Passing through paradise

That night M's dad made us dinner. We all played cards afterwards. M's dad was fascinated by our decision to stay together until I left, by my decision to come to Mexico, and the most fascinated by the fact that I hid my little trip from my family. I suppose I understand how that can be confusing... I just didn't want to deal with their opinions about it. I needed to go to Mexico to see M for me. It was something I had to do for myself. For whatever semblance of an ‘us’ there was left... I needed to do it. 

The trip was short but it felt longer than I thought it would.  We had sex in the mornings before his dad woke up and at night after he was asleep. We played cards and took hot tubs. We were just together. No work, no distractions, nothing but an escape for us. 

We had decided that if I did come to Mexico we wouldn't have the same conversation a hundred times. We had decided on the terms of breaking up and knew what we needed to do with that time if we wanted to be in a position to be talking about potentially getting back together. We talked about our fears and we talked about how to help each other move forward. A few more tears ensued, but really it was just a beautiful romantic two days.

On the last night M's dad was ready to go to bed by 8pm, but somehow we got into a conversation that kept the three of us up together until 11.30pm. At first I felt frustrated that our last night together alone was shortened, but M was so glad to have had me share the time with his dad. He worries so much about his dad and he knows he won't be around forever. He was so happy to share it with me and I felt happy just for that.

It ended all too soon. M and Manny took me to the airport. M sat with me in the back and I held on to him as best as I could. They were silent tears, but they were there. The drive felt shorter on the way back to the airport but I never wanted it to end. Once we got to the airport we checked me in. Manny gave M and I some time alone. I felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest all over again. I was sobbing. I didn't want him to leave me at the airport. We waited to the last second for me to go through security. I tried to breathe in as deeply as I could to remember his smell. I tried to remember his touch, the sound of his voice, the warmth of his body... I tried to commit it all to memory. I hoped it would somehow make it better, easier... 

I cried my way through security and through most of the way through the flight back to Dallas, my layover, until I finally fell asleep. 

I woke upon landing feeling groggy and oddly empty. Would I see M again? Was that it? Would we talk anymore? We said we would... but only for a few more days to try and adjust. What did that mean? My head hurt, my eyes were puffy, and it felt like I had been hit by a bus. 

I gathered my belongings and hobbled off the airplane to head to my next boarding gate. I had a few hours to kill and my stomach was starting to grumble...

There was a Mexican place and the food looked good. It was enough to momentarily distract me from my own thoughts and I sat myself down at a booth. It was noon - but I figured it had to be 5pm somewhere in the world! I ordered a shot of tequila and a blue margarita and told the waitress to surprise me in terms of food. She brought me some tacos and I mashed them up into a taco salad. The tequila shot made my brain quiet down and the margarita made my stomach feel warm. 

I messaged B and S to let them know I was alive and well and that the weekend in Mexico had been amazing and exactly what I needed. Then I called my sister, J, to ask for a huge favor. I had said that I would be back in time for family dinner but I was really cutting it close. I called her cell phone and it rang twice before she answered.

'J, I need a bit of a favor, but don't freak out and I can't talk for long.' 

'Ok...' she answered unsure of what was to come next.

'So, I am in Dallas, I went to Mexico to see M and I need you to get me at the airport so I don't miss dinner and my-sort-of-goodbye family meal.'

I could feel the stunned silence through the phone, but she readily agreed after repeatedly saying 'you're where?!' I promised I would explain when I got back home. 

I gave her my flight number and she was waiting for me upon landing. I climbed into her car and was greeted with an expectant face. I told her about the weekend and how it was amazing and the proper goodbye that I needed. She was supportive albeit a bit shocked. She had a million questions. Questions I was too tired to answer and questions I didn't have real answers too. 

Before we pulled up to my grandma's she asked me 'So, when will you see him next?' I didn't have an answer. 

If my visa came in before he came back, I had no idea when I would see him next. And while I desperately wanted to get to London, M's birthday was on the 30th of September, which was just a few days after I expected the visa if all went well. I so desperately wanted to be with him on his birthday... leaving the day before it just seemed senseless! Maybe I would see him sooner than I had thought when I left him this morning... but then maybe I wouldn't...

Would a third goodbye feel even worse? How much torture was I ready to subject myself to? And which was more torture, not seeing him or seeing him and saying goodbye again? I really didn't know.