"Happy Christmas." 

The innocuous words slip out of Roger's mouth, but it's as if he's saying something else entirely. He looks down at where my hand just lay atop his and then glances up. The look in his eyes is a mixture of sadness and tenderness, and something about it takes my breath away. But, in a flash, the look is gone, and Roger is gone, and I'm alone in my car.

Exhaling slowly, I push the gear into drive and carefully maneuver the Range Rover onto the snowy street. It's deserted, everyone inside celebrating with their families. It kills me that we never got a Christmas together with Cadie. We had five years of holidays together, but none with our daughter.

I've only gone a few meters when I realize that tears are streaming down my face. With a strangled sob, I pull the car over and turn on the hazard lights. Snow swirls around the car as I sit there, wondering what the fuck I'm doing. I know that if I turned around and went back to knock on the Taylors' door, I'd be welcomed in. But, no, I can't undo all the hard work that it's taken to get to a place that makes more sense.

The thump on the window scares the shit out of me. I jump in my seat, a curse escaping from my mouth. Squinting, I look out the window and see Roger, his gloved hand pressing against the passenger window. He's wearing what appears to be his dad's coat, a thick woolen cap covering his blonde hair.

"Open up," he calls. Quickly I lean over and unlock the door, snow and wind swirling into the car behind him. Roger holds his hands in front of the hot air blasting from the vents, rubbing them together.

"I saw that you'd stopped and--" he trails off as he glances over, finally taking in my tear-stained face.

"Ah, love," he murmurs, reaching over and gathering me against him. I sob even harder, my nose pressed against his neck. I've been here so many times before. Roger remains silent as my body shakes with tears and regret and anger until, finally, it all subsides.

"It's gonna be alright," he murmurs against my hair. I draw away, taking in his face, the crinkle in the corner of his eyes so dear to me.

"You promise? It will?"

He nods solemnly as if I'm crazy to doubt him.

"Trust me," he says. "It'll be okay."

His words resonate deep in my chest, and it feels as if I'm able to breathe for the first time in months. The snow continues to fall outside the car, creating a barrier between us and the world. All of a sudden, I'm drowning in Roger's eyes. We stare at each other for a long moment before he leans forward slightly, enough that it's an invitation, but not so far that he can't pass it off as something else if need be.

"Rog," I breathe, staring at him. "I--"

My words are cut off by a jarring sound in the background and, despite my efforts to finish the sentence, my mind slowly realizes that none of this is real. 

It's all a fucking dream. 

Sitting up in bed, I look over at the alarm clock and try to reorient myself to the present.

"Skylar?" Pierre murmurs from the other side of the bed, his voice thick with sleep.

"Sorry, so sorry," I whisper as I frantically slam my hand down on the clock to stop its screeching. Collapsing onto the pillow, I stare at the ceiling bathed in the early morning light. What the fuck was that? It would make more sense if it were a filthy sex dream about my ex. But this dream? I don't know what to make of it.

Beside me, Pierre rolls over and pulls me closer. "What time is it, mon chou?"

"Half five," I murmur, feeling like an asshole for having dreams about my ex when I'm in bed with a man who cares so much about me. Why can't I shake that night from so many months ago? Nothing has changed between Roger and me since then, and yet this dream won't stop.

"Go back to sleep," I murmur, pressing a kiss to Pierre's temple. "I'm headed to work. I'll see you tonight."

He says something else, but it's either in French or sleep-deprived gibberish, so with another kiss to the top of his head, I get out of bed and start my day.

Days turn into weeks, which morph into months. Before I know it, it's time to enroll Cadie in a nursery down the street from my flat. Roger, who has been traveling non-stop for months, happens to be in town on this particular day, so we arrive separately for the interview.

"It's so far from me," grumbles Roger as we sit in an oak-paneled antechamber. We've both dressed up for the meeting, and he looks like a dream in his grey suit.

"Says the tax exile," I reply, turning to look at him. "How many countries have you been in this year? Besides, everything is far from you."

