Quietly Loved

Today starts the same as any other, with the sound of a whispered “I love you” walking out the bedroom door. I lay in bed as the room rumbles with the movement of the garage door. I miss when we had few weekday obligations and woke up in each other’s arms. I wrap myself tighter in the empty sheets.

My heart still flutters when he texts me good morning, just like when we lived states apart. It starts my cold morning on a warm note. I smile and begin to pry myself from the comfort of our bed. I miss the time when I woke up feeling rested, but I miss the days when we woke up together so much more.

I brush my teeth and throw on the work-from-home special, a dress shirt with sweatpants. I look at myself in the mirror and am glad he isn’t home to see the witch hair I tried to tame into a ponytail. Then, my commute involves walking across the hall and into my home office. I sit down and the house is silent save for the occasional mild creak when a strong gust of wind blows through. There’s just something missing.

I preemptively wince when I open my work laptop. I already know what I’m going to see, a day full of back-to-back conference calls. The screen flashes on and shows me I’m right, much to my dismay. I start my first call with an artificial smile plastered on my face. The smile wanes along with my patience with each passing call.

After five grueling video calls, all I have to show for it is an ever-growing task list that I can’t tackle until the barrage of conversations finally ends. I have an hour-long block on my calendar to respond to emails and work on a presentation. It tricks me into feeling like I’m taking a break because finally, I don’t have someone’s voice chirping in my ears.

It’s hard to quiet down an anxious brain. My mind is filled with questions. Why did I choose this line of work again? Are there any remote islands I can move to? What time is it? God, it’s only 2:00 PM. My mind may shut down if I have to do this any longer. Have I begun to hate people? I ask myself this every day.

Then, I hear a familiar voice downstairs call out my name. I couldn’t hear the rumble of the garage from my office on the other side of the house. His calm, smooth voice cuts through the sea of nagging demands I had been drowning in. I run down to give him a kiss.

“What are you doing home so early?” I ask. “Not that I’m complaining, of course.”

He looks down at me and grins. “I snuck out of the office early to hang out with you.”

I smile, then immediately frown when I remember the mountain of work I need to dig myself out of. The boundary between work and home is blurred to the detriment of the remote worker. Even when I step away from my desk, I still get a constant flood of emails and messages to my phone.

Then I remember how I was checking emails at Disney World and responding to a “fire” on Christmas Eve. I think of all the trips I had to postpone to accommodate work needs. I think of my kids asking me why mommy never has time to play with them. I can’t let that happen. I give him a kiss and ask for a few minutes to wrap everything up.

I put my laptop and notepad away and sit down next to him on the couch. “Afternoon nap?” I ask him.

He nods and pulls me toward him. My head lies on his chest and nestled into his shoulder. I can hear every steady heartbeat thumping alongside mine and my breathing slows to match his. I wish life could stay just like this.