“We’ll have to take a look. Our oldest loves to bring his friends home from college; that is exactly the type of place that would stand out to him and his friends,” he replies.
They exchange a few more pleasantries before moving on, and then it’s the two of us. Mrs. Hughes smooths her hands together once, as if she’s not entirely sure what to do next.
“That was kind of you,” I say.
She shakes her head slightly. “Maybe, but it was accurate.”
A moment passes, and I am unsure how to answer that.
“You’ve done good work,” she adds. “With the property.”
“Thank you.”
She then looks around the salon. “No, thank you.”
I look at her, puzzled, “Um, I’m not sure for what.”
“For this. I know the salon wasn’t your idea, and you were against it, understandably. I also know Holly wouldn’t have been able to pull it off without your guidance. Holly needed someone to be honest with her; you did that.”
She waits a beat before continuing, “I know you thinkwe coddled Holly since her accident, and you’re not wrong. Being a parent is wanting to do everything right for your kids but still messing up.”
Her honesty hits me in a way I didn’t expect. She’s right, my parents did not coddle me, they made me grow up early and made some terrible financial decisions. But at the end of the day, they gave me the best they had and still didn't come out perfect.
The conversation gets too real, and she makes her excuses to leave. When I turn back, Sam’s already watching me. I walk back to him, sliding my hand into his without thinking. He glances down at it, then back up at me.
“You good?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah,” I say. “I am.”
“Good. Let’s get home, I have a surprise for you.”
40
SAM
The airplane is quieter and smoother than I expected, and the ice in my drink isn't even rattling at 30,000 feet. Outside the window, there is nothing but white cloud and the kind of blue that only exists up here.
Becca’s curled into the seat beside me, one leg tucked under her, blanket pulled halfway up like she still doesn’t fully believe this is real. She's in a soft, long-sleeve maxi dress, travel mode Becca. She keeps glancing around, out of the window through the clouds, the passengers nearby, and our seats. The fact that no one is bumping into her elbow every five seconds. I can tell she’s doing the math. Of course she is. I reach over, brushing my hand along her thigh.
“Don’t,” I say.
Her eyes flick to mine. “Don’t what?”
“Start calculating what this costs.”
She narrows her eyes slightly. “I wasn’t?—”
“You were,” I say, not unkindly.
“Maybe a little,” she admits.
I nod. “Points.”
She blinks. “What?”
“I’ve had a ridiculous amount of airline points sitting there for years. Never used them.” I shrug. “Figured now was a good time.”
Her shoulders drop slightly.
