She wasn't going to see him for three more weeks. Three weeks had never previously felt like a measurable stretch of time. Now it was an actual distance. She was in the kitchen and there was nothing wrong with the kitchen, and she did not want to be in the kitchen, she wanted the specific weight of his arm across her, and his neck under her mouth, and none of that was available in this kitchen or any of the next twenty kitchens she was going to be in between now and then. She leaned on the counter. She took a long breath. She thought about calling him just to hear his voice and decided that would make it worse.
