He'd moved his hand to rest it atop hers on his stomach, and he was stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. He smiled weakly.
"Hi," she whispered, ever so slightly, her voice coming out barely above a breath.
"Hi," he greeted back. He held her hand more firmly, now, and tugged on it lightly, signaling her to come closer to him.
She moved her face up next to his and rested her chin on the pillow. Neither of them said a word. He closed his eyes again and she ran her unoccupied hand through his hair, rustling it up and then smoothing it out.
"Lay with me?" he asked so softly she scarcely even heard him. She smiled and nodded, climbing gently up into the bed beside him. She nestled in beside him, her head resting on his shoulder and her arm draped over his middle. He wrapped one arm around her back and used the other to stroke her shoulder and side. Their breathing evened out and kept in time with one another, always keeping one step ahead of their heartbeats.
"I love you, you know," he whispered, his mouth so close to her face that his lips grazed her forehead.
"I know," she assured, rubbing his stomach affectionately to emphasize. She did know. She also knew that the way he loved her now was entirely different than the way he had loved her 7 years ago. It was a little different every day, and it had changed and shifted with each 24-hour interval since they'd met up until today. And it always would. And she was okay with that.
Still, she knew it was important to still feel young again on occasion. Hell, they were still young. She didn't know exactly what yet, but she'd do something amazing for him tonight that would make him forget all about this premature mid-life crisis. She would knock his socks off. He will have never felt so young.
Until tonight, though, they'd just be together. Older and wiser. Just as much in love.