A Different Drummer: On being apart together

I had to fly back to Ridgway Pennsylvania a month ago alone to build a new shower in our 100-year-old house and a few other chores. Because it was a work trip and not for fun, Susan stayed home. It’s the longest we’ve been apart in 30 years.
It was Susan’s suggestion that I go alone. She brought it up months ago. “Why don’t you go back there alone and stay as long as you like.” I sensed an ambiguous undertone. Either she was being permissive or dismissive. Was she giving me freedom or the heave ho?
Several times she would bring it up when I least expected it. She’d say, “I’ll have the wonton soup. Why don’t you go to Ridgway by yourself?”
I’d order the pressed duck.
Finally, I asked, “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“Nooo. Nooo. Of course not.”
“And what would you be doing while I’m gone?” I asked.
“Oh, nothing. Hang around at the house. Sleep in. Do less laundry and dishes and picking up after you. Visit the kids. Sit the grandkids. I might take the ferry to San Francisco for the day. Or drive to Tahoe, maybe even Reno. I might drive up the coast and grab a room for the night. Maybe I’ll take a balloon ride, or grab the three-day cruise to Ensenada, or fly to Paris.”
“Ah huh. OK. Well, then. So you’re going to have fun without me,” I said.
“Why wouldn’t I?” she asked. “You would want that, right? Of course, I’d miss you desperately. When are you leaving?”
A week before flying out, I happened to be cleaning out my closet, getting rid of excess clothing, again. I pulled out seven shirts, two pair of jeans, a fist full of socks, some tattered undergarments, and was about to drive to Goodwill, again, except that I liked all the clothing I’d piled up. The purge was about space not taste. I just didn’t have room.
That’s when I got a brilliant idea. First one in a while.
Why don’t I take advantage of Southwest’s two-bags-check-for-free offer and haul a bundle of my beloved extra clothing to our east coast getaway love loft? I always thought it would be cool to have a complete wardrobe there, plus toiletries and such, to make future travels more impulsive and whimsical. We could leave in an instant. I wouldn’t need to pack. Just hop on a plane and go, baby, go, on the spur.
Now I was getting into it. I began building a side bag full of extra clothes, belts, shoes, books, floss, koosies and coasters. Susan saw what I was doing and asked, “What are you doing?”
“I’m building a side bag.” I explained my ingenious plan.
“I thought you were just going to fix a few things and come home. You have enough clothing here to stay for six months.”
I re-explained my ingenious plan using different words and more examples.
She said, “What are you planning to do? Move back there? How long do you think you’ll be staying?”
“I don’t know, honestly. A lot needs done. Sand and finish the old hardwood floors and porch. Replace single-pane windows. Put a new ceiling in the living room. Excavate a collapsed sewer pipe. Cut down a tree and grind the stump. Visit family. Watch Warriors basketball and Penguin hockey games. Write.”
“Ah huh. OK. So you’re going to be working mostly? You’re not going to be running around having fun with your buddies and old girlfriends?”
“Nooo. Nooo. Of course not. You wouldn’t want that. I’ll be laboring daily and missing you something fierce.”
She began flipping through my side bag. “Wait. You’re taking your favorite drink koozies? And you love this shirt. And this is one of your best belts. I bought you these socks. You said you loved them. Why would you want to leave all these favorite things back there?”
“You are right. They are some of my favorite things. That’s why I’m saving them from Goodwill. Honey, I have lots of other favorite shirts, koozies and socks. I don’t want to fill the love loft with reject clothing.”
“Are you moving back there?” she asked.
“What? What kind of question is that? Of course not.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have bought you a one-way ticket. Why don’t we call Southwest and get you a round-trip?”
“We discussed this,” I said. “It’s a lot of work, and I have to find a second-floor tenant. As soon as I know when I’m coming home, we’ll book the flight.”
“OK. Well, I’m going to lose 15 pounds while you are gone.”
“Fretting or dieting?”
“Dieting, silly.”
“And I have to stay in Pennsylvania until you drop 15 pounds? What if it takes until Christmas?”
While I was back there, I got frequent text messages from her. “How’s work going? What’s left to do? Send me pictures. Who are you with? Are you in bed yet? You’re up late. Why? Where are you? What are you doing? I miss you. I’m lonely,” and so on.
As I said, we haven’t been apart for 30 years. This first solo adventure has shown us how much we still love each other. I missed her. She missed me. We’re together again.