"What do you mean you're alone?"
He ignores me, taking a long hit and then exhaling slowly. I decide not to push him and sigh heavily, enjoying the wind blowing in through the open patio doors. I can hear the river and the city and the sound of his slow, deep breathing beside me. "Do you remember the first time we came to London? When the Brits dragged us back here at the end of that first tour?"
I smile a little as I remember how nervous he was to fly across the ocean. I teased him endlessly. We'd just spent an entire summer flying around on tour, and now he was nervous? Something about being over the ocean scared him. He didn't let got of my hand the entire flight.
"It didn't stop raining the whole week. I was so miserable."
"You were so upset because your hair kept getting ruined."
"I had to do it like three times a day!" I say, laughing a little at the memory of my frizzy waves and how hard I'd tried to keep them under control.
"It was the first time I was able to take you anywhere nice. And you spent an entire day trying to find the right dress."
"I still have the shoes I bought that day."
"And then I asked you to marry me and you turned me down."
"I did not!"
"Yes you did! You absolutely did. Something about waiting until we finished the next album. Or something."
"I just said... I guess I did say no."
"I wanted to marry you more than anything."
"I've never been the marrying type."
"You were to me." The sadness in his voice is undeniable, and I feel a sharp pang of guilt as I realize what that probably did to him. There's no way for me to make this good, so I take another hit and set the remainder of the joint on the ash tray.
"Linds, what's going on with you?"
"I missed you." His words catch me a little of guard, but I reach over and grab his hand, slipping my fingers between his. I always loved his hands. They seemed to be made for mine.
"Why did you come?"
"I just told you."
"I don't believe that."
"Why not?"
"You're not allowed to miss me. Why aren't you at home? You should be with your wife and kids."
I feel him tense beside me and manage to pull myself up into an Indian-style position on the bed. My fingers find their way into his familiar curls and he closes his eyes, ignoring my questions again. I really look at him for the first time and my stomach sinks a little. He's thinner. He looks a little older. Whatever he isn't telling me, I know it's heavy. I don't ask any more questions for now. Maybe sending him a picture was my way of telling him that I need him. Now, though, it's pretty obvious that he needs me.
I tangle my fingers even deeper in his hair, watching his chest rise and fall slowly. Soon, he's asleep, and I find myself curling up beside him. "I miss you, too, Linds."