"You make it sound as if I'm an absentee parent, which--"

"--is not at all what I said," I reply. "But you were on tour all winter, then editing the album in Montreux, and now you're in Munich--"

"By the way, I keep meaning to tell you that we're going back on tour at the end of November," he says, coughing a bit as if that will mask what he's just said. "But only in the UK," he hastens to add.

I look at him for a long moment. "And yet you're complaining about how Cadence's nursery isn't conveniently located?"

The door behind us opens, and we instantly stand up, the squabble-that-almost-was forgotten. A posh, matronly woman enters the room, all pearls, and well-coiffed hair.

"Dr. Evans, good to see you again," she says warmly to me. "And Mr. Taylor. How lovely to meet you." She's practically gushing and I wonder idly if she's a dues-paying member of the Queen fan club.

Thirty minutes later, we're back on the sidewalk outside of the school.

"Mister Taaaaaylor," I say, batting my eyelashes dramatically. "We're so pleased that you made time in your hectic and very important schedule to grace our school with your presence."

"Oh, shut it," Rog says with a self-conscious grin, poking my shoulder playfully. We amble down the sidewalk towards the parking lot and, after half a block, I finally look over at his profile.

"Seriously, though, what's it like?" I ask. He looks up, his brow furrowed.

"What's what like?"

"You know, being recognized and fawned over everywhere you--"

To prove my point, a young girl runs up, squealing, asking for Roger's autograph. She shoves a tiny scrap of paper in front of his face, which he obligingly signs despite that it's a struggle to fit his signature on it. "Thanks so much, we appreciate your support," he says, and I wonder how many times he's said this before.

The girl scampers away, and it's just the two of us again. I glance over at my ex, fighting to hold in the laughter.

"What?" he says as I give him a look, one eyebrow raised sardonically. "Oh, fuck off."

Before I know it, we're both doubled over in laughter, and I genuinely cannot remember the last time that I felt this young and silly. Each time we straighten up and try to resume our walk, we just start to laugh again.

"Okay, but, really," I say, struggling to regain my composure. "What's it like? Explain it to us mere mortals. Does it ever seem like too much? You know, never being alone or doing normal things or--"

Roger straightens up and puts a hand on my shoulder, his expression suddenly sober. "It's mad, Skylar. I can't... It's sometimes... it's just.." he stops and looks up to the sky, searching for words. "It's like being on a roller coaster that's the best fucking ride in the world, but you also can't get off because you're too high in the air. Does that make sense?"

Slowly, I nod, my eyes darting between his. "Yeah, I think so."

We resume the walk towards our cars, this time in silence. Just before we get to mine, Roger stops and puts both hands on my shoulders.

"I'm sorry it all got in the way, Sky."

I blink, caught off guard. "Oh," I say with as much nonchalance as I can muster. "Don't worry about it. That's all in the past."

Roger leans back and studies my face. "Right, yeah."

"How're things with Chelsea?" I ask. Roger has been in a well-publicized relationship with the daughter of a record producer. She's gorgeous, of course, and the press adores them.

"Oh, good, good," Roger replies, patting his pocket for his car keys. "Actually... yeah, it's really good. I never thought I'd-- well, anyway, I was, uh, I was actually going to ask you if it would be okay if Cadie meets her."

"Oh," I say, surprised. "I didn't realize it was that serious--"

Roger looks mildly offended as if he can't be trusted to have a proper relationship.

"Not that it shouldn't be serious," I hasten to add. "Sorry, that came out wrong... uh, yeah, if it's serious, then it's only right that Cadie should meet her. If Chelsea is going to be a big part of your life from now on?"

I trail off, realizing that what I intended as a declaration sounded a lot like a question.

"Uh, yeah," Roger says, seeming jittery. "Yeah, I think so. Yeah, she is."

"Well, that's great." I give him a warm smile that I hope seems sincere.

"And things are going well with, uh, Pierre?" Roger slips his hands into his back pockets, rocking back on his heels.

"He's great," I say. "It's going really well. Cadie adores him. Everything's great."

"Cool, uh, well, you'll let me know when we hear back from the nursery, yeah?"

I nod, leaning over to kiss his cheek perfunctorily. "Thanks for coming, Rog."

And, with that, we go our separate ways back to our separate lives.