I-90

Maddy squirmed a bit toward me, snuggling in close. I gently pushed back her hair and noticed her earrings. They were still on. She wore long, dangling earrings when we made love. It was one of our “things.” She usually took them off, right after. Tonight, she’d dozed off too quickly.
“You forgot to undress,” I said.
She pulled out a hand without opening her eyes and detached one earring, then the other, depositing them on the nightstand.
She snuggled back into me, face into my chest.
“You’re going, right?” Her voice was a whisper.
“Yeah.”
“When?”
“I’ll sleep a bit, then leave.”
She slid closer. “No you won’t – sleep, I mean.”
“I know,” I said.
I pulled Maddy even closer. I wanted her closer, still, inside me.
“Why?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“How are the roads?”
“They’ll be good, by now.”
“Even on I-90?”
Maddy meant the long stretch from Massachusetts through Albany, Syracuse, Rochester, Buffalo, Erie, Pennsylvania, then finally to Cleveland.
“I’ll take my time.”
“I don’t want you to go, you know that.”
“Yes.”
“I’m just being selfish.”
“I know that, too.”
She smiled, eyes still closed.
“You miss your dad a lot.”
“It’s not about that.”
“Then what?”
“I’m not exactly sure."
“Yes, you are."
“I need to feel something, and I don’t. I need to find out why I don’t feel an incredible sadness that it’s all over. Shouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know what anyone should feel,” she said. “Maybe that’s what you need to find out, that there’s no should.”
“I’m not calling ahead.”
Maddy nodded. “That’s fine.”
“I’m just going.”
“It’s OK, Nicky,” she said. “It is.”
I stood and Maddy rolled onto her back, covered herself chastely, smiled gently. “You do need to go,” she said. “You’ve been talking about it by not talking about it for weeks. It’s time.” She rose, then stood, wrapping the beige comforter around her naked body. She tossed back her hair, checked the time – 4:45. “I’ll make some coffee,” she said.
I was standing at the window, now, looking out. The snow fell, still. Silently. Softly.