It must be love: she felt invasive for waking up in her own bed.
The dawn slinked up the horizon and stirred a breeze and the breeze came through Lori’s window and made the curtains billow. In the same way, the moment she opened her eyes, Lori felt her body pulled as if by marionette strings into a full stretch before she could stop herself.
She looked over, Cait was still asleep at her side, curly hair tumbling down over her face, and Lori smiled. The fan perched on the desk continued to oscillate its own little gusts across the quilt and the bodies underneath, and Cait slept on. It had been three days, and Cait didn’t jolt awake the moment the bed shifted, anymore. Cait felt at home in Lori’s bed: it must be love.
Lori lay a long moment. She might be able to get out of bed without waking her girlfriend, but she’d never get back in. If she used the bathroom now, she’d have to be up for good.
She rolled her eyes, she couldn’t wait. She slinked out of bed, and the sheets rustled. Cait burrowed a little into the empty space Lori had left in the blanket. Sure enough, the breeze billowing into the curtains was April chilly. Oh, but how to make sure Cait could sleep?
It was unwise to change the room at all when your lover was sleeping. Turning off the fan, closing the window: all would be a step too far. Cait would wake up, ‘Tuesday’ would begin, and then Cait would be gone back to base for who knows how many weeks.
Lori carefully lifted the fan, spun it on the desk, and set it down so it blew out into the empty room—keeping its soothing, consistent sound without chilling Cait any more. She’d start to overheat under all those blankets, soon. But that was alright.
It was as if Lori had turned over an hourglass, and while she quietly fiddled with her laptop in another room, ‘Tuesday’ wouldn’t begin for another few hours, in here. It was better than the sensation that the sand had been falling in the glass since they kissed each other goodnight, last night, that it ran out the moment she woke, invasive, in her own bed.
Each time Cait came over, the hourglass they turned over together lasted a little longer, the interval between ‘when we see each other next’ got shorter and felt longer. Someday soon, maybe, Lori would be able to crawl back into bed and leave the sand to take care of itself.
