So Far Away

Chapter 1

As I step out on the porch of our guesthouse, a cold wind washes over me, making my teeth chatter. The chill nips at my fingers as I fumble with the zipper to close my hoodie, penetrating my flesh, making me shiver. A dense cloud cover is subduing the early morning light, not even a sliver of sky is visible, and thick fog is hiding the ground. Were I to step off the porch, it wouldn’t reach higher than my knees, but it’s so milky and substantial, I wouldn’t be able to see my feet.

My breath comes out in a misty cloud as I flip the hood over my head. I shove my hands into my pockets, but it doesn’t help. Goddamn, it’s cold this morning.

I glance at the empty driveway, then back at the door behind me, and chew my bottom lip. If I hurry, maybe I can go back inside and find some warmer clothes to put on, but just as I reach for the door handle, the sound of Julian’s SUV rumbles in the distance, approaching our house. So I shove my hands into my pockets, determined to tough it out, unwilling to miss even a second of seeing his dear face.

Bouncing on the balls of my feet, trying to bring warmth to my limbs by moving, I watch as the truck comes around the corner, turns onto our driveway, and parks behind my car in the carport.

Even when Julian climbs out of the SUV, I stay on the porch and don’t jump onto the grass, jog across the lawn, and fling my arms around his neck like I’m dying to. I’m desperate to touch him again, but I can’t. Not yet. So I visualize my feet shooting roots deep into the ground, keeping me where I am so I won’t throw all caution to the wind. But even with deep, thick roots, it’s difficult to just stand here and wait.

As soon as the car door is closed behind Julian, his gaze searches for me. Even from here, I can see his shoulders relaxing when he catches sight of me. He raises his arm and gives me a tired wave before grabbing his backpack from the backseat, slinging it over one shoulder, then making his way toward me.

My heart clenches at the sight of him. The circles under his warm brown eyes are huge and almost black, and his trademark soft smile is absent and replaced with a downturned mouth. He’s lost weight; he’s wearing his thick winter coat this morning, and it’s saggy on his frame where his muscles usually threaten to burst it at the seams. Even his steps lack their usual bounce and energy, and after all this time together, I know it’s only his iron will propelling him forward.

I curl my hands into fists in the pockets of my hoodie. Dig blunt nails into my palms, taking out my frustration on my poor hands over not being allowed to sweep him into my arms and fuss over him the way I want to. He needs to sleep for a week and eat all the food I can cook for him, and it’s killing me to not be allowed to be there for him.

When he stops right on the invisible, but overwhelmingly tangible, safety line we’ve drawn around the guesthouse—far enough away so we won’t have to wear masks to be safe; I want to be able to see his face—he offers me a weak smile.

“Oh, love, you look exhausted.”

“How do you feel?”

We both speak at the same time.

“No fever today. My stomach feels good, too,” I say, quick to answer his question. His nurturing personality, the one that drove him into becoming a nurse in the first place, won’t be able to relax and think of anything else until he knows how I’m doing.

“That’s great.” His smile widens a fraction.

“Yeah. Let’s hope it sticks this time.”

The fever is the most persistent symptom that I’ve had of the virus currently sweeping over the world, making millions of people sick, killing too many. It’s been mild but stubborn and has come and gone over the last few weeks, making me frustrated and impatient. I’m a terrible patient at the best of times; I can’t be still and rest unless I’m completely knocked out with whatever illness I’ve caught. Feeling well enough to be able to function normally but having intermittent symptoms so I need to still be isolated is grating on my very last nerve.

I need the damned fever to stay away for good, so I can finally be free of all symptoms for the required time to be declared healthy and released from quarantine. I want to—need to—move back into our house and take care of my overworked, exhausted fiancé, who’s working too many double shifts at the hospital. Who’s a natural worrier, whose gaze is always full of concern when he looks at me, and who hates sleeping alone at night.

But as long as the fever refuses to let go completely, I’m stuck here in the guesthouse. Unable to care for him or touch him. Unable to comfort him.

“I miss you, Zakarias,” he says, shoulders slumping, his big body curling in on itself. He rubs his neck and averts his eyes.

“Look at me, love. Please.”

He meets my gaze and the fatigue shining in his eyes, originating from his very soul, stabs my heart. I haven’t seen laughter in them for God knows how long. Nor the sparkle of his joy of life that’s such a huge part of his personality, one of the things that made me fall for him all those years ago. Julian embraces everything in life with curiosity and openness I’ve rarely seen in any other person. He always has a warm smile and a kind word, and the biggest and softest heart, bleeding for everyone. I don’t see any of that these days, and it breaks my f*****g heart.

It’s understandable, though. He’s just come off his third double shift in a row. The workload at the hospital has been crazy for a long time, seemingly with no end in sight. And since the ICU was in desperate need of more personnel, and Julian has previous experience, the hospital transferred him back even though he left the department a couple years ago because he doesn’t cope well with people dying. So being flung into the thick of things during a pandemic is slowly breaking him down and being unable to take care of him is driving me crazy.

