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She crawls under the covers on my bed and brings them up to her chin. She’s a floating head, encased in white sheets. Her red hair fans out wildly around her.
“What’s next—are you going to read me a bedtime story?” It’s said in jest, but then her eyes light up. “Wait! Yes.”
I leave to go get her some water and an Advil for the morning. I half-expect her to be asleep when I return, but she’s right where I left her, smiling, patting the bed where I’m supposed to sit.
Apparently, she was serious about the bedtime story.
“I’m reading a Stephen King book.”
“Ooooh spooky. Perfect for Halloween.”
“I’m two-thirds of the way through. You won’t understand what’s going on,” I say as I sit down beside her, propped up by pillows as I open my paperback to where I last left off.
“Yes I will,” she insists.
One page in, she turns, curls up against my side, and closes her eyes. I stay up reading until she’s fast asleep. I should be glad she’s sleeping off some of the alcohol, but I’m not. I kind of…miss her.
In the morning, I cook us breakfast with what I have on hand. After a busy few weeks, my fridge and pantry are all but empty. I peel an orange, toast some bread, and shake out enough cereal from the bottom of the box to make us each a small bowl of mostly crumbs. Whitney walks right out of my bedroom, darts around the island, and comes straight to me, wrapping her arms around my waist.
“Sorry about last night.”
“There’s no need to apologize.”
“I keep having flashbacks of our conversation, and yes…I definitely need to apologize.”
I chuckle and turn around, lifting her chin. Her face is back to normal, and I tell her so.
She brushes her cheek with her palm, relief evident in her gaze.
“Can I help?” she asks, glancing down at the counter. “Here, let me take over and you go sit at the table and don’t lift a finger. It’s the least I can do.”
“Breakfast is already done. Coffee’s on the table. Juice too. Well, some juice. We’ll have to share a glass.”
“What about silverware?”
“Beside the plates.”
“Okay, well, sign me up for dish duty, at least.”
It’s nice sitting across from her, eating toast, sipping coffee. It’s the most normal activity in the world, but there’s more emphasis on it now that we’re doing it together.
Whitney’s quiet, and I assume she’s probably tackling quite the hangover, so I don’t bother her.
When my plate is clean, I stand and her hand shoots out to stop me.
“I need to ask you for a favor.”Whitney wants me to go with her to New York in a week.
It seems all but impossible with everything I have going on right now. I should be working in my sleep, especially with Cal still on sick leave, but I don’t say any of this to Whitney. I know why she’s asking, and I know she never would have brought it up if she didn’t really need me.
Besides, when she broached the subject, she made me a promise.
“After New York, I’ll decide what I want to do about my future. Okay? I’ll give you a five-year plan, and I promise to be serious about it, too.”
I bring it up to Heather and Cal the next day and Heather’s eyes go wide.
“Are you crazy? Are you both crazy?”
“Make it work. I’ll fly up on Friday, be there in time for her sister’s show, and return Saturday. With Whitney.”
Cal is fully on board. He won’t hear of Whitney going to New York without me.
“I told you those trips are always so difficult for her. She’ll do better with you by her side.”Chapter Twenty-TwoWhitneyMy plane plops me down in New York City at 9:00 PM the following Wednesday. My parents originally booked my flight for 6:20 AM. I changed it last minute. I told them I had to because I couldn’t take another day off work, but really, I’m trying to cut down on the length of the trip out of self-preservation.
My dad is waiting for me at baggage claim, impatiently looking over and around other passengers to find me. He’s wearing a Yankees hat and a matching t-shirt. His face is hard, unsmiling, even when he finally spots me.
He’s always been good at complaining. It’s the first thing he does. No, Hey, how are you? Just, “Can you believe this airport? Jesus, it’s the middle of the night and it’s still this crowded. Did you check a bag? No? Good. Come on.”
“Where’s Mom?”
“Asleep.”
Outside, he flags down a cab. Then, with his hand still in the air, he gives me a once-over. “You look skinny. You eating down there in Georgia?”
I didn’t have time for dinner because I cut it too close at the airport. I wolfed down a packet of peanuts like a rabid squirrel midflight, eyeing my neighbor’s bag greedily while he took his sweet time, eating them one by one, obnoxiously crunching them with his front teeth. After warring over a shared armrest for half the flight, I think it was retribution on his part.
