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“Did you meet him?” Gillian’s voice was high and fangirly.
“Wait—you’re a Nighthawks fan?”
“What!” She sounded affronted by this. “Of course I’m a—who do you think got your father into them in the first place?”
“Wait, what?”
“I gave him a mix tape in college! He’d never even heard them before; he was refusing to let ska go, and listening to all these bands with saxophones, and it was like, no.”
“Dad is a Nighthawks fan because of you?”
“Why do you think you’re named Darcy?”
“I thought—it was on the playlist when I was born.…”
“Yes! My playlist.”
“Oh.” I shook my head, just trying to get my mind around this truly world-shaking news. Whenever I’d listened to their songs or played albums on a loop, there had been a connection between me and my mother—I just hadn’t known about it until this minute. “Well—in that case, do I have a story to tell you.” Maybe it wasn’t only my dad who was going to get to hear about my adventure. Because it seemed like Gillian—my mom—would appreciate it too.
She laughed. “It sounds like it. I have to get to a meeting, but you’ll be on campus tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah. My plane lands in the morning.”
“Unless…” She hesitated, and when she spoke again, it was all in a rush. “I mean, the offer still stands if you want a ride from the airport. It’s no trouble.”
“Oh. Um…”
“But if you’d rather come on your own, I understand.”
“No, that would be… really nice, actually.”
“Wow. Okay.” I could hear in her voice how surprised—but pleased—she was. “Great. So—just text me your flight information.”
“Okay. Will do. Um… thank you.”
“Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow, Darcy.”
“See you…” For just a second, I thought about trying Mom but rejected it immediately. “Gillian.”
She hung up and I just stood with the phone in my hand for a moment. I thought of what Russell had said to me when we were fighting—what Katy and Didi were always saying—and what my dad was always trying to get me to change. That I saw things in black and white. That everything was always all or nothing.
And maybe—just maybe—it didn’t have to be that way.
Maybe I could dislike the way I’d ended up at my college but still be able to see some good things about it. Maybe Wylie could be a rock star but also have a sprawling, loving, close-knit family.
Maybe I didn’t have to solve my relationship with my mother immediately, or even know what it would look like. Maybe we could figure it out—together.
Maybe Russell could be a good guy who’d made a mistake. Maybe it didn’t have to be either love at first sight or just friends—maybe there was something in between the two.
I stood there for a moment longer, watching the cars on the highway pass me by. I knew that nothing had changed with the view—it was the same one I’d seen minutes ago. But I couldn’t help thinking it looked different now. Like everything did. Like I was now in a world where impossible things could happen.
* * *
Russell drove the rest of the way back to LA. The mechanic had tightened some of the lug nuts but declared it a good job otherwise, which I’d felt a rush of pride upon hearing. He told us not to drive too fast on the spare, and to get a real tire on the Bronco as soon as possible. Russell filled up the car with gas, and after hitting the mini-mart for some snacks and sodas—it turned out Russell liked pretzels and Coke Zero—we were back on the road.
I took over the DJ duties—occasionally going back to throw in one of the musical songs I particularly liked (Russell always smiled when this happened, even though he was clearly trying to be nonchalant about it). But the closer we got to home, the more it seemed like every song I picked was about saying goodbye, people missing each other, letting each other go. It was like I was only just now fully realizing how many songs are about painful separations, even the upbeat ones.
“You okay?” Russell asked, glancing over at me when we had half an hour left before we hit Union Station. I’d just zipped through six songs, not letting any of them play for more than a few seconds, once I really realized what they were about.