But I try my damndest not to show him any of that and instead do my absolute best to take care of him from a safe distance, where I won’t accidentally transmit the virus to him. “I miss you, too,” I say, untangling one of my hands from my pockets, laying it over my heart. “There’s nothing I want more than to sleep next to you. You know that.”

He nods.

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but hang in there a little while longer. I’ll be back soon, and you’ll be annoyed with me because I’ll be making up for the lost time. I’ll insist on feeding you and be so clingy you’ll get tired of me.”

One corner of his mouth twitches. “Nah.”

I smile, hoping it looks genuine and not as forced as it feels like. “I’ll hold you to that. But for now, you need to sleep. Go inside, take a long, hot shower. Make a cup of jasmine tea. Then put your laptop on the bedside table and Skype me, and I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep. Okay?”

“You have work to do.”

I step forward but freeze when I remember the invisible line I’m not allowed to cross when I’m not alone. Grinding my teeth, I take a deep breath, filling my lungs to capacity with the chilly air. Letting it cool my frustration.

“f**k that,” I say. “You know my boss is very understanding and I don’t even need to work because of this stupid virus. And you know you’re more important to me than anything. Work can wait. It will wait, all right?”

He nods. “Okay.”

“Go inside, love. I’ll be waiting by my laptop when you’re ready for me.”

He nods again, knowing this is a fight he won’t win. He knows me inside and out and can read my body language better than anyone. And he knows how important he is to me, that I won’t compromise in putting him first. Julian lays his hand on his chest, over his heart, and taps three times. I do the same, my gaze never leaving his. I love you, too.

“See you soon.” He turns and walks to the main house, and I stay right where I am despite the biting cold, watching him as he crosses the lawn. After he’s unlocked and opened the door, he turns to me and waves. I wave back but still won’t leave my post until he’s signaled through the window that the house is locked up.

Only then do I return inside the guesthouse, slamming the door behind me so hard, the windows rattle. Then I turn my face to the ceiling and yell my frustration. I rub my palms on my head, messing up my shaggy, unkempt quarantine hair. When my engagement ring snags on a strand of hair, pulling on it, I snap out of my mini-tantrum.

Anger won’t help our situation. It won’t change the fact that Julian’s a nurse, working with patients infected by the virus. It won’t change that I caught it, albeit with only mild symptoms. We can’t risk me giving it to him; he’s needed at the hospital. But most of all, infecting my fiancé with a potentially deadly virus is the last thing in the world I want to do. No matter how much I miss touching him.

So here I am. Living in our guesthouse for the fourth week in a row. Frustrated by not being able to comfort or hug or kiss the love of my life. Frustrated over everything, really, but mostly by seeing Julian becoming more and more burned out by every passing day and not being able to do anything about it.

I huff. That isn’t exactly true. There are some things I can do, even from a distance.

I take a deep breath and hold it in my lungs until they start to burn. Then I exhale, making sure to expel every last molecule of air, imagining breathing out my frustration. After repeating it a couple more times, I shake out my hands, trying to get rid of the tension in them caused by balling them into fists for too long. I stretch my neck, roll my shoulders, then I take off the hoodie and pull on a soft warm sweater instead. The one I know Julian loves.

There’s one thing I can do: smile and talk to him over Skype as he falls asleep. Make him feel like he’s not alone. And goddammit, that’s what I’m going to do, even if it kills me.

I pour myself a cup of the coffee I made before heading out to welcome him home. Then I set up my workspace on the kitchen table; the tiny house is meant for guests and we didn’t put in a desk, but at least I’ve rolled out the good chair from the indoor office because the kitchen chairs were hell on my back.

While I wait for Julian to call, I scribble a to-do list on a notepad and shoot off an email to my boss to let him know I’m well enough to work, still. My boss has gone out of his way for all of us during these trying times; he encouraged us to work from home early on, doing everything he could to help anyone who’s gotten infected, including letting us take time off work to recuperate with full payment. He tried talking me into time off, too, but I’ve refused. I’d go crazy sitting around, doing nothing, cooped up on these three hundred something square feet. Since my symptoms have been mild and I’ve been able to work the entire time, I’ve gotten a lot done.

I’ve been lucky. Even if my symptoms are stubborn, they’re more of a nuisance than anything else. I was nauseous in the beginning and couldn’t keep my food down, but it subsided quickly. I was fatigued and had an intermittent headache, but those symptoms are also gone now. The low-grade fever has been the most unrelenting; it was constant at first, but the last couple of weeks it’s come and gone. Not all my colleagues have been as lucky, but we haven’t lost anyone yet, at least.

Because of the lingering fever, I need to stay isolated until I’m sure it won’t return, until I’ve been free of all symptoms for as long as the guidelines require so I won’t risk infecting anyone. But the second I’m pronounced healthy, I’m moving out of here and back into the house to my fiancé. I’ll pamper him. Hold him close and never let go.

When Skype chimes, I smile and accept the call. Julian is already in bed; his short hair is still damp and sticking out in all directions as though he’s rubbed a towel over his head and left it as is. The cover is pulled up to his chin, and his favorite fleece blanket, the one I bought him a few Christmases ago, lays on top of it. He’s always cold, and it’s my job to keep him warm at night. My heart aches at the thought that I haven’t been there to do my duty for so long.

