He missed bureaucracy at the end of every semester, when he had a stack of one hundred and two finals and two teaching assistants who had finished grading the term papers and had maxed out on the hours allotted in their contracts.
Hastily written answers to questions, in cheap ink, telling him that not only did his students refuse to study their notes but that they also refused to attend class several times during the past couple of months, made his heart ache.
Not even the one or two decent exams dulled the pain in his chest.
To be fair to his students, his heart already ached at the end of every term. The end of the semester signified the end of another few months he had endured with only phone calls and photographs and e-mails from his children, along with a few terse words from his ex-wife, before he packed his bags and traveled to Washington for a few days of actually seeing his estranged family.
He always looked forward to seeing his children, but seeing Andrea was painful; she could remind him of his shortcomings by just standing in the room. And at the end of the few days, he would be leaving his children behind and picking up even more emotional baggage than he thought he could carry.
When his colleagues left the department, he closed his door and opened his filing cabinet. He pushed the files to the front of one drawer and reached for his bottle of Lagavulin; his rinsed-out coffee mug became a suitable vessel for his pain medication and he drank until he couldn't grade papers anymore.
&&&&
He missed being twenty-five when he woke up with a hangover. At twenty-five, he could run a marathon (or at least stumble out of bed and make it to the kitchen) without feeling much pain. After forty, hangovers became even more unpleasant.
The knocking on his office door had jarred him from a pleasant dream---of better days, of times he had friends upon which he could depend, of days when he smiled more easily than he presently did----and made him groan.
"I heard you moan, Pokey. Open up."
He blinked a couple of times and pushed himself up into a sitting position. He took a few minutes on his secondhand sofa, rubbing his eyes and beard and trying to convince himself that he was really awake and that had been his ex-wife's voice he heard on the other side of the door.
"Are you going to make me wait out here in the hall?"
He groaned again and stood up, stretching his old muscles and cracking some of his old bones; then, he walked to the door and unlocked it. He took another moment to gather his thoughts before opening the door and granting Andrea access.
She eyed him, making him painfully aware of his disheveled appearance and his emotional shortcomings all in one look, and then she stepped past him.
"Late night?" she inquired in a mild voice.
"Exam grading," he mumbled.
Her lips curved into a smile and she walked over to his desk before sitting down on top of it.
"Where... why... I mean..."
Andrea smiled and reached behind her, taking the bottle and pouring a little scotch into his mug before offering it to him.
"Have a little of the hair of the dog," she murmured, an amused twinkle in her eye.
"Thanks," he muttered before sipping the liquor.
A few minutes later, he asked, "How did you know I was here?"
She put her hands on her knees. "Well, I drove by your house, and your car wasn't there," she replied, "and since it snowed last night, I could tell you hadn't been there in a while... and then I remembered it was finals season."
"Oh. Smart."
"You want coffee?" she asked.
"Please," he said quietly.
"It's Saturday," she murmured, "so why don't we go out for breakfast or something?"
He nodded and grabbed his coat.
&&&&
He missed Andrea the most when she was sitting next to him; he was reminded of the distance and issues between them, of the history that kept them civil, but yet not quite civil at the same time.
She picked up her glass of juice and brought it to her mouth. He watched her swallow before licking her lips and then he had to look away.
"Where are Huck and Molly?" he asked after clearing his throat.
"I'm glad you decided not to dye your hair or beard," she murmured, avoiding his question. "The grey looks good on you."
He cleared his throat again, startled by her comment. "I... I look old, Andy."
"Dignified," she corrected.
"Same difference," he muttered.
"Hardly," she insisted.
His eyebrows moved upwards and then he asked about their children again. He watched Andrea smooth her hands over the tablecloth and tell him that she left the twins with her mother, because they had a spelling test on Monday and speed skating and riding lessons before that, on Saturday and Sunday.
"It would have been nice to see them before Christmas," he admitted.
"Well, you can come early, if you want," she offered. "The kids have a pageant on the twentieth. I know they'd love it if you could make it."
The ache in his heart intensified and he had to sip his coffee to keep himself from saying something he would regret.
