Funny Feelings (75)
We almost miss our plane the next morning. Neither of us remembers to charge our phones, which means we oversleep and I hold us up even more as I shove everything back into my suitcase in a palpable panic. Meyer nearly gives himself an aneurysm over not saying I told you so since he tried to pack for me last night. I think he might be really angry with me, and I mentally draw out all my apologies while we jog through all the jog-able parts of the airport.
But then, when we finally manage to scramble into our seats, the last two passengers to board, I notice that he’s wearing mismatched shoes at the same time he finds a false eyelash stuck to the side of my neck, and we laugh until we cry and gasp, when a flight attendant has to come calmly ask us to please try to quiet down. We spend the short flight avoiding eye contact so we don’t burst into any more giggle fits.
The next week passes in this special brand of domestic bliss. Our own version of it; between a plane, a tour bus, and more hotel rooms.
It feels exactly like you’d think. Like being at overnight camp with your best friend who also happens to supply you with mind-bending orgasms.
I go out on stage two more times, and I feel… fearless about it. Relaxed. It feels as good and as fulfilling as the high I remember, and I have no doubt that this is because he’s by my side.
There is only one more show for me on this mini tour, though, and it’s also the same day that Meyer leaves to go back to retrieve Hazel from Ohio. I promise him that I’m fine, and I think I truly mean it. It feels like all my pieces have settled into place, and I’ve got the set memorized down to the word and each facial expression now, honed to sharp perfection.
Meyer’s hovering, though. Worried. There’s a weird, melancholy layer in his words like his mind is elsewhere or churning on more, no matter how I reassure him.
“Jonesy?” He calls to me now from somewhere inside the room.
“Out here!”
I smile up at him in his towel when he walks through the door. “Jesus, aren’t you cold?!”
“Not for long.” He smirks before he slips behind me on the lounge chair and cradles me against him.
We sit together quietly this way for awhile, sharing the same glass of wine while we look out at the Golden Gate Bridge from a hotel balcony in Nob Hill. And I don’t know why, but my brain can’t seem to help it: I start to think that maybe this is all too good to be true. How does one person get this lucky in life? To do something big that fills them with such incredibly overwhelming feelings, with their best friend—best love—alongside. Something that takes them so many places in front of so many faces. And yet, the view that far outshines them, the faces that I love more than anything, that fill me with the the biggest feelings of all, also exist with me the most quietly. I pull Meyer’s arms tighter around me.
“Are you packed? You know, you shouldn’t put that off until the last second. Just a pro tip for you.” I knock on his forearm with my knuckles.
“Ha. You don’t say? Yes, I’m packed,” he kisses my temple.
“Are you—are you okay?” I ask after a bit.
He sighs. “Yes. I just need to talk to you about something and I’m being an idiot about it.”
“Really?” I whip around, but can barely make out his eyes even with the city lights shining. “Let’s go inside.”
He shuffles around the room a bit, picking up odds and ends. Plugs in his phone with a meaningful look and a halfhearted grin my way.
“Meyer. You’re scaring me. Come talk to me, please.” I flip over the corner of the comforter and pat the empty spot at my side.
He nods and removes his towel, the dim lighting making the umbrella appear black and white. He slides in beside me and I start to trace it with my fingertips.
“Fee,” more sighs. “I was thinking— I know the tour is going to be great. I know it.” I still my fingers and frown up at him.
“I know that, too,” I say, and that makes him blow out a breath with a nod. “We’ve got each other’s backs. Just like we have from day one, yeah?” I add with what I hope is a reassuring smile. His eyes round for the blip of a second, and I almost think I’ve said the wrong thing… But then he smiles back, his fullest one.
“Yes. Of course.”
“Is that what you wanted to talk to me about? Again?” I nudge him with my elbow.
He shakes his head and his brow furrows. “Move in with me? Would you—would you want to live with Hazel and I?”
It feels a bit like ascending the stairs in the dark. You think you have another step, but then experience that swooping, bottoming out feeling when you realize you’re already on the top floor. Hearing that his mind is on the same plane as mine is a happy surprise even if it’s also a little jarring.
I slide my knee around to bracket his hips, cup his face in my hands. “I’d love to live with you guys,” I swipe along his beard with my thumbs. “But, make sure you get Hazel’s approval, first, okay?”
He nods solemnly before he cups the back of my head and brings my lips to his.
The next morning I opt to ride with him to the airport after a small internal debate. I still feel like he needs something from me, like I need to ease his spirit somehow. It makes me wonder if I should act nonchalant about being separated from him, even if it’s for two days. It should probably feel nonchalant, but I’ve never been great at belittling my happier feelings, only ever mastered reducing some of the sadder ones.