Winter Jacket: Finding Home (5 page)

“You’re the reason she’s staying in California.”

Troian held up her hands. “It’s not like I put a gun to her head. She’s a grown ass woman who makes her own decisions. Don’t take this out on me.”

I laid my hand on Hunter’s shoulder. “It’s been a long day of driving,” I said, trying to defuse the situation before fists began to fly. “I just need my apartment keys and then we’ll be going.”

“But I made dinner reservations for us,” Troian remarked with disappointment.

I glanced between my girlfriend and my best friend. Hunter continued to stare stonily ahead, completely switched off. “We’ll have to take a rain check,” I decided.

I collected the keys and the address to my new apartment and guided Hunter toward the exit with my hand firm in the small of her back. Troian continued to look incredulous about the conversation. Hunter, however, looked deflated.

I hadn’t known what to expect in regards to my new housing arrangements. When Troian had first moved out to California, the studio had set her and Nikole up with a multi-million dollar property. But Troian was the showrunner, and I was a lowly staff writer. The apartment complex was conveniently located only a few minute’s drive from Pickfair Studios. I had heard nightmarish things about Los Angeles traffic, mostly from Troian, so I was thankful I would be living relatively close to where I worked.

My apartment was on the third floor of a multi-unit complex—a cluster of smaller buildings with an outdoor pool and community gym on the grounds. The structures themselves lacked character, but the property looked clean and it was in a safe neighborhood, so I really had nothing to complain about except that I’d have to start saving quarters for the basement laundry room.

Beige carpeting and a blast of air-conditioned air greeted us when I unlocked the door to my new home. Immediately to the right was space just large enough for a square table and four chairs. To my left was the living room, crammed with worn, but serviceable furniture. Straight ahead was a small galley kitchen. It reminded me of someplace I might have lived in college.

“Not exactly a palatial mansion, huh?” Hunter observed from behind me.

I pulled my first suitcase inside. “Yeah, but it’s free,” I reminded her. “Can’t be picky.”

Pickfair was taking care of my housing just as they had done for Troian and Nik. I hadn’t been concerned about paying rent, but knowing a furnished apartment would be waiting for me had been one less thing to worry about as I’d prepared for this new chapter of my life.

Hunter dragged a second suitcase inside from the hallway. “Well at least if you choose writing over teaching,” she quipped, “I’ll know it’s because of the job itself and not the glamorous lifestyle that comes with it.”

“Come here a second,” I said. I wrapped my fingers around Hunter’s wrist and pulled her to me.

We hadn’t talked about what had transpired in Troian’s office. I didn’t want to make a big deal about it, but I also didn’t want to let the moment pass without mention.

My hands rested lightly on her hips. “Are you okay?” It was the second time I’d asked her that question.

She chewed on her lower lip. “It’s a lot to take in,” she said somberly. “Everything is happening so fast.”

“I know, love.” I leaned forward and pressed my lips to her forehead. I didn’t have the words to make it better; I was feeling the same way.

She sighed and her body sagged into mine. We stood like that in the foyer, crowded with suitcases and the apartment door still open, until she gently pulled away.

There was a smile on her face, but it looked out of place. “Let’s finish unpacking your car.”

Further exploration of the apartment produced a single bedroom and bathroom, both carpeted with that same beige carpeting found elsewhere in the apartment. A Venetian blind covered the solitary bedroom window, blocking out a view of the parking lot. The queen-sized mattress left little room for anything else than a wooden chest of drawers. On the bureau I found a stack of books on writing for television along with a note from Troian:
I figured you’d break in the bedroom first. Gross.

“There’s stuff in the fridge,” I heard Hunter call from the other part of the apartment.

I left the bedroom, half worried she was referring to food that a previous tenant had left behind. Instead, I discovered Troian had left us a second surprise: a bottle of champagne and a charcuterie plate.

“Now that’s more like it,” I approved.

Hunter investigated the contents of the kitchen cabinets until she found something we could drink out of. They were narrow juice glasses instead of champagne flutes, but like the rest of the apartment, they would serve their purpose.

I popped the cork on the champagne bottle and poured us each a glass of the bubbly beverage. It was a warm evening, so we brought our drinks and the tray of cheese and cured meats onto the balcony, which connected to the living room via a sliding glass door. There were two plastic chairs out on the platform along with a rusted coffee can, empty except for about an inch of rainwater.

Hunter stood beside me and we peered across the landscape in silence. The balcony overlooked the apartment complex’s parking lot, which was filled with individual carports, one for each residential unit. It would be a few hours until the sun set. Instead of stars, I imagined the sky would be lit up with the neon signs of fast food restaurants and gas stations.  

“It’s not quite the Colorado mountain cabin,” I observed, “but this isn’t so bad.” In the distance, as if on cue, came the shrill howl of a police siren.

Hunter gripped the balcony’s ledge in one hand and her glass of champagne in the other. “Are you sure about this?”

“No.”

Everything about this place was foreign to me—the job, this apartment; even the weather didn’t feel normal. And in the morning, the only thing that made sense would be going back to Minnesota. But I had to do this. I owed it to myself to at least give it a try.

Hunter turned toward me and raised her glass. “Here’s to new adventures.”

That night I stared at Hunter’s peaceful features as she slept beside me. I didn’t want to fall asleep and waste these final moments with her. I wished she could have spent more time with me in California, but we’d used up all of our extra days in Colorado. I started work on Monday morning and she had to get back to the hospital. The road trip was over.

I stayed awake for as long as my body would allow, memorizing her beautiful face in the dark and listening to the evenness of her breath. Eventually, the time between each blink became longer and longer until the inevitable moment when I closed my eyes and they refused to reopen.

