I stretch, then snuggle deeper into the riot of mismatched pillows and blankets that resembles a nest more than a proper bed. "G'night. I love you, too." I'm more coherent by mere syllables.
Tonight, we were barely able to tell each other about our respective days swinging lattes and developing recipes, mumbling the details through a haze of exhaustion. Normally, we have each other in stitches with stories of my psychotic, caffeine-deprived customers and his adventures in learning enough Spanglish to explain to the kitchen staff that lard is not vegetarian; tonight, however, we left each other in half-hearted giggles like poorly applied Bandaids. Bedtime was a relief. Hello, oblivion; hello, nothingness.
Rolling over, I inhale the scent of his hair, his skin, the perfume of him that lulls me to sleep every night. I can sense his gentle tumble headlong into sleep, the soft slowing of his breath signaling rest at last. It amazes me how, even separated by sleep, some part of me remains aware of him, just as he says he's always aware of me. That thought makes me smile, and I relent to the warmth, the scent, the slow meandering of my dreams.
The phone rings, cutting through a hazy whirl of soft focus kisses and sleepy embraces. So soon? I murmur protests, rolling over to touch...
...nothing. The pillow that has been my constant companion every night since he last visited must have rolled off the bed sometime while we were sleeping miles apart. Snatching it off the floor and clutching it to my chest, I answer the phone.
"Good morning, baby. What'cha doing?"
I flop back on the bed, burying my nose in the lingering scent of him before I answer. "Nothing. Just missing you. How'd you sleep?"