The Long Road Home

This is where you're expecting the happy ending. That Tom got in his car and came after me, we met at my apartment and went inside and never left that cocoon of love. Wrong! Tom got married on Saturday. I took a few weeks off and tried to get my head on straight. I came home with a moderate tan and able to go a full twenty-four hours without crying. But that was it. Jessica said I looked like something from a zombie movie. Which was probably accurate, I felt like the walking dead. My heart was dead; my body might as well have followed.

I know I sound like some melodramatic queen, but that was how it was. By the end of the summer, I could actually smile and mean it. I bet you're wondering what I did with my winnings. Well, I paid off my truck and bought a house. Not very interesting is it? I didn't think so either.

In November, I finally started dating again. I seemed to have become a different man to the people in the bar. I must have had a neon sign above my head that screamed 'walking wounded.' That first time I hooked up with someone was almost a washout. But he was patient and kind and eventually, we both got off. The second time was easier. The third was even better. But it still wasn't anything like what I'd had with Tom.

Christmas came and went. I spent the holidays with Jessica and Mike. Both of them made sure to never mention Tom's name. New Year's Eve was spent with some guy from one of the clubs I started hanging out at. I really couldn't tell you his name or even the color of his hair. I was really a callow shit.

So, we're coming up on Valentine's Day. Supposedly, this is a time for lovers. I seem to have this complete Bah Humbug attitude. It was about ten o'clock on Thursday evening, just before V-Day, someone knocked on my door. All I could think was that I hoped it wasn't that guy from two weeks ago. Somehow, no didn't mean no to him. He'd followed me home from work. I grabbed the phone and opened the door. Tom.

My God, he looked like shit. He'd lost twenty pounds. His hair was too long and he hadn't shaved for at least four days. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked like he hadn't slept, or if he had, he'd slept in his clothes. How did he get my new address?

Tom looked in my eyes and instantly his filled with tears. Well hell, there went my last bit of resolve. I pulled him inside and he clung to me, sobbing against my shoulder. It took several hours to get him to calm down. Between sobbing and coughing and crying and wailing, it was almost one before he quieted down. The man doesn't talk. It's like pulling teeth to get him to say anything. But man, that night, once he calmed down, I couldn't get him to shut up. Nothing I did would get him to stop yammering.

He told me everything. We went over his marriage, the honeymoon, and the breakdown of it after. They fought. They had nothing in common. He left her a few weeks ago, basically living on the largesse of friends. The man was looking about as close to the end of his rope as I'd ever thought to see anyone. Well, my house had three bedrooms, two had beds, and the other had an office. I showed him to one and I went into the other.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling long after I shut the door. I knew I wasn't over him. But I didn't expect it to be this strong still. I loved this man. And now I knew I probably always would. I tossed and turned for many hours, falling asleep just before dawn. I woke sometime later that morning with the sun streaming in my face. I rolled away, trying to get away from the light when I saw Tom sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at me.

To say I was startled wouldn't be accurate. It was more like seeing an angel. Okay, if your angel hadn't shaved and needed a few good meals, but an angel nonetheless. "What do you want, Tom?"

He swallowed hard. "You."

I closed me eyes to shut the temptation out. Where was this eight months ago? Why didn't you say this then? "For eight hours?"

He barely whispered it, but I heard him anyway. "Forever."

It made me open my eyes and stare at him. "I don't trust you, Tom. How can I?"

He looked like I'd punched him. "I can't ask you to trust me. But I mean it."

I shook my head. This was everything I ever wanted. But... could I let him back in? Would I survive? "Why?"

He looked so pitiful, sitting at the end of the bed, raw hope and fear in his eyes. If he said the right thing, I knew I'd take him back. "I need you."

I didn't realize how much hope I'd built up in that short moment. That is until it was dashed away. My voice broke as I spoke. "Go away Tom."

The man actually started to cry. But he did get up and walk away. I even heard the door open then shut, so softly. I spent the rest of the day with a constant sheen of tears in my eyes, only a few of them fell, which probably explains why my throat hurt so much. I couldn't allow myself to grieve. Not yet.

Jessica called me the next day at work. Tom was staying with her. I bought my house because it was within a short walking distance to Jessica's. Little did I know how much I'd regret it.