The next morning, Hunter was soft but solid in my arms. The blinds were drawn, but early morning sunlight crept through the vinyl slats. She shifted on the mattress, and when her backside pressed more firmly against my front, I felt a familiar warmth originate from my core and expand. I lightly raked my fingernails down the length of her arm.

“Don’t,” she quietly protested. “You’ll make it too hard to get up.”

I ran my palm across her front, detouring my travels at her underwear, dipping just beneath the elastic band. “Then you’d better get out of bed,” I breathed into her ear, “because I’m starting to have other ideas.”

She laughed, and I felt it vibrate through my bones.

“I’m serious, Hunt,” I growled. “Move your body or you’re staying here with me.”

She arched her back, a subtle movement. “Move my body?” she purred. “Like this?”

I groaned low, deep in my throat. I clutched at the top of her underwear and pulled it upwards, making the material taut against her sex. She felt it; I heard the hitch in her intake of air.

“Don’t play with me,” I warned.

She spun in my arms so our noses grazed. If possible, her body had grown even warmer than before. If I didn’t let her go now, I would surely be burned.

“What time is your flight?” I already knew all the details, having memorized her return trip, but I felt like I needed to acknowledge what would be happening soon.

She tucked her chin to her chest and burrowed closer to me. “Too soon.”

Soon after, we dragged our bodies out of bed and began the robotic routine of getting ready for the day. She had a late morning flight time that would have her back in Minnesota late that afternoon. The car ride to the airport was silent except for the sporadic directions from my in-car GPS. Sunday traffic was relatively light, and we arrived at Los Angeles International Airport more quickly than expected.

I parked my car in short-term parking and escorted Hunter from the ticket counter to the airport security check-point—as far as I could go without buying a ticket for myself. We embraced, realizing there was nothing left to do but to say our goodbyes.

“I don’t want to do this.” Her fingers curled around the hair at the base of my neck. “Is it too late to change your mind?”

I leaned forward and pressed my forehead against hers. I breathed her in, memorizing how she smelled, how she felt in my arms. “I’ll visit as often as I can,” I promised with closed eyes, “and whenever you get time off, I can bring you out here. It’s only a few months,” I reminded her and myself. “And we can talk on the phone and on the computer all the time.”

She released a shuddering breath. “Okay.”

“I love you, Hunter. We’ll make this work,” I said with conviction.

She pulled back and gave me a watery smile. “I love you, too.” She swallowed and looked more fragile than before. “I guess I should go through security; we’re only delaying the inevitable.”

I nodded because I couldn’t say another word. It hurt all over. I was too afraid if I tried to speak I’d start to cry. I could fall apart later in private, not in one of the busiest airports in the country.

She hugged me tight a final time and whispered in my ear. “Go be great, Ellio.”

The walk from the airport terminal to short-term parking was quiet and lonely. I had spent nearly a solid week with Hunter as my constant companion, and now separated, the void was massive. I got lost on the way from the airport back to my apartment, but I didn’t mind the detour; I was in no real hurry to return to the rented space. There would be no one waiting for me when I got there.

We had eaten through the charcuterie plate, and Troian hadn’t left behind any other food, so I found a grocery store in my travels and bought some essentials to get me through the next few days, mostly milk and cereal and things with which to make sandwiches. It was still very early, which made it feel more like being on vacation or at summer camp than an actual permanent move.

When I returned to my new apartment, groceries in tow, there was a children’s picture book on the kitchen counter that I hadn’t noticed before. Flipping though it, I discovered the story of how a hermit crab whose shell had gotten too snug for his body had ventured off onto the ocean floor to find a new home. At first he thinks the shell is a little boring, but he soon meets a variety of sea creatures who help him, little by little, feel more at home in his new environment. When I reached the end of the children’s story, my heart seized inside my chest. I couldn’t imagine a more perfect, supportive partner than Hunter.

She called, a few hours later.

“Where are you?” I asked. “Are you back home already?”

“Uh huh. I’m in your bed, under the covers; Sylvia’s curled on my lap, purring up a storm.”

“Damn lucky cat,” I scowled. “How was your flight?”

“A little boy in the seat behind me kicked the back of my chair nearly the entire flight.”

“Makes you want to run out and have a dozen of them, huh?”

“Actually …” she trailed off.

I cleared my throat. “I read your picture book.”

“You’re pretty talented at changing the subject,” she mused.

Whenever Hunter brought up the topic of wanting children some time in the future, I became a deer in headlights. My biological clock had never started ticking, but I’d dated women in the past whose desire to have children had been more like a ticking time bomb. It was only natural that the topic would come up from time to time, though. She worked in the maternity ward of a hospital.

I didn’t take her bait. “Am I supposed to be the hermit crab?”

“One of the volunteers was reading that book to the kids the other day, and I thought of you. It’s probably dumb though,” she back-peddled.

“It’s not dumb; it’s perfect, Hunt. Just like you.”

“I know you’re nervous because of all this change. I am, too,” she admitted. “I got you the book to help you feel brave when you’re out on the ocean floor.”

I closed my eyes and my tear ducts began to fill up. It was a feeling I was getting more accustomed to lately. “I don’t deserve you,” I rasped. “You’re too good to me.”

“Just remember that when some ingénue on a casting couch is throwing herself at you.” The amusement in her tone let me know she was teasing me, but I imagined that it might be a real worry of hers.

“I’m just here to write words on a page. Troi’s the one fighting off the Hollywood starlets.”

“Lucky Nikole,” Hunter murmured.