He nodded after he swallowed and looked at his waffles. They didn't look as appetising as they had a few minutes ago; he picked at his home fries and waited for Andrea to say something else.
"You gonna tell me why you're here?"
She arched an eyebrow. "I can't visit---"
"You never visit without the twins, without an ulterior motive," he interjected quietly, "why, I do not know, but that is how our relationship works now. The first time you visited was to bring me a custody agreement, and the last time was to bring me a copy of your will---that visit was particularly pleasant, let me tell you---"
"Toby..."
"You want a copy of my will now?" he asked when she trailed off. "Shouldn't I have visited you and dropped that bomb when you're on your own turf?"
She frowned and looked away. He felt bad for making her frown, but he was certain she didn't feel nearly as awful as he did after she left, leaving those legal documents in his safe. The thought of Andrea dying had kept him in an alcohol-induced haze for three days; any time he closed his eyes, he saw a different picture of how her wishes would be put into motion. It had been an excruciating week for him---as well as for his students, he surmised, since they had to deal with him lecturing from the pulpit about anything that came to mind (since alcohol didn't keep his thoughts to the course outline).
"Sorry," he mumbled, even though he didn't know if he meant it.
She nodded and under the table she put her hand over his.
&&&&
He missed the judge's house the instant Andrea stepped inside his new home. Her dream home had only been his for a little while, but it had been beautiful, a mixture of artistry and practicality with all the comforts of a home. His current abode was more practical than artistic and it was cluttered with books and journals. It was a man's house; it wasn't the house he had dreamed about sharing with his family.
"You need a maid," she scolded, trying to sound lighthearted.
He snorted but didn't vocalise a response.
"I guess you don't spend much time here," she added quietly, walking to one of his bookshelves. She pulled a book down and the shelf it had been on groaned; the piece of furniture was overburdened with books and it complained ever chance it was given.
"Not so much," he agreed.
"How many classes are you teaching?" she asked.
"Three," he replied. "One's a lecture... the other two are seminars."
"Grad school?"
"One of them is," he answered. "I like those. The lecture kills me."
"I thought you'd like to preach---"
He cut her off. "To a bunch of students who can barely remember what day it is, let alone how our country was founded?"
She smiled. "They don't know how lucky they are," she murmured.
He snorted again. She chuckled.
"So... are you ever going to tell me why you're here?"
Andrea shrugged and continued searching through his stacks of books. He sighed and resigned himself to watching but not understanding her---a position to which he had been resigned for most of their marriage.
&&&&
He missed being the Communications Director every time he was stuck in a room, in an impossibly uncomfortable situation, for more than five minutes. No one would call him out of his house on a Saturday evening; he didn't even had a pager with which he could fake an early exit.
Andy had insisted on cooking a meal with him; he would have been fine cooking alone, but watching her at his counters and stove brought back so many memories that he wasn't sure if he wasn't better looking for the bottle of Jack Daniel's that he knew was hiding in one of the rooms with books and journal articles instead of helping her cook.
He hadn't taken in what she was wearing until they were standing side by side at the counter, both of them chopping vegetables. Faded jeans, frayed around the cuffs and waistband, a t-shirt that exposed a little of her stomach, and a long cardigan with holes poked in either cuff. She stuck her thumbs through those holes when she wasn't preparing food.
She had also taken off her shoes and socks. He smiled when he glanced down and saw her bare feet, the tiny gold ring on the second toe of her right foot, and the tattoo she hid from the public that spanned the top of her left foot. He had forgotten that she preferred to wear nothing on her feet; his smile faded and he wondered what else he had forgotten.
"Andy, why are you here?"
It was the tenth time he asked, and the tenth time he was ignored.
Andrea put her hand on his shoulder and walked over to the stove with her cutting board of vegetables.
"Are the mushrooms almost ready?" she asked, turning her head.
"Almost," he said quietly.
"Good," she murmured, "the onions will be simmering soon, so---"
"Yeah."
"You really want to know why I'm here?" she asked.
He turned and looked back at her. "You really want to tell me?"
"No," she answered, smiling at him.
