Lasting Dreams.

We sit in the living room watching a movie on TV, but not really watching it. It’s so strange having someone else in the house, to have her back in the house since God knows when. Cat’s curled up in her lap and I just sit in the armchair being inconspicuous and watching her as she arbitrarily pets the cat. She’s got this sort of smile on her lips that’s only halfway there, but we aren’t watching anything particularly funny, so it only makes sense.

I can’t take my eyes off her. No matter how long I try and train myself to watch the television, my eyes just keep following the same path and make sure she doesn’t see.

The snow is falling outside and it clouds the windowpane, but the house is warm. Adrienne set up candles all around the living room and turned off all the lights; I remember, when we were together, how she always used to say that it affected the mood of the movie when the lights were on. Really, though, it’s because she was such a sap and always cried during the sad parts. I’d hold her and kiss her forehead and she’d cry a little softer, and then - just as soon as the sad scenes had past - she wiped her eyes and went back to normal.

I miss that. I wish I could hold her and pet the cat and watch the movie without worrying about if she was crying all the way over on the couch that was really only a few feet away, but felt like forever.

She sniffs and dabs at her eyes with her wrist, careful not to smear her makeup.

My heart feels like it’s combusting and tying itself into knots. I can’t think straight.

The movie ends and the credits roll upward on the blank screen. Names of people we’ve never met rush past our eyes and we just sit there, neither of us making any move to change the channel. Adrienne keeps petting Cat and I can hear her purring from across the room.

“What a sad ending,” she says finally.

I don’t speak.

She moves toward me, disturbing Cat. Her eyes are still a little wet around the edges and I watch her carefully. She seems so fragile, and her arm dangles off the arm of the couch nearest me. Fingers limp, back arched. I wish I could reach out and just hold her.

She takes in a deep breath. “I think we need to get you out of the house tomorrow.”

I nearly choke.

“What?”

“Well,” she starts again, “you’ve been cooked up in here for weeks, and by the looks of things, you haven’t stepped a foot outside.” She pauses. “Your lawn looks awful, by the way.”

The room is quiet and dark and my throat is dry. I decide to change the subject.

“So I was thinking that the guest bedroom could finally be put to use,” I say in an attempt to be witty. “You can stay there tonight - there’s more blankets in the closet if you need them because the upstairs gets a little cold at night.”

“I remember,” she says.

An eerie silence creeps over the room and just like that, Adrienne gets up and walks across the room. Her bags haven’t moved from their place at the bottom of the steps since she arrived this morning. Instinctively, I get up and quickly make my way to the place she stands.

“I’ll get them for you,” I tell her.

She doesn’t argue.

We walk upstairs, our footsteps in sync with each other’s and once we get to the top of the steps, we start walking off down the hall toward the guest bedroom right next across from mine. The door’s been closed for so long because I’ve never had a real reason to go in there for. It’s neat and the bed spread is pulled tightly across the bed. Pillows are aligned against the headboard and Adrienne takes a step inside.

“It looks nice,” she says, walking toward the bed. Her hand runs along the silk comforter and after a moment, she sits. “Just how I remember it.”

And it’s then that I realize not much has changed since we lived together. The house has remained the same. I’m the same old bastard I turned into after she left and she’s still gorgeous.

The only thing that’s changed is that now, I’m alone.

My friends are never coming back.