Eventually

You opened the door and already from where you were standing you could see the table. The cups you had tea from before you left, the open packet of biscuits, the half eaten chocolate. All lying exactly where you last left them. She asked you to clean before sleep and you said you’ll do it. Eventually. But then you picked up the phone and while she was getting ready for sleep, you scrolled a bit, then joined her in bed. In the morning, you had to wake up early to catch the flight. She had an alarm and woke up first. While she was showering, you slept a little longer. You both can’t eat so early in the morning, so you just dressed and got out the door; the bags you both packed, because she insisted, the night before, at the door.

The holiday was good, you would have said, if anyone was asking you. Some people did. Colleagues, mostly. Your friends knew. She wanted to go on this trip for a while and asked you to join. You said you would and in the heat of the moment, her birthday only a few weeks away, you told her it’s her present. She wanted to be happy, you saw it, but somehow she wasn’t. You said you’ll book everything and she won’t have to worry. She smiled and thanked you, an awkward hug. Her birthday came, and went. You didn’t forget about it, you got her flowers and took her out for dinner. It was that Asian restaurant she always loved. She loved it then too, but it seemed like she wasn’t entirely satisfied. You wanted to ask, but thought better. You’d ask tomorrow. But then you forgot about it and she never said anything.

Until she did. She sent you a link. And then a couple more. Accommodation. Did you like it? You did, the first one the most, the rest were fine too. Which one did she like? She also liked the first one more, would you book it? Yes, you said. You just need to finish something. She said okay and left it. A few days later she remembered and she asked if you booked it already. She didn’t get an email. Did you forget to add her as a guest? No, you forgot to book it altogether. And now that place is gone. But the others were still available. Which one would she prefer? You booked the trip. Eventually. And then you went.

She didn’t want to wake up early, but she wanted to see the place, so she had an alarm. Would you like to go as well? You would, but later. She can start and you’ll catch up. Okay, she said, and left you sleeping. You caught up with her when she just sat down for lunch. She told you where she went and where she wants to go next. You joined her for a bit and then you both went back. A nap before the night. You wanted to go out. A club. Somewhere there was music. And people. She joined you for a bit and then she went to sleep. You stayed. You went back. Eventually. Most of your holiday was like this.

Most of your life together was a set of mismatches. You were both quite proud you made it work. Two people, so different to anyone who looked, and yet, finding the common ground. Or so you liked to think. It was more like you had to build that ground every day, only for it to keep falling into itself every night. And she was the one who always woke up first, so it was her who started building it back up. Before leaving for work, she’d do the dishes from the night before and she’d make coffee. She’d make toasts and think about dinner. She’d ask you to take the trash on your way out and she’d remind you you had guests later. She’d order groceries while waiting for the bus and she’d make sure she’s back home when they will be delivered. You’d text her on your way back to ask what wine to get and if there is dessert. You’d play music and get everyone a drink. You’d suggest playing a game, what if it’s a weekday? People would leave late and she’d ask if you can help to clean. You’d say you’ll do it tomorrow, isn’t she coming to bed now? And then tomorrow comes and you start collecting the glasses and the plates, only to forget about them in the sink. You take the trash out, but leave the game lying on the table, some cards on the floor. You have to leave for work. You’ll finish eventually. And when the evening comes, the ground starts cracking, and you’ll have to start mending it again tomorrow. You do it, until you get tired and need a holiday. 

You go on holiday and then you come back. But she doesn’t. She left. Eventually.