I didn't plan to be up. It was one of those nights where sleep came fast and hard — the kind you feel like you earned. The calendar was clear. The phone was face-down. We got in late and I was planning to “sleep in”….. at least later than usual, and I was out. Then thirst woke me.
Just thirst, nothing profound about it. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and felt my way down the stairs in the dark. My calves and heels reminding me that they’ve put on a little mileage and would appreciate a stretch or two before hitting stairs. As I proudly made it to the bottom without falling, I saw a hat on the couch. Hmm, I didn’t leave it there, in fact I didn’t even wear a hat yesterday. Confused and a little disoriented as it was 3:45 and while my legs were upset about being asked to function, my brain was even more so. Then I saw Ethan standing in the kitchen. I knew he had an early flight, and I didn’t expect to see him.
Bag sitting by the door, checking his phone for an Uber, we did 3:45 am small talk and then he said, "I know it's early, but if it’s not too much trouble, how about a ride to the airport."
I looked at the glass in my hand.
I thought about my pillow, and “sleeping in”.
I thought about the drive — dark roads, thirty minutes out, thirty minutes back, an alarm that was already going to come too early.
And then something settled in me. Not dramatic. Not heroic. Just quiet and simple.
"Let me get my keys."
On the highway, he talked more than usual. Maybe it was the darkness, or the hour, or the strange permission that 4am gives people to say the things they've been carrying. We covered ground we needed to cover. The kind of conversation that doesn't happen at dinner or on a Sunday afternoon — it only happens when you're moving through the dark together and there's nowhere else to be.
By the time we pulled to the curb at departures, and saw all the families getting out of the car with kids excited for the adventure and parents acting like a mix of ring leaders and pack mules, I wasn't tired anymore.
I watched him disappear through the sliding doors. I drove home alone, my heart full, and it was one of the best drives of my year.