October 1982 – Fairfield, CT

Angela slowly sat up in her bed, the rumpled covers tucked around her. Whatever time it was, it was too early for sunlight. She looked around their – my – room, and a density swelled in her head. Michael still had some things to get, but his normal stuff was gone. Looking at it all now, she started to hate her own things. Most of it was high quality, and it couldn't be more lacking.

But the worst part was looking around and seeing the stuff that was theirs. She couldn't stand to be here while he was packing, but it was clear that Michael hadn't taken any of it. The clocks, the paintings, the furniture, the telephones – it was all still there. She never would have fought him for anything, but he hadn't even asked. It's like he didn't value any of it, any of "them". Or maybe he just didn't want to remember. But whatever the reason, Angela was sitting with the leftovers and they were many.

And the funny thing was, it seemed too soon for leftovers. As torturous as their relationship had been, this felt abrupt.

Consciousness awakened after she did, and Angela blinked her swollen eyes in the darkness. They felt brittle. Her throat was dry. And her sole breath in the room devastated her.

She'd been left.

But no more tears came. Just the oppressive headache remained. It had been her near constant companion since her drive home from Newark, and she couldn't even begrudge its haunting dance with the darkness in the room.

Angela noticed the blue light of night falling through the window, and she turned her head to look at it. The strangest thought of Michael coming up to the glass, wanting to come in, to be with her, came to her mind. Then the tears came.

She curled up onto the pillow on his side; he hadn't even taken that.


November 1982 – Wallace & McQuade, NYC

Angela rubbed her aching forehead, and spoke into the phone with as soft a restraint as she could. "Michael, please. Couldn't you meet up with your crew a day later? Jonathan loved that you were there for his party last year - and he noticed because he remembered you hadn't been there the year before. It matters to him. And he's really been missing y-"

"Angela, I have to work. You, of all people, should understand that," Michael clipped coolly.

"It can't wait one more day?"

"You can't move a 5 year old's party?"

"It isn't the 5 year olds who would be moving their schedules around. I didn't know what day you were leaving."

"You didn't ask."

Angela sighed. He's right. I didn't. And I know he's not the one who values celebrations. If I wanted him to be there, I should've made sure he could be.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I just…really want you to be there. Please?"

There was silence on the other end, and Angela's eyes closed, bracing for whatever hit would come.

"Do you know what it feels like to have my wife plead for me to come home for her scheduled festivities, and not to just come home – or even not to go at all?"

All of her mental preparedness did not prepare her for that.

"Wh- what?" she stammered.

"You haven't made one ounce of protest. In any of this. Why?" Michael asked.

Angela couldn't tell if it was said in orneriness or genuine hurt, but she was frantically decoding as he continued to talk. "Because you don't actually want me there? You just want me to show up for a party? For appearances? Jonathan knows I won't forget his birthday, so what is this really about?"

That was actually a very good question. Why did she need to make this about her? Jonathan did miss his father, and she knew he would be over the moon to have him show up. She thought that's why she was asking. But maybe it was more than that. Did she want Michael to come home? She had no idea. She hated that he was gone. She was leveled, actually. But she didn't know how to fix how awful she felt. It's not like she'd done well with Michael there… She hated that this still felt like a game. And she hated that Michael was trying to make it about appearances; she knew that wasn't the problem. But what was it?

"Look, I don't have time for you to come up with an excuse, okay? I'll make sure Jonathan knows I remembered his birthday. I don't need to color inside your lines for that. Goodb-"

"I miss you," Angela's little voice blurted out.

Michael waited a beat. "What did you say?"

"I love you," Angela said a little more solidly.

She heard Michael breathing on the other end of the line. Somebody should be. She had no idea what she wanted, but these were the truest things she could say at the moment. It felt like forever, but he finally responded.

"Angela, I can't keep doing this. We're never really okay. I'm pretty sure we both want to be, but we aren't. And after what happened, I don't know that we even can be. So why are we dragging this out?"

Angela took a few moments to preemptively wrangle the waver in her voice. It didn't work. "Because we don't actually know." A full-on cry escaped, "And I really want you there. Please, Michael?"

A few seconds passed, and Michael quietly said, "Okay… I'll fly out the next day."


November 1982 – Fairfield, CT

Angela looked out the kitchen window from where she was putting the candles onto Jonathan's cake. Everybody was in their jackets and gloves so they could take their turn at the piñata strung up over the driveway. Michael lifted Jonathan onto his back, and let him swing from higher up. Angela smiled warmly, not entirely sure that would help Jonathan's swing, but certain it would help his heart.

Michael ducked away at the last second, teasing Jonathan about his inaccuracy. Jonathan protested, but he and the other kids were all laughing. Angela chuckled to herself. He really is an asshole.

Michael finished the game with the kids, Jenny wielding the final blow. In mere seconds, the driveway was picked clean of candy, and Angela leaned out the back door.

"Okay, everybody! Time for cake!"

All the kids ran inside with their stuffed pockets. Michael came in last, pausing by the door Angela was still holding. He lifted a cherry Tootsie Pop between them, and held a close gaze for a couple of seconds. She took it from him gently, a breath of a smile more lighting her eyes than her mouth.