It all started with a note tacked to my door. All that was on it was a large letter 'I'. The next day there was a 'L' and a red rose on the door step. Then an 'O', the red rose and a white carnation. Each day I got another letter and a new flower added to the ones already given: purple gladiolus, pink tulips, yellow daisies, even a bird of paradise. As you can probably imagine, I was incredibly touched. When I arranged the notes in order, it spelled out 'I love yo." I figured the 'U' was coming tomorrow.

I wasn't going to wait though. If Tom could do this, he was obviously sincere. I went over to Jessica's. Tom was sitting on the couch, watching television. I walked right up to him and pulled him to me. I looked in his eyes and started kissing him. He moaned against my lips as I kept kissing him more, further, deeper.

I was kissing against his lips as I mumbled out, "I got your notes."

Tom was kissing me, mumbling as I had. "What notes?"

What notes? That made me pause. What notes? But, he had to have been the one... Tom was the one... "You didn't tack those notes to my door? With the flowers?"

Tom looked at me. Really looked at me. "No. It's a wonderful idea, but I didn't. I was going to come by tonight and plead again." He leaned up to kiss me. Now I felt sick. If Tom hadn't, who had? That guy from the club. It must be him. Oh my God!

I pulled away from Tom, looked at him and realized that this was what really mattered. Okay, so it was some sick stalker's idea, but the result was the same. I'd take Tom however he'd come to me. The man's not a romantic, not in the slightest. But I loved him. I smiled at Tom and took his hand. "Where's your room?"

He started trembling; I could feel it in my hand. "Are you sure?"

I grinned. "Definitely."

Well as you can imagine, we went to bed. It was after the second round, as we were holding each other, trying to catch our breath, that we heard Mike and Jessica outside the door, applauding, catcalling and whistling. Tom and I looked at each other and busted up laughing. We were both beet red with embarrassment, but it was incredibly funny.

We got dressed and went out to talk to Jessica and Mike. I couldn't look at them, but we sat and talked anyway. You know how it goes, the first few weeks were filled with moving stuff, finding a comfortable routine. Tom went back to school and finished up his education. I continued working. We spent long hours in bed, longer hours holding each other.

A few months later, it was my twenty-sixth birthday. Tom was antsy that morning, sending me off to work with a powerful kiss but definitely pushing me towards the door. I was feeling playful and was trying to tease him. I kept forgetting something, like my car keys, and spent many minutes searching. Tom was near tears when I finally left for work. That night, when I got home, the dining room was almost ablaze with two hundred candles. Just walking into the room was like walking into an inferno. I smelled something burning, so I went into the kitchen. Tom was standing over the stove, flour dusted most of the counters, and smoke hung in swirling clouds near the ceiling. I took it all in, the cake that was lopsided and frosted as if by finger paint, the roast that was smoldering in the pan on top of the stove, and the very disheveled, very sweet, very endearing Tom who was practically in tears.

I couldn't help it. I started laughing. What was a valiant effort to not cry broke down and the floodgates emptied. Tom was bawling. I hugged him up tightly and stroked his back, still caught up in chuckles from time to time. He had tried so hard to do something special for me. I was very touched. I lifted his face and traced the tear tracks with my thumbs. I lowered my lips to his and kissed him so softly, so gently. His sobs quickly quieted as his passion rose. Before we knew it, we were naked, rolling around under the dining room table, sweating profusely from the candle warmth. When it was over, we blew out the candles, opened all the windows and doors to air the place out, then ordered a couple of pizzas and then made late night forays into the kitchen to smear chocolate cake over our bodies only to lick it off slowly.

It's been three years now. Tom is still the least romantic man I know, and pretty damn clueless sometimes. But I love him, just as he loves me. Yes, he finally told me, that evening, after we left Jessica's and went back to my place. He doesn't say it often, but he doesn't have to. The fact that he's with me, looks at me adoringly, and even dotes on me tells me without any words how much he loves me. This wasn't the easiest time for two people who love each other to come together. But it was worth it.

Oh yeah, the stalker... never heard from him again. Mike put the notes and flowers there. Being the wonderful, romantic soul that he is, he decided to help things along. Like I said, the man was a gawky nerd, but I'm damn glad Jessica had him.