Goodbye Kiss

"Well. Here we are." I look around the hotel room. It's bigger than where we stayed during our honeymoon, five years before. The expansive windows display a glassy, picture-perfect sea. Dots of surfers, their boards coral-pink or sunshine-yellow, dart across the waves. Their happiness mocks me.

"I'm going to shower," I mutter, unable to untangle myself from the dark cloud hanging over my head. Jack nods but doesn't say anything. This is a dance we've danced before: when I get upset or sad or angry, I tend to shut him out. Maybe it's why our marriage is swirling the drain.

I shrug out of my sweaty clothes and step into the warm water, letting it pound my neck and back. On our honeymoon, Jack would have stepped under the steam with me. Now, he doesn't even brush his teeth while I shower. Our love, once unable to be separated by doors, is now confined to separate rooms.

When our therapist suggested this trip, as a way to "rekindle" the spark between us, Jack and I had been willing to try. But within a few weeks, we realized there wasn't much we could save. We'd already booked the trip. We decided to view it as more of a "goodbye" vacation. It seemed like a good, very forward-thinking idea at the time. Now, it seems so stupid.

I step out into the hotel room wrapped in a fluffy towel. Jack is out there, unpacking, though we'll only be here one night. "Oh," he says when he sees me standing there. He awkwardly turns. I don't tell him that he's seen me naked a million times - we both know this is different. I drip water across the floor as I walk, which will drive him crazy later.

"How was the shower?" He asks.

"Heavenly," I answer.

"So better than that one hostel we stayed in? Where was it?"

"Oh my God," I laugh as I remember. "Yeah. In Nepal." The water had been dirt-brown, and it pooled around our feet while we bathed. It was disgusting.

Jack laughs too. "What were we thinking?"

"I don't know. We were young and in love."

At that, we both fall silent.

I pull on a cotton T-shirt and some shorts. "You can turn now," I whisper. He clears his throat and does, briefly glancing at me before continuing his unpacking.

"Are you really going to spend the whole time unpacking?" I ask indignantly.

"What would you like me to do?"

"I don't know. Maybe we could look at the beach."

"And pretend everything's fine? I'll pass."

I stare at him, at his hardened face and clenched fists. He's looking longingly at the ocean in front of him, like he wishes he could swim home.

"Fine. I'm going." I say. I turn on my heel and exit the hotel, making my way down the white sand. Hot, angry tears roll down my cheeks. Not for the first time, I think, Does this really have to end?

It does. Jack and I have become two different people who want different things. Instead of seeing it earlier, we went on to resent each other. But that doesn't mean I don't love him. I do - and will never stop.

I plop down and stare at the happy people around me, at their entwined hands and adoring eyes. The kind of love Jack and I once had, all-consuming. I squeeze my eyes shut. Our apartment is packed up. Tomorrow, he'll fly back to the city and move into his new place. I'll go stay with my sister upstate for a while. This trip is our once last shot at normalcy. Why does he have to ruin it?

I feel the sand shift beside me. Jack appears, lowering himself to the sand.

"Did you decide to stop being mean?" I demand.

"I'm sad, Marie. What do you want from me?"

"I'm sad too." We sit shoulder-to-shoulder for a while. Finally, Jack stands and holds his hand out for me.

"Can I take you to dinner?" He asks. He's trying so hard. I see his smile wavering, the tears threatening to spill. I throw him a bone.

"Sure," I say. I grab his hand, and we stand.

We go to a seafood restaurant. I crack my crab legs with a tiny hammer. It's my favorite thing to do. Jack watches me while I giggle. "Remember that girl in high school?" He asks me finally. "Rachel Crabtree? But everyone called her Crabs, because they were convinced she had an STD."

"Oh my God," I snort, and wine almost comes out of my nose. "Yes. God, people were so mean back then." I pop a piece of meat into my mouth. "I'm friends with her on Facebook, though. She opened her own haircutting business recently."

"Oh really? Good for her." Conversation continues like this, superficial and hilted, until we get our check. Jack pays, and we go back to the hotel.

"Want to watch a movie?" I ask him.

He nods. We sit on opposite edges of the bed and turn on a cheesy romcom, neither of us paying attention. Finally, he turns to me.

"You know you're the love of my life, right?"

I nod and swallow. "Yes," I squeak. "And you're mine."

He shakes his head, and tears start falling. "Then why are we doing this, Marie?" He asks me forcefully.

I start sobbing then, the shaking, hiccuping kind. I roll over to him, and we make love like we did at the beginning of our relationship. Messy, awkward, wonderful. We haven't had sex in ages, and it really does feel new. Finally, when we're done, I stare at the ceiling. "It's because we were lucky enough to find love while we were young," I say quietly. "Just because it's over, doesn't mean you're not the love of my life. It was just meant for a short time."

He nods. I wipe my eyes. "Can you stay with me tonight?" I ask him. He hesitates, then nods. He slips an arm around my shoulders, and we sleep like that, tangled in each other's arms, for the last time.

The ride to the airport the next day is quiet. His flight leaves an hour after mine, so he walks me to my gate.

"I love you." He says to me. "I'll always love you."

I turn to him and nod. "I'll always love you, too," I say. I kiss him on the lips, deep and slow. Everyone around us might think we're two young lovers.

When an announcement comes for the final boarding call, I pull away. I touch my lips, hoping to savor our final kiss, and watch Jack walk away.