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“Yep,” I said, desperately searching my Spotify for something that wasn’t about saying goodbye forever to someone. “Um—want to hear a podcast about the history of fonts?”
“Go to Helvetica? Already heard it.”
“Of course you have.”
“I have to get my fun facts from somewhere, after all. But—happy to listen to it if you want.”
“No, it’s okay.” I pulled up the newest AJR album, figuring that this was one of the safer bands I could go with, and pressed play.
“Nice,” Russell said with a smile as I rested my phone on the seat between us.
I glanced out the window—traffic was starting to creep back up, and it seemed to be getting worse the closer we got to Los Angeles. As soon as I’d gotten back to the car at the gas station, I’d told Russell what had happened with Gillian—and I realized, as I was taking him through the conversation, that he was the person I wanted to tell.
He’d been surprised to hear about the revelation that she was actually the original Nighthawks fan in the family. And as I was telling Russell about this, I thought about the sweatshirt—the one my dad had had forever. Had it first been my mom’s? It was somehow easier to picture her buying a sweatshirt with a shirtless Wylie Sanders on it than my dad, now that I really thought about it. But it didn’t have to be a complete mystery—I could ask my mother tomorrow. When I saw her.
Now, I looked across the car at Russell, at his excellent posture and careful driving and the way he kept checking in with me. Was I really going to say goodbye to him in less than an hour? Possibly forever?
He was so close to me, really. I could have taken off my lap belt and slid across the seat and rested my head on his shoulder. I could have threaded my fingers through his. I could have rested my hand on his leg and kept time to the music, played drums on his knee.
I was no longer even trying to pretend to myself that I only wanted to be his friend—and from the way he kept glancing over at me, I was pretty sure he felt the same way.
But was there any point? We’d be at Union Station before this album was over. And then… that would probably be it.
So even though I really, really wanted to reach out and touch him—even though I wanted to kiss him again—I clasped my hands in my lap and looked out the window. I hadn’t even known this person twenty-four hours ago. So would it really be that hard to say goodbye to him, let this day fade into memory, the details and specifics getting fuzzy?
Even without my inner Didi and Katy to point it out, I knew I was kidding myself.
The second we got into LA proper, traffic slowed to practically a crawl, but in contrast to this, time seemed to be moving faster. And before I’d really prepared for it, we were taking the exit for Union Station.
Russell pulled around the front circle to drop me off. “I’ll just get my car and meet you here,” I said, shouldering my canvas bag. “And then I can get my stuff from you and load it into my car.” That was also when we’d have to say goodbye—which suddenly seemed like it had arrived a lot faster than I’d been prepared for it to.
Russell nodded, shifted the car into park, and turned his hazards on. “Sounds good.”
I walked fast through the parking garage, trying to remember where I’d left my car. I was having trouble getting my head around the fact that on Friday, three nights ago, I’d parked here, not knowing anything that was about to happen. Then, I’d been excited to go to Silverspun, while dreading the future that was barreling toward me. And while it was still coming—it felt now like I was getting to choose it. Like I was barreling along with it.
I found my car, got in, and just sat there for a moment. It seemed somehow like it should be different. So much had happened—it didn’t make any sense that my car was exactly the same, maybe a little dustier. I glanced at myself quickly in the rearview mirror—I’d never had bangs, but if Chloe thought they were a good idea, I was certainly going to take that into consideration—and started the car. I’d just shifted into drive when my phone rang.
Russell was flashing on the screen and I felt a little thrill as I answered it—somehow, this would be the first time we’d talked on the phone. “Hi,” I said.
“Hey, Darcy,” Russell said, speaking fast. “So they’re telling me I have to move my car. I can’t stay here.”
“Keep it moving!” I heard the unmistakable voice of a parking attendant, blowing a whistle that made me wince.
“Oh,” I said, trying to think fast. “Okay—I’m coming.” I pulled forward, driving toward the exit—and then slammed on my brakes. There was a line to pay at least five cars deep. “It might take me a minute to get out of here.”
“They’re definitely not going to let me stay,” Russell said, and I could hear the stress in his voice. “Maybe I could meet you somewhere?”
“Do you want to just meet at my house?” I asked, after trying and failing to think of a place near the station. “It’s just ten minutes away.”
“Great,” Russell said, and I could hear the relief in his voice, now that we had a plan. “Just text me the address.”
I did, and I had plenty of time to do it as I crawled forward, trying to get to the payment kiosk. When I finally made it, I paid using the cash I’d been keeping folded in my pocket, feeling my shoulders relax when the attendant nodded at me and the gate rose up. I no longer had to be quite so worried about money—at home, I would be reunited with my debit card and my in-case-of-emergency credit card and the three hundred-dollar bills in my sock drawer. I no longer had to be living in a state of counting my cash and trying to do parking-lot math. It was a burden I could finally put down. I pulled out of the Union Station garage and headed for home, feeling a lot lighter.
I turned onto Raven Rock’s main drag, and then I took the familiar streets to my house, the neighborhood I knew like the back of my hand. My last day here flashed into my head as I waved at our two-doors-down neighbor, who was out walking her beagle. But I didn’t want to go there quite yet. I’d spent so long thinking about tomorrow, and the next few months, what they would or would not look like. For a little while longer, while I still could, I just wanted it to be now.
I pulled up into our driveway and saw Russell standing by the Bronco, which he’d parked on the side of the street. As I got out of the car, I looked at our craftsman, with its slightly overgrown lawn and the sign that had been there since May—RAVEN ROCK HIGH SCHOOL GRADUATE ___DARCY____ IS ON TO GREAT THINGS! For just a second, I wondered if I should be embarrassed for Russell to see my house, now that I’d seen his dad’s mansion, with its helipad and its pool and its guesthouses. But that only lasted a second as affection for it rose up in me, trumping all of that. It was home. Familiar and comfortable and mine.
I looked over to see Russell leaning against the vintage Bronco, sunglasses on, and so handsome it took my breath away. There was a piece of me that was still getting my head around the fact that this guy was waiting for me. That when he smiled it was because I’d come into view, and even though I hadn’t been gone long, he was happy to see me again. Was I honestly looking for more than that? Wasn’t this what it was about, at the most elemental level?
