The Distance Between Us Movie Novels & Stories

Evan chipped in. Maureen sighed. “Fine, I understand but we’ll still talk." She faced Evan. "Since you’re my friend’s boyfriend, I’ll treat you as such. You better make me come out well in the documentary and treat your girlfriend right.” Evan laughed, pulling Aria closer to himself. “Sure, I’m an award-winning director. Can we go enjoy our date now?” Maureen nodded. “Enjoy yourselves, lovebirds.” Evan was still holding unto Aria’s waist as they reached the car. He opened the door for her and helped her go in before he went in, himself. He started the car and drove away.

Friday night, Sarah called with the cover story she made up for him and Daniel. "You first met at university, were reacquainted seven months ago, and started dating six months ago. You get it? Don't get the timeline wrong, because Daniel was still in Canada earlier this year. He only got back to the US in late February." "Yes, I remember. You have repeated this six times." Nathan tried very hard to remain polite. Sarah noisily continued to chatter. "His mother's name is Marie, his father is Robert, and his sister is Diana. He has a dog named Marshmallow, and she's a white samoyed. He loves Marshall, you can't get her name wrong."

I turned the ticket over and showed it to her. It was a city nearly 1900 miles away. That made her forehead crease. "That's a faraway place. Why so sudden? You didn't even tell me. What if you run into any trouble?" I shrugged nonchalantly. "Nah, I don't think I had to. It's just a work reassignment." She grabbed my wrist. Of course she did not buy that story. "But that's sudden. We just got into a partnership. You're just going to throw it away?"

“You think space is a good thing.” “I think the bond might be strong enough now to allow some physical distance between us, without either of us weakening, like it did before.” He said matter of factly. “But no. I don’t want space, but maybe it will give you time to think about things. But I think…” he moved toward her, closing the distance until his chest was almost brushing hers, “...that you’re afraid of what we are when we’re too close. And maybe a little distance will show you that it’s already too late.”

Close to one hour, no body talk to the other. It got to the moment, to the point I could'nt take it again and said; "I think you will like this movie." with a nice voice. She looked at me and said; "Don't worry" with her small voice. "No, come and seat." I insist and she hesitated for a while before sitting up. She dropped her purse on the table and came up to me on the bed and then, sat beside me. She wasn't sitting close to me that much. She gave me some inches of space that our skin were not touching.

“Us. Whatever this looks like, we figure it out together.” I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “So… long distance?” I ask. “If that’s what we need to do, then yeah,” Greg says. “We try. Properly. Not half in, not pretending we’re just friends if we’re not.” My lips press together, and emotions flicker across my face. “And if it doesn’t work?” “Then we deal with that if it happens,” he says honestly. “But I’m not walking away from this without trying. Not again.” That settles something deep inside of me.

Marcus appeared in the doorway of my room about twenty minutes later with two coffees and that expression of his that meant he had decided something was going to be a conversation. He put a coffee on my desk and sat on the edge of my bed. "Dan called you?" "Boston reached out officially," I said. He raised an eyebrow. "That's huge." "I know." "You don't look like it's huge." "I'm pleased," I said. "I'm just thinking." "About?" "Distances," I said, and watched him connect it immediately. "Boston is two hours," he said. "Yeah." "Colorado is what, three states?"

The next two weeks are torture. We're on the bus traveling between cities. Phoenix. Las Vegas. San Diego. Los Angeles again. Show after show. Hotel after hotel. And every single day I see him and can't touch him. He's trying. I can tell he's trying to give me space. But sometimes I catch him staring. Sometimes our hands brush when he hands me his coffee. Sometimes he says my name and it sounds like a prayer. We're professionals. We keep our distance.

I feel it somewhere in my chest that has no professional distance left in it. He crosses to me. “You look,” he starts. “Don’t,” I say softly, because if he finishes that sentence right now in this room full of people I am going to do something very unprofessional. He stops. Looks at me. The corner of his mouth moves. “Right,” he says. “Right,” I say. We stand side by side and look at the room and neither of us says anything for a moment and the distance between us, the professional careful managed distance, is about two inches and feels like nothing at all.

Just a man on a floor who had just come through something and was looking at the person who had come through it with him. I looked back. The moment stretched between us thin and full, and neither of us moved, and neither of us spoke, and the distance between our faces stayed exactly where it was. Almost unbearable. And neither of us did anything about it.