He snorted and shrugged. "Yeah, like I couldn't tell," he muttered before turning back to the mushrooms in front of him.
&&&&
He missed being married the most at the end of the night---even moreso when his ex-wife was in his house, and when he had to find a place for her to sleep.
"You can take my bed," he said quietly, shuffling his feet a bit. "The sheets are clean... I'll take the couch."
"Toby..."
He smiled a bit. "I have shorts and stuff in a drawer if you didn't bring---"
"I came to see you," she interrupted.
He wondered if the planet had stopped spinning. She had visited to bring him papers to sign, to yell at him... to do everything but see him.
"You what?"
"It's not going to be any more or less surprising if I say it again," she said quietly.
"May I ask why?"
Andrea blushed and looked away. He wondered what was going through her mind, what on earth had she been drinking or snorting or shooting, what level of Hell had frozen over---and had come to no conclusion by the time she cleared her throat and looked back at him.
"Andy?"
"God... this is hard," she whispered.
"Want a drink?"
"Got anything stronger than wine?" she asked, blushing even more.
"Some sour mash around here someplace," he answered, "in a room with lots of books."
She laughed and looked down at her bare toes. "Well, that could be just about any room, couldn't it?"
"Yeah," he agreed, chuckling a bit.
They wandered together, the tension crackling between them with each room they peeked into. By the time they found the bottle of Jack Daniel's, Toby was sure he had balded even more while aging a few extra years.
"Let's go get glasses---"
He didn't want her to stall any further, so he shook his head and twisted the cap.
"If you don't mind my germs, I don't mind yours," he told her.
She nodded and accepted the bottle, bringing it to her lips for a reasonably-sized mouthful of the amber liquid before swallowing and passing it to him.
"So, you came to see me," he mumbled after his own mouthful for bravery.
"I did."
He wasn't sure what scared him more: her response or the long silence that stretched out between them while they passed the bottle back and forth.
"I... okay," she said quietly after a few minutes, "you have to promise not to laugh at me."
"I promise," he said in a gruffer-than-usual voice.
"I miss kissing. I miss... having a last call of the day and having someone to think about when my meetings on the Hill are boring," she whispered, her voice shaking a bit, "and I miss not being alone."
"I thought you felt alone even when we were together," he muttered.
She bit her lower lip as he processed everything she said.
He took the bottle from her and took two large gulps of sour mash---he regretted it only for a moment when the alcohol burned his insides.
"You... you want to get laid?" he demanded. "You want to get laid, so you came here to see me? In hopes of what? That my life is so sad and lonely and utterly depressing that I'll roll over and thank my lucky stars?"
"N-no," she replied. "No, Toby... it's not like that."
"Is this some twisted game, Andrea?"
She pushed her long, red hair off of her shoulder and rubbed her eyes, even though she wasn't crying.
She told him it wasn't a game, but he wasn't sure if he believed her. So many things had been said---by both of them, since neither of them were an innocent in their long, twisted, dark history---and those things couldn't be taken back. He wasn't sure what she meant when she said she missed having a man in her life; he wasn't sure if she really wanted him to be that man and he really wasn't sure if he wanted to try to be that man again, since he had failed so many times before.
&&&&
He missed New York when he returned to Washington. Politics didn't fill the cracks in the pavement in New York; keen fashion sense and overpriced, trendy everythings didn't take over conversation in Washington, though, so he wasn't really sure which location was best.
He parked his rental car in the driveway of the home Andrea had chosen for their children, and he started to gather his bags and presents before shuffling through the light dusting of snow to the front door.
Molly, who was more like her mother than if she were an exact carbon copy of the tall, redhead woman, opened the door before he could push the doorbell. She cried out happily and threw herself at him; she pressed her face into his stomach as she hugged his upper thighs and he chuckled and told her to let him go before he fell backwards into the shubbery her mother had carefully planned a few summers before.
Huck had been drawing or something else with markers and crayons, on large pieces of paper in the den. When he saw his father, he slowly stood up and ambled across the room.
"Hey, Huck."
"Hey, Dad."
Andrea appeared in the doorway and she smiled. "He's more like his daddy every day," she said softly.