"You put on a nice party," Michael said as he walked down the stairs, having put Jonathan to bed. After the commotion of the afternoon, the house had seemed so quiet that the interruption startled Angela.

She smiled, collecting herself and standing from the couch. "Thank you for your help. I think he had a nice time."

Michael gave her a flat smile. "Yeah." He looked around for a second or two. "Well, thank you for inviting me. I'm glad I could be here for it."

She responded softly from across the room, "You made his day."

Michael didn't drop their stare, but also didn't say anything. Finally, he nodded, and went to the halltree for his coat.

Pain and panic pumped in her chest. "How long are you going for?" she said, grasping.

Michael shrugged into his coat, and turned toward her. "Five months."

Angela tried to keep her expression level, but she couldn't see through the tears. Another five months. Opening her eyes wider to disperse them as best she could, she took a solidifying breath. "That's- that's a long time," she said, like she was making conversation.

His face hardened just a bit, and he zipped up his coat. "Yup. But at least I'm back with my old crew this time. They've been chomping at the bit to get out there. And I won't have to edit the ibex piece at all."

Based on Michael's reaction at the airport, Angela imagined things didn't end well with the other crew. But it was nice to hear him validate her assumption. She certainly hoped she never saw them again.

Angela made an elongated nod, not knowing what to say.

Michael put on his leather gloves, and took a breath. "Thanks, again, Angela. You really did a good job today," he said seriously.

She closed her eyes. He has no idea how much I want to hear him say that – in whatever I'm doing. Her voice came out little, but sincere."Thank you, Michael."

He smiled sadly for a few seconds, staring at her. Then he walked out the door.

"Please don't go!" Angela blurted through a deep cry.

Michael's hand was still on the knob, and he dropped his head to his chest. Turning in to face her, he said quietly, "What are you doing, Angela?"

With wide eyes and a shaking shrug, she said, "Crying. By myself. Begging you not to leave."

Michael exhaled, and spoke slowly. "I really don't know what to do about us. Being here feels confusing." He shrugged and flopped his hands at his sides. "You have to know how I actually want to say goodbye to you… But we're a nightmare together, and we both know it."

Angela looked off to the side and nodded. Sniffing, she wiped her eyes, and walked toward him. Fast. Strong. She walked right into his mouth, and kissed him hard. Pushing him back against the open door, she pinned him roughly at the abdomen.

Angela fought for them with her mouth, and the weight of her body she channeled into her open palms. If Michael needed to hear her ask him to come back, fine. She couldn't keep him there, but God help her, she was going to make sure he spent those five months inescapably distracted.

Angela pulled her lips from Michael's, and held a close and intense eye contact as she slid her hands around him. He still looked hesitant, but he was paying attention. Securing her fingers under his coat, on his belt behind him, Angela stepped them back so she could shut the door. As serious as she'd ever been, her throaty voice told him, "I don't care."


December 1982 – Fairfield, CT

Angela and Jonathan walked in the front door, and pranced off the snow. "Well, buddy, do you want to open it now, or wait 'till Christmas?" she asked him.

Jonathan jumped up and down, smiling widely. "Now!"

"Me, too!" Angela laughed as she carried the big box into the kitchen. Grabbing some scissors, Angela sliced the packing tape. "Okay, let's see what Daddy sent you…"

She opened the box, still hardly believing Michael had remembered Christmas from the field. Jonathan was bouncing next to her, and she lifted back the flaps. Impossibly, Jonathan's eyes brightened even more as he pulled out a stuffed leopard toy. Angela smiled in a warm sadness down at her son. Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut to hug it, and Angela swallowed a gulp. I understand, buddy. Reaching in the box, she pulled out two cards.

"He sent you a Christmas card, too," she said, handing him the green one with his name on it. Grinning, Jonathan took it and opened it as fast as he could. There was a picture of a Gandhi statue on the front, underneath Hindi writing. Jonathan frowned a little, but opened the card as Angela read over his shoulder.

Jonathan, they didn't have a bunch of Christmas cards to choose from, but there were plenty left over from Gandhi's birthday. Merry Christmas, little tiger. I hope you like the leopard. Let's hope I can get just as close to the real ones. Be good for your mom. Wish me luck! Love, Daddy

Jonathan smiled widely. "I'm going to go put these in my room!"

Angela watched him leave, then bit her lip as she opened her own "Christmas" card.

Angela, I miss you. I can't think of anything to write other than that. It's really my only thought. I hope you both have a nice Christmas. I love you, Michael

PS – I know you thought I'd probably get you the Kama Sutra or something, but you'll just have to wait for that.

Angela laughed to herself, and looked back in the box. A manila envelope was at the bottom, and she opened it. A deep violet, silk scarf unfurled in her hands. She fingered the smooth material gently. Holding it up to her face, she closed her eyes. You have such a power over people, you know that, Michael?


A/N: I couldn't control myself; I had to go to a local library so I could use a computer. I'll get back as often as I can.