The room is a pale sea glass turquoise-green, with bare wooden picture frames and a bed frame that was stripped and sanded and left natural, because it looked so amazing he couldn't paint it again. A bowl of shells is on the desk. Hints of his favorite ocean are everywhere but it isn't kitschy, it's home. The only giveaway is the set of vintage midway photographs on the wall and the photograph of a teenage Bridget on the desk, embraced by that rusted Ferris wheel from four lifetimes ago.
My skin is cold from being outdoors early, as the sun was rising. I snuggle into the blankets and his arm slides down around me, pulling me in against his warmth. A sleepy kiss crash lands against my ear and he whispers Good morning, beautiful. I return the greeting and close my eyes. The house is quiet, the waves are quiet outside his window, thrown wide open, wind twisting the curtains.
I reach up and press that imaginary button again. Time stops, but only for as long as it takes me to exhale a single breath.
I sleep.
Surprisingly I wake up closer to a reasonable hour and he is nowhere to be found. The blankets are tucked tightly around me, my covered coffee mug on his bedside table, beside his glasses and a copy of Infinite Jest.
And a note that says Sleep in for a while, Bridgie. Just for once. Love you.
