Droplets of rain broke free of the clouds to patter at the bay window. Tom and Megs sipped their champagne, the accompanying silence uncomfortable. Thinking through the mistakes he’d made over the years was like opening the flaps on the world’s worst Advent calendar.
Still, every other time he and Megs had been in this room, they’d been arguing. To be able to sit with her and just be, even in an impossible situation, was its own salvation. He couldn’t let the moment pass without saying something he still owed her. Sure, they’d covered a lot of ground while watching the sunset on that rock wall in Sidney. There was still one thing he needed her to know.
He turned pretty words over in his mouth but finally let the simplest combination fall out. “I’m sorry, Megs. I’m a bottomless pit of sorry.”
It was an apology that required no qualifier, a shapeshifting thing that could be as small as she wanted it to be or as vast as she needed.
“I’m sorry too.” A sweet sort of anguish touched her eyes as they finally reached an understanding.
There had been a lot of apologies between them in a lot of different loops, most notably yesterday, yet this one tasted different. The sorrys they exchanged tonight weren’t about airing grievances or confessing sins. They were about marking a path forward.
Or at least Tom’s was.
The wind picked up and rain pelted the windows, offering cover; white noise to shield them from the outside world. He hadn’t remembered it raining this hard on any other night. Maybe a sprinkle? This was a deluge.
“Oh no!” Megs suddenly exclaimed, getting up to look out the window. “The brides who are outside. Their wedding!”
“The ones who danced to ‘And I Love Her’?” Tom asked.
Megs nodded.
“Great song.”
“Great song,” she agreed, just as she had in an earlier loop, though this time the exchange was warmer. “I see them…it looks like they’re not letting this downpour ruin things—the whole wedding party’s dancing around in it.”
She let the curtains drop and sat back down at the table.
“Hey.” Tom drained the rest of his warmish champagne and lightly tapped her hand on the table with his pinkie as he put the cup down. It was the smallest of gestures, an inkling of contact, and it only made him miss her…despite having her across from him. “Since there’s no wedding tomorrow, can you tell me what song we were supposed to dance to?”
Their intention was to plan the wedding together save for a few details. Megs let Tom pick the destination of their honeymoon; he’d been Optimist Tom when he’d eyed the Amalfi coast, imagining them several time zones removed from work and family pressures. Tom let Megs choose the song they would dance to for the first time as a married couple. She’d insisted on total secrecy.
Of course, they hadn’t actually done any wedding planning together.
“You would’ve been happy with my song choice,” Megs said coyly.
“If you don’t tell me what it is, I’ll never find out.” It was meant to be a playful comment.
Megs finished her champagne and slid her empty cup into his before tossing them into the recycling bin. She worried her bottom lip, sorrow in her eyes, although a pull at her mouth indicated she’d been pretty pleased with herself when she’d made the selection.
“I went with your favorite Cure song,” she said, waiting until the end of the confession to meet his eyes. When she did, something in his chest exploded.
How could he let go of this woman forever? Tom knew it was time. He owed it to them both to take a risk. To bet on himself. On them.
Those private vows he’d written months ago—he still meant them; even more, they’d evolved and grown over the past several reincarnations of this day. The vows he’d say to her now would mean more. Because they knew each other better than they ever had.
“Seems a shame to let that blatant act of diplomacy go to waste.” Tom got up, found “Pictures of You” on his phone, and turned up the volume.
The familiar dreamy guitar riff played, muffled slightly by the storm outside. He reached out to her, the bursting in his chest flickering like fireworks when she put her fingers in his palm.
He placed one hand on the small of her back, and they swayed, their bodies moving closer together in blissful habit, an attraction so familiar he hoped they’d still feel that pull when they were ninety. He wanted to feel it forever. He wanted her forever.
“Thanks for this,” he murmured into her ear.
“Don’t get too excited. The only reason I didn’t go with my favorite is that the beat of ‘Just Like Heaven’ is too quick for a slow dance.”
He chuckled softly; her head nuzzled into his in response.
The storm clouds outside obscured the stars. If Tom could, he’d move those clouds so Megs could have her starry sky. He’d stick plastic constellations onto every ceiling so she’d always have them above her head.
Whether it was Tom who made the first move or Megs, he didn’t know; they seemed to make the decision together. Touching each other desperately yet with care because they knew they needed to one last time. To remember what it was to have the intimacy that was uniquely, spectacularly theirs.
Grazing a finger across her cheek because he was tired of not grazing a finger across her cheek. Pulling him closer because she was tired of not pulling him closer. It seemed to happen in a choreographed dance; first through their fingers, then arms, then bodies. Just as they had years ago at his beach house. He said, “Please, may I?” and she said, “What are you waiting for?” and then his fingers delicately unzipped her dress while hers slipped each button through its eye. As their touches became familiar, muscle memory they’d built up over so many years, their lips came together, hungrily.
When a clap of thunder startled them, they laughed softly—smiling as they continued to kiss, refusing to let go, to release this connection.
Being with Megs had never been just one color, one shade. It was heat, it was humor; sweetness and depth.
Clothes slid to the floor and his fingers raked through her silky hair. He promised himself he’d remember this, memorize every caress and feeling. The softness of her skin, the push of her kiss. The way her body opened to his, accepting him, wanting him, relishing him. He held her tighter and she gripped him in kind.
He couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else.
They came together, their climaxes shaking the earth. They rolled through the aftershocks together, her tears dipping into their kiss. Or perhaps those were his.
As the storm raged on outside their room, it was the perfect conclusion to a most imperfect journey.