Leaving New York

We awoke making love.

It was our last day together. Later that evening, I would leave town on a business trip. Madeline would stay in my apartment for a few days more, on her own.

Our last day was the first sunny day of our long weekend together. Madeline smiled as the sun reached her cheeks through my bedroom window, warming her as we fucked.

The night before, I had served up a late dinner sometime around midnight. Afterwards, I had sex with Mitzi on the couch as Madeline took up with Marcus in the shower.

We were saying goodbye to our company. They left sometime around two.

We retired to bed, happy with the course of the day, sad that we had given away precious time we might have spent alone. Such contradictions played at our emotions.

“Something’s happening here.” My voice cracked as I whispered, holding her close.

She nodded into my neck.

We began to make love, tender and slow. God knows how many times we had been at it that day. This was the first time since yesterday it had been just us.

Madeline and me, in the middle of the night.

I whispered how much I would miss holding her close. I whispered how much I would miss being with her when we talked. I whispered that I wanted to know her boys, that I wanted her to know my children.

She fell to dreams as we made love, speaking softly to another me somewhere in her subconscious. I pulled out and held her, leaving her alone with her dream lover.

The next morning, we picked up where we left off.

That afternoon, we wanted to walk in the park. I had some work to do before my trip, including a final review of my divorce settlement. Each time I reached a good stopping point, I would find that she had nodded off. When she roused, I would be deep in work or in discussions with my lawyer.

We finally got our body clocks in synch. We dressed and walked to the park in the late afternoon sun.

We strolled toward the band shell, turning north to Bethesda Fountain, across Bow Bridge and into the Ramble. We held hands and talked, about the sights, about the weekend, about nothing in particular.

My heart was full. She told me she felt submerged in us, unable, or unwilling, to swim to the surface of her own reality.

We had not eaten all day. I craved comfort food. We sat in my local diner for cheeseburgers. She laughed when she ordered a Coke—so unlike me, she said. The carbonated bubbles made her laugh again.

I packed when we got home. When my bag was waiting by the door, we undressed and kissed on my bed. We were tender.

My hands traveled her body, leading to her wetness. I needed a last taste; she was soon cumming to my mouth and fingers.

“Thank you baby, that was what I needed,” she said. “Now your turn.”

She went down on me, but my cock was soft and disinterested. “Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked, looking up.

“Just hold me until I have to go. I’m stressed, I think, and sad.”

We lay in one another’s arms, talking. She cried. I kissed her tears, tasting my own in the back of my throat.

We knew this part might hurt.

As we lay in my broken bed, we heard a crack below. We laughed that after all the action of the weekend, we had caused another break in the bed frame while laying still.

“The bed can’t bear the weight of our heavy hearts,” I said.

We are quiet for a moment. We giggle.

“Good line,” she laughed. “Which of us will blog it first?”

I got up and dressed. She pulled on her slip to show me out. We embraced at the door, long and slow. I forget what we said. Doesn’t matter.

I left. She stayed. She would be gone when I returned.

My eyes would well later, on the plane. The levee broke as I listened to a band I used to like, thinking of her sleeping alone in my bed.

It’s easier to leave than to be left behind.

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