CHRISTMAS REUNION
1359 Words
Kigali International Airport. December 20th. 4:37 PM.
I’ve been standing at this barrier for twenty minutes. His flight landed fifteen minutes ago.
My hands won't stop shaking.
Three months. Ninety-three days. Two thousand, two hundred and thirty-two hours since I last touched him.
I’m wearing the yellow dress. He said makes me look like the sun. My hair is loose. Makeup careful. Trying to be the version of me he remembers.
Passengers start arising. Business travelers. Families. Tourists.
Not him. Not him. Not —
There.
He walks through the doors. Backpack over one shoulder. Small suitcase. Wearing the shirt I bought him. Looking tired and rumpled and absolutely perfect.
Our eyes meet.
Everything additional disappears.
I don't remember deciding to move. I just run. Pushing through people. Not caring about complaints. Not stopping.
We collide in the middle of the arrivals area.
His arms wrap around me. Mine around him. Trying to enthrall the same space. Trying to make up for ninety-three days in this single embrace.
I sob into his neck. “ You’re then. You’re really then. ”
“ I’m then. God, Sarah, you feel so good. So real. ”
We pull apart just enough to look at each other. Drinking in details video calls couldn't capture.
The exact shade of his eyes. The way his hair falls. The small scar on his chin.
The reality of him.
“ You’re more beautiful than I remembered,” he says. “ How is that possible? ”
I laughed through gash. “ You’re exactly as beautiful as I remembered. I allowed perhaps I was idealizing. ”
We kiss. Hopeless. Empty. Three months of craving poured into lips and speeches.
People walk around us. Some smile. Others look irked.
We don't notice. Do n’t care.
When we eventually pull apart, both breathless, he cups my face in his hands.
“ Take me home. Wherever you’re staying. I need to be alone with you. ”
“ My apartment is twenty minutes down. Can you stay twenty minutes? ”
“ Barely. ”
We barely make it through my apartment door before we’re on each other again. His bag was abandoned in the hall. My keys dropped on the bottom.
Months of privation making everything critical. Hopeless.
We stumbled toward the bedroom, Slipping clothes. A trail of fabric marking our path.
“ stay. ” He stops. Pulls back. Looks at me.
“ What’s wrong? ”
“ Nothing. I just — let me look at you. Let me remember this is real. ”
His hands trace my face. My neck. My shoulders. Reverent. Learning.
I arch into his touch. “ Amon, please. I’ve demanded you for so long. ”
We make love. Violent. Three months of loneliness converted into physical connection.
Hopeless at first. Also slower. Tender. Remembering each other’s rhythms.
“ I missed you. ”“ I love you. ”“ Don't ever leave me again. ”
Promises neither can guarantee, but both mean completely.
After, we lie tangled in sheets. Her head on his chest. His fingers in her hair.
“ I can n’t believe you’re really then. ”
“ I’m then. Solid. Physical. Not going anywhere for two weeks. ”
“ Two weeks feels too short after three months apart. ”
“ Also, we don't waste any of it. ” He kisses her forepart. “ I want to see everything. Your office. The construction point. The city. I want to understand your life then. ”
“ You don't have to do work stuff on your holiday. ”
“ Sarah, you’re not separating me from your work. I want to see what you’ve erected. I want to understand what’s been keeping you so busy. ”
Gratitude floods through her. “ Thank you. For being interested. David never — ”
She stops. Realizing she invoked her ex.
Amon tenses slightly. “ David yourex—husband or David your colleague? ”
“Ex-husband. But I didn't mean to bring him up. ”
“ And the other David? Your colleague? How important time do you spend with him? ”
She sits up. This conversation needs to be.
“ A lot. He’s my site coordinator. We work together every day. But Amon, it’s fully professional. ”
“ Does he know that? Because when I saw him on video that time, the way he looked at you — ”
“ He looked at me how? ”
“ Like he wanted you to be available. Like he was staying for me to disappear. ”
Silence. She processes this. Realizes she’s been consciously eyeless.
“ He’s been probative. perhaps too supportive. But I’ve noway I would never — ”
“ I know. I trust you completely. It’s him I do n’t trust. ”
She cups his face. Makes him look at her. “ I love you. Only you. David could be perfect and it would n’t count. Because he’s not you. ”
He rolls them so he’s above her. Looking down with tenderness that takes her breath.
“
I’ve been so scared. Scared, you’d realize long distance is too hard. Scared you’d find someone easier. ”
“ You’re enough. You’re everything. ”
They kiss. Softer now. Reassuring rather than hopeless.
“ Stay tonight,” she whispers. “ Wake up with me. Let me make you breakfast. ”
“ Your coffee is terrible. ”
“ I know. But you’ll drink it anyway because you love me. ”
“ I will. I do. ”
They settle into each other. The profound comfort of bodies fitting together.
“ Amon? ”
“ Hmm? ”
“ When I come back from Kigali — after fifteen months — I want this. I want us. Really building a life together. ”
His arms strained around her. “ I want that too. So much. ”
“ Promise? ”
“ I promise. Now sleep. We've thirteen further days to study each other. ”
She drifts off feeling safer than she has in months.
Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours.
Then back to distance. Back to defenses. Back to counting days.
But right now, at this moment, he’s then. Solid. Real. Hers.
And that’s enough.
The coming morning, she wakes to sunlight and his face on the pillow beside hers.
Not a screen. Not a memory. Actually then.
She watches him sleep. Studies his features. The genuineness of him.
He opens his eyes. Smiles. “ Morning, beautiful. ”
“ Morning. Ready for terrible coffee? ”
“ Absolutely. ”
They spend the day together. She shows him her apartment. He unpacks his bag. Hangs his paintings — new ones he brought. Studies of her from memory.
“ You painted me? ”
“ I never stopped painting you. You’re all I paint now. ”
That night they have dinner with her team. Diane incontinently loves him. David — colleague David is polite but distant.
Amon notices. Says nothing. Just keeps his hand on her knee under the table.
Claiming her without words.
The two weeks blur together. Too fast. Never enough time.
They visit the construction site. He photographs everything. Takes notes. Says he wants to paint her vision made real.
They explore Kigali. Walk through requests. Eat at original restaurants. Produce memories in her temporary city.
They make love. Talk. Sleep tangled together. Make up for three months apart.
On Christmas Eve, lying in bed, he asks,“ Marry me. ”
“ We’re already engaged. ”
“ I know. But marry me for real. Not eventually. Soon. When you come home. ”
“ How soon? ”
“ Two weeks after you land. I don't want to stay presently. ”
She looks at him. This man who flew across countries. Who sees her. Who fights for them?
“ Okay. Yes. Two weeks after I got home, we got married. ”
They seal it with a kiss.
Two weeks becomes one week. Then three days. Then hereafter.
The night before he leaves, they don't sleep. Just hold each other. Whisper promises. Pretend fifteen months is survivable.
At the airport, saying goodbye again breaks them both.
But this time it’s different.
This time they know. They’ve survived three months. Made it through the breaking point.
They can survive fifteen more.
They've to.
- Writer