"Sorry... I guess the Zeigler charm is genetic," he mumbled.
"Don't apologise," she whispered as she walked across the room and helped him out of his scarf and coat.
He regretted not giving her a response when she visited him the instant she stepped closer to him. He looked down and saw her bare feet poking out from under the cuffs of her designer dress slacks and he closed his eyes, fighting against waves of memories.
"Thanks for letting me come a few days early," he said quietly, following her into the hallway.
"Well, you can't miss the pageant," she said, as she avoided his gaze and put his coat in the closet at the same time.
"There are other reasons for being here," he admitted, before he had the chance to process the thought.
Andrea's shoulders relaxed and she nodded, but she didn't turn around to look at him. He moved away and allowed her access to the kitchen; he followed her into the bright room and silently accepted the glass of wine she offered him.
&&&&
He missed being certain of his present and future when he found himself in unfamiliar territory. When Andrea helped him put the twins to bed, clean up the living room and put their pageant costumes away, she took his hand and looked into his eyes. In two seconds, he was lost and he didn't know how he would be found again.
"Come to bed, Pokey," she whispered.
"Guest room or---"
"Come to bed, Pokey," she repeated.
He swallowed hard and nodded. He followed her to her bedroom and he watched by the door as she turned the bedcovers down and started to peel off her sweater and blouse.
"Hold on," he whispered hoarsely, not wanting the night to be so rushed.
He wanted to regain some level of sanity, some level of clear thinking, some shred of familiar territory, so he stopped her.
She looked up, eyes wide and doe-like, her mouth open and ready to project questions.
He shook his head and walked away from the door frame, towards her, and took his hands out of his pockets. He tried to remember the opportunities he missed in the past and the words she shared with him when she visited New York, and he wondered if maybe they needed to be together and to nearly destroy each other with sadness and guilt and things unsaid, then to be as far apart as they could be, before anything substantial could develop and take root between them.
He lifted one hand up and cupped her cheek in his hand. He wondered if her skin was smoother than it had been before---or if it had been his imagination.
"Toby," she breathed, "what are you---"
"You said you missed kissing," he whispered.
She smiled and looked at him. "You remembered---"
"Andy, I remember what you told me when we first met," he interjected quietly.
Her smile faded for a moment before it stretched even larger, before a giggle bubbled out of her mouth.
"'Excuse me, but you're entirely too sad to be sitting here,'" he recited, "'so unless you wanna get up and dance with me and my incredibly drunk---and incredibly loose---friends over there, you need to start smiling, buddy.'"
Andrea laughed harder. "I never said 'and incredibly loose!'"
His lips twitched into a smile. "No, that was me, editorialising."
"I wasn't incredibly loose."
"No, they were," he insisted. "You and I dated for... almost six months before I figured out how to sneak past over-the-sweater action and get to the goods."
"I was playing hard to get."
He snorted. "So you do admit to playing it..."
"Then, yes," she murmured. She slipped her face out of his hand and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I remember what you said to me..."
"Oh, do you?" he asked as he returned the embrace and tucked his face into her hair.
She nodded. "'Don't call me "buddy."'"
He snorted again. She chuckled in his ear.
"It was the start of a beautiful relationship."
"Beautiful might not be the word I'd use," she whispered back, correcting him. When he asked her what word she would use, she shrugged and said, "Something more than beautiful. We've evolved a few times and a word like that doesn't quite fit."
"And I sense we're evolving again," he said, needlessly.
"If you'd let us."
"What about when I get sad?" he asked.
She shrugged and tightened her embrace. "Dunno," she whispered. "Maybe if you let me in a little bit... if you spend some time with our kids... and concede that life can be good sometimes... maybe you won't be so sad anymore."
"You think?"
She sighed and lifted her head to look at him. "I miss you, Toby, not just the kisses," she admitted.
He nodded. "I miss you, too." He smirked. "Well, I miss the kisses more, but---"
She nudged him sharply, in his ribcage, and pulled away. He pursued her and wondered if their antics weren't age-appropriate, and then decided he didn't care so much about that.
