Rhapsody (Part 2 of Medley).

52: LIKE TO BE YOU / SPACES.

March has always been my least favorite month of the year. Grandma Rose died in March twelve years ago. Ten years ago in March, my mom was diagnosed with leukemia. And also in March but six years ago, we lost Max, our family's eleven-year-old Siberian Husky.

I hate March.

This year March won't be any different, I can already sense it.

With William gone after the Police caught the three young men that broke into the neighbors' house and stole their car, I was all alone once again.

As I predicted, Augie started working from home more and coming to the office less. I'm only seeing him twice a week.

Gemma has had some time off and has been visiting more often, but soon she'll be swamped with work again and I'll be lucky if I see her more than once a month.

Anne's visits go according to Gemma's schedule, so I'm sure I'll see less of her too. But she calls often. I love it when she does. We spend hours on the phone! Just like when Isabel calls. Just like it would be with my mom if she were still here.

Then Harry came home.

I was relieved. But I was also extremely afraid. What if we had grown so much apart that being under the same roof felt like living with a stranger? What if our bed had become too small for the two of us? What if Aster Hall was now just a house and had ceased to be a home?

Those fears evaporated the moment he crossed the threshold with Seb by his side, who had been his single-member welcome committee when he arrived at the driveway. I waited inside.

I wanted to run to him as soon as I saw him and punch him in the face, curse him out, then set the house on fire with him in it and leave with Sebastian. That's how angry I was with him.

But I froze. I saw him and I couldn't move.  And he used that moment of vulnerability to strike first. He dropped his bags on the floor and sprinted across the living room, picked me up in his arms and kissed me like the world was going to end if he didn't.

Aster Hall was still a home. It was a home because he was there and I was feeling the effects of his kiss throughout my entire body, which meant he was not a stranger to me. He was still the man I belonged to. This was still the home we built together.

Before we got so lost in each other that I could forget I needed to be firm and not succumb to the all-powerful sexual pull between us, I allowed a few more kisses and 'I've missed yous' and then I sat him down at the dining table to talk.

We went over the movie dilemma again. I made it clear that I was still hurt, that I was still disappointed in him, but that I was willing to work things through. Harry went on his apology marathon as usual, but apologies don't mean anything to me anymore. He cried and I wiped his tears and told him this was the first and only time he made such an important decision on his own. If there's ever a next time, I won't be waiting here when he comes home.

After a long conversation that we managed to not turn into an argument (for once), I gave myself permission to forget about our problems for one night and let a little joy into my life. Joy that I can only get from him, feel with him, share with him.

Leaving a trail of clothes from the stairs to our bedroom door, we stumbled into bed, laying down a love set on fire that couldn't wait. It was humanly impossible to separate our lips, our hands were in constant motion, and our hearts were beating at the speed of out thoughts: Are we always going to feel this way? How is it going to be when we wake up tomorrow? Will there ever be a day when the Earth doesn't stop spinning when we're making love? Will there ever come a day when we'd be only having sex? Will this love end before we can rescue it?