Rowan had to go home for a weekend in late April.
He told me on a Tuesday evening while he was packing a small overnight bag. He said his grandmother needed help moving some recording equipment from her garage. I asked whether he wanted company. He said no, but not sharply. I accepted it.
I was surprised by how much I missed him after he left.
The room felt too large without his footsteps and too messy without his quiet presence. I kept noticing things he would have noticed: my coffee cup left on the desk, the window open too far, the pile of papers I'd been meaning to sort.
I did not call him my wife.
I did think about texting him that the room was falling apart without him. Then I realized I was trying to turn missing him into a joke, so I wrote something else.
Me: Hope the move go
