Abby was meant to leave in a month’s time, and our flat became a flurry of activity. She was going through her wardrobe like a madwoman, tossing old clothes, trying on clothes she hadn’t worn in a long time, purchasing new garments. She revamped her toiletries, without needing to, but it was a comfort for her. She had so much nervous energy leading up to her leaving, involving her concentration in any activity helped her.
After her mania of cleaning and reorganizing and purging some of her possessions in order to fill it again, Abby resumed her natural excitable state with most of her time and energy at home focused on me. I indulged her every whim, frenzy and fancy when we were together and she seemed calmer with the idea of being away with my doting on her. She was getting the constant reminder that I loved her and wouldn’t forget her when she was away by maintaining physical contact, holding hands, sitting flush beside one another, my arm slung across her shoulders, her sitting on my lap.
Abby was storing up the contact for her time away, and eventually she turned her attention to constructive outlets. One night we were curled up in bed with her between my spread legs. She was tinkering around on her laptop with her tour schedule to one side and a small world map I’d had mounted on the wall of my office on the other side. When she crawled in the bed with it, I couldn’t ignore it. “Baby, that’s my map.”
“I know. I need it.”
“What in heaven’s name do you need with a map?”
“Relax, love. I’ll put it back.” I knew I would end up putting it back because she’d find something else to focus on. “I need it for something I’m working on.”
“What are you working on?”
“It’s a surprise. Keep quiet and read your book.” She kissed me quickly before I could say anything more and she turned back to her laptop. Luke sent me a text earlier that he showed Abby a few apps and websites for her to play around on, no doubt she was applying her new tricks. She was color coding something, googling, referring to her map, consulting her tour schedule, studiously and meticulously working on her task.
Tenderly I stroked my left hand over her back in a lazy pattern with most of my attention on the book in my other hand. I glanced a few times over her shoulder only to see a huge calendar open in a window on her computer. Occasionally she would lean back to kiss me or let her mind reset and recharge before she went back to it again. After two hours, I sat my book aside to wrap her up in my arms and peek over her shoulder at her agenda in front of her. “How goes it, love? Almost done?”
She clicked through a few more windows, sailing through quickly, hit the mouse pad with her middle finger with a flourish, checked Google once more, giggled and relaxed into me. “Done! Tom, I did a thing!” her tone lilted higher in her excitement and accomplishment.
I kissed her cheek affectionately, looking over what she’d been working on so diligently for hours. I snickered in her ear, “It looks like the Rainbow Bridge.”
She tsked me disapprovingly, “But it’s all sorted. I did a thing!”
“Okay, what did you do? What do the pink days mean?”
“Pink is within fifty miles from home and the possibility to come home and sleep in our bed.”
“Purple is within a hundred miles, slight possibility to come home.” Her fingers interlocked with mine, resting on her belly.
“So blue… Blue must be too far away, no possibility of coming home to me.” She hummed in agreement, squeezing my hands in hers and burrowing into my embrace. “You’ve got numbers in the top and bottom of each date. What do those mean?”
“Till I come home for good. James and Michael have only scheduled the first six months until they see how the play is received, how well I’m received,” she said self-deprecatingly.
“Stop it, baby. You’re brilliant and you know it. You’ll prove yourself the star you are, and other directors will be ringing nonstop to hire you.”
She sighed dramatically, her small frame rising and falling with the inhale and then exhale. “I hope so. But the countdown for the six months scheduled and the other for the possible extension to a year… till I get home… till we get married.”
I whispered reverently into her hair, catching her very dear peach smell, “We will. We’ll get married.” A rush of pride flooded my bloodstream, quickening my heartbeat with delight that she wanted to be my wife, still. We had just come off a rough patch and I feared she would leave me or change her mind about marrying me.
“You didn’t ask about the yellow days,” she objected softly.
I knew what the yellow days were because those were the most important to me, but I let her have it. “Go on then, love. Tell me about the yellow days.” I nibbled at the shell of her ear, reclining back against the headboard, bringing her along with me.
“The yellow days are our days together when you can come to me or I can come to you, as long as your shooting schedule holds. I needed to work that out, when I would see you, before I go,” she said sadly, her emotions elevating the more she thought of it.
I shushed her quietly, “No tears, Abby… come on… You’re still here and we’ll have yellow days to look forward to.” She shuddered momentarily with her overwrought emotions. “Sweetheart, with all this talk of colors, you’ve reminded me of a dream I once had, about us, about our future.”
“You had a dream about us?” She sat up, moved her computer and papers out of the way to the foot of the bed, and crawled up over me. My hands traced along the outline of her curves as she ascended, fingertips lightly caressing, as remained prone in my relaxed pose. Finding her niche against me, she brushed her lips along mine in passing as she snuggled into my chest with my heartbeat as her pillow. Wrapping her up in my arms, I kissed the crown of her head and ran my hand over her hair.
“I did. I dreamed of our wedding, with me waiting at the end of the aisle and you in a big stunning white dress. They say that a majority of people don’t dream in color, but I did. The carpet was red, the stained glass windows of the church were painting the runner in a myriad of colors, greens and blues and even yellows…” I trailed off dreamily at the irony in her picking that color for us. Picking up again, remembering all the details of that dream from two years ago, I described my dream Abby to my reality Abby, “But you were my angel in white, a long flowing gown, made up to be the princess you are - and the smile you wore… you were so happy, and it was a perfect reflection of my emotions.
“Abigail, my heart, I want to make that dream a reality… at least the part where you’re pronounced mine and I yours, and I can finally kiss you as my wife.”
Her small frame heaved little audible breaths in the quiet of our bedroom and I had to strain to hear those. She was frozen in place otherwise, struck by the story of my dream. One hand stroked over her back, her excitement and vitality so alive under the cotton of the t-shit she’d absconded from my drawer, her happiness palpable. Tipping her head back with my crooked fingers under her chin, I brought her shimmery gaze on mine, her smile bright and alive, her skin flushed pink. Tears swam in her eyes, but she was positively beaming.
“Abigail?” I teased. “What’s all this?”
“Um… elation? … I think?”
I lowered my lips to hers, slanting my head, closing my eyes, breathing in her smell and holding it in. She kissed me, slow and simple, tender and sweet, all of it combining together to make my heart sing in harmony with hers. Her tangled in my hair as she melted against me, opening up to me in the most delicious way and I drank her in.
When she separated from me again, she giggled in my arms and I could swear I could feel her giddiness exude from her, hanging on me like a quilt. “Abby?”
“Dream, colors, dress, happy, your wife… it’s all good,” she counted off. “I like it. I like it a lot. I have one request, one teeny tiny request.” She held her pointed finger between our parted lips before that one too found its way into my hair.
“Anything for you, baby.”
“Make love to me as though I was already your wife.”
I laughed as I rolled her over onto her back. “Abby, love, I will kindly remind you that,” I rocked my pelvis into hers, my cock hardening with the want of fulfilling her plea. “That,” I rocked into her again the friction awakening my erection. “Thatis not a teeny tiny request.” I swallowed her moan of encouragement in a passionate kiss.
I made love to her into the late hours of the morning. The want of turning purple days into yellow so we weren’t so blue forefront in my mind.