Page 11 of A World Without You
“What?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head, trying to wrap my head around the endless impossibilities that can show up in a dream. “So, I have celiac. What else? A million dollars cash in the closet? A passion for pickle ball? Is my third grade teacher going to show up and tell me I’ve wasted all my potential? Oh, let me guess! I give birth to a cat!”
His body freezes, and then he turns and looks at me, slowly placing the cooked sausage on a paper towel sitting on a plate. He sets the tongs down, and the copper hits the stone countertop with a clink, and he zeroes in on me. “Who gave you the edible last night? Because at this point, I’m concerned and I’m wondering if we should go to the doctor.”
I shake my head and play it off with a smile. I have to, right? I don’t want to complicate this dream. “Sorry, I just” —gulp— “need to eat. Maybe the wine and weed hit me harder than I thought.”
He plates two gluten-free pancakes and three sausages and slides the plate over to me as I hike my butt up on a stool.
“Thank you,” I say as he douses the pancakes in maple syrup. I cut into them and take a bite. “Oh my God! These are gluten-free?!”
He claps then pumps his fist as he shouts, “Yes!” Then he does a victory lap around the kitchen, arms outstretched. I laugh as he soars around the island in his gray sweatpants.
“What is this celebration for?” I ask, my tone wry.
“You know I’ve been trying to perfect the gluten-free recipe for you. When you were diagnosed last year, you literally said, ‘no pancakes?’ and I knew—IknewI had to find the right recipe,” he says, pride dancing all over his face, making me smile. “I’ve tried rice flour, oat flour, cassava flour...turns out we just needed the blend from Costco.”
I cackle, shoving another bite in my mouth. “I miss Costco.” I swallow the bite in my mouth. Roslyn doesn’t have a Costco nearby.
“It is a gem among diamonds, isn’t it?” he says, taking a bite of his pancakes. Pride is washed over his features. So is something else—a tenderness, a caring nature I used to know. Even when he worked day in and day out. When he would skip events and parties because of work, I’d still come home and remember flashes of this man. He loved me around his work. But right here, at this moment, I can tell work is something he does, but I’m the one he not only loves but adores.
Our history washes over me—high school friends and college sweethearts with dreams after graduation. We’ve known each other for so long. Or, used to know each other.
He was my first love, and for eight years, he was the only love I knew. But it only took one week for me to screw it all up.
It’s stupid to feel so loved over pancakes. But I do. I bite my lip hard, suppressing my emotions.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
There’s a deep, weighted pause. “Are you crying?”
I shake my head, but tears are in my eyes. Within seconds, his strong, familiar arms wrap around me, and I pinch him tight between my legs, interlocking my fingers around his neck. “This means a lot to me.”
I stare up at him, and he stares back. The gray of his irises deepens the longer he looks at me. “I’ll perfect every recipe you need me to just so I know you’re happy...and your tummy is satisfied,” he adds for good measure and I grin. “At least I got the stuffing right on the first try,” he adds and I laugh. I don’t remember this. I don’t even know if it’s true. But I want it to be. I want to know that when he discovered gluten could kill me, he made everything I love safe for me to enjoy.
“I think I still love you,” I blurt, color rushing to my cheeks.
“Still?” Colin questions but I don’t miss the pause right before he says it. He bites his plush lower lip and squints at me with a smile pulling at his perfect mouth, then bites my neck. “Baby, when have you ever stopped?”
I should shudder. I should push him away. I should panic a little when his lips sink into mine. Instead, I melt, welcoming it, opening my legs wider and gripping the muscles on his lower back with my hands, urging him closer. He parts my lips with his tongue, and I taste the maple syrup as he slides a hand inside my robe, letting his fingers graze over each curve—pinching, gripping—until I’m aching low and deep for him.
I reach into his sweatpants and take him in my hand. The weight. The feel. The length. It’s all exactly how I remember. This is the most vivid of dreams I’ve ever had about Colin. In my mind, I know this isn’t real, even if my heart kind of hopes so. I just left my husband of five years. I broke out of Roslyn and wound up here, rediscovering him.
Colin moans as his bottom lip grazes my ear and he tugs gently on my hair with both hands. His kisses become hungry. Desperate. My hands can’t touch him enough. I want his warm skin on mine. I want to trace every inch of him with my fingertips. I want to remember us. Only us and all we could have been.
“What do you have to do today?” I ask, breathless and pulling off his t-shirt.
He draws back just slightly, his lips still tickling mine. “Just you, my love. I’m calling in sick to work.”
A slow winding pulls inside me as I register the hungry way he’s looking at me, with his brown hair swooped just barely over his forehead. He rubs his nose against mine, teasing me. Testing me.
I grip the waistband of his sweatpants and pull them off until they’re on the kitchen floor and Colin is standing in front of me completely naked. My gaze drops along with my jaw and I feel my cheeks grow hot. He reaches out and brushes my cheek bone with his knuckles. “I love how you still get nervous.”
“I’m not,” I say, but the shake in my voice would indicate otherwise. Then, as quickly as the nerves come, they dissipate, and I unleash a smile as I run a languid finger down his abdomen. A lazy smile slides over his lips, and I know exactly what’s about to happen as soon as his smile clicks into place. In one smooth movement, he grabs my neck with his hand, tilting my jaw up toward him and he kisses me like I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted for breakfast. His movements are measured, not as if he’s learning my body but as if he already knows every single square inch of my skin.
My body eases into a new level of comfort at his touch. It’s as if he’s breathing life back into me.
But I’ll wake up. All good dreams come to an end eventually.