I make sure none of this is showing on my face. The last thing he needs right now is to see me sad. “Hey, love. You look so tired.”

He sighs. “Yeah. I hate double shifts.”

“I know.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Good. Like the fever will stay away this time.” It’s the truth, but I can’t tell whether it’s because my body’s finally beaten the virus, or if it’s because I’m just so tired of this s**t and want it over and done with.

“Let’s hope so. I sleep like crap without you.”

“Me, too. I wish I were there with you right now.” I lean closer to the laptop screen. “I’d spoon you and make sure you’re warm enough. Hold you through the entire time you’re sleeping.”

“If you were healthy enough to do that, you wouldn’t be able to stay in bed with me. You have a job.”

“Hush now. Don’t kill my fantasy. Let’s pretend I email my boss and tell him I take the day off. Then I crawl into bed with you and hold you until you need to go back to the hospital.”

He hums. “That does sound nice. But your boss wouldn’t believe you. You never take a day off. Not even when he begs you to.”

“All the more reason for me to finally do it and spend a day with you. Reconnect with my fiancé after being so cruelly separated for so long. Tell him that I need it for my mental health. You know he’s a big ole romantic, he’d believe me in a heartbeat.”

Julian burrows deeper into the bed. “Mmm. That sounds lovely. Let’s turn off our phones, too, so no one can reach us.”

“Yeah. Just you and me. No distractions.”

“No virus.”

“Just cuddling.”

He sighs. “Yes. Cuddling. God, I miss cuddling. I think I’ve forgotten how to do it.”

“Nah. You’re a natural. It’ll come back to you.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. But let’s make sure. Let’s make this fantasy day into reality.” I keep my voice low and soft, trying to help lull him to sleep. He needs it desperately.

“When?” he asks.

“As soon as I’m in the clear and you have a day off. Even if it’s a workday, I’ll use one of my PTO days. We’ll spend the entire day in bed. You can sleep and I’ll hold you. When you’re hungry, I’ll cook for you.”

“Or we can order pizza so you don’t have to get out of bed.”

I nod. “Deal.”

“Sounds like heaven.”

“Yeah.”

Julian’s eyelids fall closed. “You need to start working now.”

“I do. Sleep well, my love, and text me when you wake up.”

“Sure. Can you call me at three if I’m not up? So I won’t be late?”

“I will. I’ll set an alarm.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’m hanging up now. Bye.”

“Night.”

I watch him for a few more moments before I end the call and get started on my to-do list.

* * * *

Later that afternoon, before three o’clock, as I’m in the middle of writing an email, Julian calls.

“Hey, you,” I say, taking the opportunity to get up from the chair to stretch my muscles that are aching after being hunched over the laptop for too long.

“The hospital called. I need to go in earlier, so I’ll drop off groceries for you on the porch. Okay?”

“Did you even sleep?”

“Not much.”

“Oh, Julian.”

“I feel like I could sleep for a month, to be honest. But that’s clearly not in the cards for today. Not even for this year. I’ll be out in a sec.” He hangs up, and I make more coffee as I wait for him. When the machine is gurgling, I go stand by the window next to the front door. It doesn’t take long before he slips out of the house and hurries along the path leading to me, bundled up in his thick coat and a warm, fluffy scarf.

The way the coat hangs on his frame makes me want to cry. He started losing weight before I had to move out here, the stress of the long hours at ICU getting to him, but it’s accelerated these last weeks. His pants are loose, and it looks like he’s borrowed someone else’s clothes.

He’s always been so meticulous about taking care of his body, about being healthy. Working out regularly, going out running, being active. But he’s too busy for that these days, then skipping meals on top of that.

I run my fingers through my hair. I need to fix this somehow.

When he steps onto the guesthouse porch, he holds up the tote full of groceries for me to see, then he sets it in the usual spot next to the door. I expect him to rush off, but instead, he comes to the window and meets my gaze through the glass. I lay my palm on the windowpane—not giving a flying f**k about how clichéd it might be—and he does the same.

I curse the glass separating us, but at the same time, I’m thankful for it because it lets me be close to him. Close, yet so far away.

We stand there, looking at each other, hands so close to touching and eyes locked. After a couple minutes, he pulls an envelope from his coat pocket and holds it up. Nothing’s written on it, so it can’t have come through the mail.

“This is for you,” he calls loudly enough for me to hear. “I’ll put it in the tote. Read it when I’ve left.”

I nod, and slowly he removes his hand from the glass and disappears out of sight for a moment. Then he steps back and points to the driveway, the corners of his mouth downturned.

I nod again.

He raises his hand in a goodbye gesture, but he doesn’t leave. He’s so tired. What little sleep he got didn’t make a dent in the dark circles under his eyes. He’s got abrasions on the nose from the protective gear he’s forced to wear, and his face shows signs of the weight loss and is narrower than usual.

I lay my hand back on the window, and with my other hand, I tap over my heart three times. That makes him smile; it’s just a slight upturn by the corners of his mouth, but for a second, I see him. My Julian.

He repeats the gesture back at me, then waves and turns to leave.