The last few weeks without her have been hell. I check the incoming flights and watch as the arrival board showing NCE to MSP flips from
EXPECTED 10:10 PM to LANDED.
She’s home.
I check which baggage carousel her luggage will come from and make my way over to the nearest security checkpoint. The sooner I see her, the better. Her absence has eaten me up; I want her in my arms again. I pace with my fingers threaded over the hat she knit me. Fucking love that she gave me a handmade gift, it helped me feel closer to her while she was away.
Ten minutes go by with no sign of Jordan. Where is she? People trickle through, then I see her blonde hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun and she’s wearing one of my sweatshirts. My heart hammers behind my ribcage.
We lock eyes, and she quickens her pace with a growing smile. When we get our hands on each other, I’m astounded by the instantaneous comfort. I wrap her in my arms and dip my face to her neck, breathing her in. I can’t get enough. We rock back and forth. This is my girl.
“Fuck, I missed you.” My voice is muffled against her shoulder.
“I don’t want to be away from you that long again,” she whispers.
“Let me take you home.”
She squeezes me tighter and sighs. “I already am.”
