AllFreeNovel
Share Us
But I can fix this. I KNOW I can. I just have to get to him before he gets on the plane, and I’ll tell him—
Well, I don’t know what I’ll tell him. But I’ll figure it out when I see him. If I can just smell his neck one more time, I know—I KNOW—everything will be all right.
And that I’ll know what to tell him when I see him.
IF I can get to him before he gets on the plane. Because it’s the middle of the afternoon and my dad’s got the limo over at the UN, which means Lars and I have to take a cab, only we can’t find one because they’ve all seemed to have disappeared, which is ALWAYS what happens when you really need one, which is why shows like Sex and the City can be so bogus sometimes, because those girls ALWAYS get a cab, and the fact is, there are just way more people who need cabs than there are cabs and
WHAT AM I GOING TO SAY TO HIM????
God, I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been. How stupid and blind and dumb and ignorant and judgmental and WHAT DOES IT MATTER???? Seriously, what does any of it MATTER, when I love him, and I’ll never love anyone else, and it’s not like he cheated on me and WHY AREN’T THERE ANY CABS????
I tore out of Grandmère’s suite without even saying good-bye. I just yelled, “We’re leaving!” to Lars and bolted. He ran after me, looking confused. It wasn’t until we ran into the lobby that I finally got Lilly on her cell, and was like, “WHAT AIRLINE?”
And Lilly was like, “What are you talking about?”
“WHAT AIRLINE IS MICHAEL FLYING ON?” I screamed.
“Continental,” she said, sounding confused. “Wait—Mia, where are you? We have Assembly—you have to give your speech! Your speech for student council president!”
“I can’t,” I yelled. “This is more important. Lilly, I have to see him—”
I was crying again. But I didn’t even care. I’ve been crying so much, it’s basically my natural state now. Which means maybe I’m not a nihilist after all. Because nihilists don’t cry. “Lilly. I just want to tell him—I just want to—” Except, of course, I still don’t even KNOW what I want to tell him. “Just tell me what time his plane is leaving—please?”
Something in my voice must have convinced her I was sincere.
“Six o’clock,” Lilly said, her tone softening. “But he probably already left for the airport. You have to check in, like, three hours early for international flights. Something I realize someone who only flies by royal Genovian jet wouldn’t know.”
So he was already at the airport.
But I wasn’t going to let that stop me. I hung up and ran outside and told Lars to flag down a cab.
Then I called my dad on his emergency number.
“Mia?” he whispered when he picked up. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” I said. “Was it Mom?”
“Nothing’s wrong? Mia, this is my emergency line—I’m in the middle of the General Assembly—the committee for disarmament and international security is speaking right now. I know you’re going through a hard time right now dealing with the loss of your boyfriend, but unless you’re actually bleeding, I’m hanging up.”
“Dad, don’t! I need to know,” I said urgently. “The person you said you loved—the person you let go without a fight. Was it Mom?”
“What are you talking about?”
“WAS IT MOM? Was Mom the person you loved and regret letting go without a fight? It was, wasn’t it? Because she said she never wanted to get married, and you HAD to get married in order to provide an heir to the throne. You didn’t know you’d end up getting cancer and I’d be your only kid. And you didn’t know you’d never meet anyone you loved as much as her. So you let her go without a fight, didn’t you? It was her. It’s always been HER.”
There was silence for a moment on my dad’s end of the phone. Then he said, “Don’t tell her,” very quietly.
“I won’t, Dad,” I said. Because of my tears I could barely see Lars out on the curb with the Four Seasons doorman, both of them frantically waving their arms at cabs that were all currently filled with passengers. “I promise. Just tell me one more thing.”
“Mia, I really have to go—”
“Did you ever used to smell her neck?”
“What?”
“Mom’s neck. Dad, I have to know…. Did you ever used to smell it? Did it smell really good to you?”
“Like freesia,” Dad said faintly. “How did you know that? I never told anyone that.”
