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The promise in text message form.
When we start our descent into LAX, I give up on sleep. Read his text over and over again instead.
As soon as I told her, I felt it. I’m done with her. Over her. Completely. It’s so much more fucking obvious right now, because I can feel a gaping hole in my gut. That’s you being gone, Leigh. Maybe that isn’t enough for you. Maybe it’s not enough that I want to be the person who cooks you dinner every night and wakes up next to you every day. Maybe it’s not enough that I want to watch your design company take off, and teach you to surf, and race you around the park. Maybe it’s not enough that you’re my favorite fucking person in the world. But you are. And I want all that. When I see my life, you’re in it. You are it. There are only three things I want. I want to do ink, I want to see the world, and I want you.
If love is the sum of its parts, that’s love.
But is it enough?
I’m way too tired to put those pieces together.
We land. Taxi. Stand. I’m a zombie as I grab my carry-on and walk off the plane. Familiarity takes me through the maze of LAX. Past the stores, along the hallway, down the escalator to baggage claim.
But I’m not destined to climb into a ride share.
Iris is standing in front of the sliding doors.
She runs to greet me. Throws her arms around me and squeezes tightly. “You okay?”
I shake my head.
“I’m sorry.” She releases me. “Ryan asked me to pick you up.”
“Of course.”
“He’s sweet.”
“Even when he…” I don’t know how to end the sentence. My thoughts are too slow. My heart is too heavy. “It’s early.”
“That’s how much I love you.” She takes my suitcase and motions to the door. “Come on. I’m parked in the garage. I’ll buy you breakfast.”
I shake my head.
“Coffee.”
“You convinced me.”
This is a bait and switch—we’re at a restaurant, not a coffee shop—but the java is too good for me to complain.
I down my second cup. Revel in the dark, nutty, creamy, sweet deliciousness.
Iris offers a slice of bacon. “You should eat something.”
I motion to the empty cup of cream between us.
“That’s drinking.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“What if it’s chocolate?”
“I’m not a monster.”
She hails the server.
He stops at our table with a smile. “Yes?” Guys are always so sweet when you’re with another cute girl.
“More coffee and cream. Please.” I trace the outline of my mug.
