text: We lay in bed enfolded in each other’s arms. I thought about all the times we’d done this, and the fact that this might be the last. I held her a little tighter. "What will you do first, when you get there?" I asked. "My dad’s going to pick me up at the airport. We’ll have brunch... dinner." She was struggling to add the nine hour time difference. "Then I’m going to Julie’s to spend the night." "Your dad is driving to Copenhagen just to pick you up? That’s nice." It was nice. He was nice. I liked her dad. I thought about meeting him for the first time. He’d welcomed me into his beautiful little cottage in the countryside. It was the first thatched roof I’d ever seen. He’d eagerly fed me roast pork and the national Danish booze: Akvavit. It was hideous. On our way out of the neighborhood, I stopped at a tiny gas station to fill the tank. We probably had enough to get to LAX, but I didn’t want to have to stop on the way home. I just wanted to drive. She went into the store to see if they had any Imodium for her flight. They didn’t, but apparently they did have King Size Kit Kat bars. "Do you want any?" "No thanks." She ripped the package open, and the scent of cheap chocolate flooded the car’s interior. I inhaled. "I love that smell. It reminds me of being a kid. I feel like I’m at the YMCA." "What did you do at the YMCA?" she asked, probably picturing the Village People. "I took a lot of swimming lessons." I thought about the night we’d spent in a Palm Springs pool beneath a big, red supermoon. It had been so hot there, the water was still warm in the middle of the night. We held hands and talked about things. I drove for two or three hours, and then we were at the airport. I told her I loved her, then I got back into my car and turned around. I thought about children, and why the fuck my defective, emotionally retarded, man-boy brain couldn’t decide if they sounded like a good idea. I thought about uncertainty, and whether I was entitled to it or not. I thought about her goddamn hormones, and turning thirty, and friends around us having baby after baby after baby. I thought about how I would tell my parents. It was dark when I pulled into the garage at home. I cleaned out my car, and found her Kit Kats, only half eaten. They’d gotten a little soft on her heated seat. I carried them down to the curb with me to collect the recycling bin. I thought about the fact that she’d been nice enough to retrieve the empty garbage bin before we left. I stood on the cold street, stabbing my wife’s leftover Kit Kats into my mouth one after another, coating my fingertips in melted chocolate, and I thought about nothing.