“But—”
“Your dad wasn’t very kind to Alex, Fleur, and me. And heespeciallywasn’t very kind to Ophelia. That’s why he can’t come back.”
“We didn’t even finish playingAnimal Crossingat Christmas.”
I don’t know how Elise does it. No frustration, no impatience, no anger, no sadness. Just a kind warmth in her eyes as she promises them that she’ll learn to play it with them.
Alex comes in, balancing three plates of toast. I know one was supposed to be for him, because it has peanut butter on it, but he smiles at Charlotte and gives it to her instead, handing the buttered one to me and the strawberry jam to Josie. The ravens inked into his skin flutter as he stretches those thick arms above his head, exposing a thin strip of muscle at his waist.
If I don’t get an hour alone with him today, I’ll just cancel my flight.
Oh god.The flight.I drag my palms down my cheeks. Alex is at my side in a second, shaking his head. “We’re not worrying about the trip home until ten p.m., remember?”
“Okay,” I rasp, wiping my sweaty palms on my thighs.
A tiny voice in my head tells me to stay. To worry about my education later, to catch up with my friends on the phone.
But the girls go back to school tomorrow and Alex back to work. This cocoon we’ve been in, the calm after the storm, will burst.
I owe it to my younger self to fly home.
I COULDN’T BRINGmyself to get on the first flight.
But a serious pep talk from Alex and a threatening text from Belladonna about missing the swim meet next week had me on the next flight an hour later, promising to pay Alex back for both tickets—or all four, if you count the ones he bought to accompany me to the plane steps.
The flight back felt a lot shorter than the one to New York, so short that when I watch the wheels touch down with my nose pressed against the acrylic window, I can still feel the dried tears on my cheeks and the ghost of Alex’s lips on mine.
“I might lose a finger in a minute,” the seventy-something-year-old lady beside me says, as people stand to grab their bags before they’re even allowed to. I glance down, and, sure enough, no blood is flowing to her hand. I release it quickly, cheeks turning red.
Mabel is my new best friend. She held my hand the whole way, let me trade my weird salad pot for her bread roll. When I convinced myself that the wing looked a bit worse for wear, she reminded me I have no fucking idea what I’m talking about. I told her about my fear of flying, and then we talked shit about her ex-husband for six hours.
“Safe travels up to the Highlands,” she says with a warm smile.
“Thank you,” I say, chewing my lip as I look at the train prices. It’s not the fourteen-hour journey time that bothers me—I’ve managed my fair share of horrendous travel days since I lost my parents—but the price.
There isnoreason for a train to cost that much.
Mabel scowls at my phone, too. “Robbing bastards, aren’t they?”
I hang my duffel over my shoulder, following her off this horrific flying tin can. “Couldn’t have put it better myself.”
My feet hit the tarmac, and I have half a mind to kiss it. I feel like the star of one of those videos you see of astronauts returning to Earth from space. I will never take solid ground for granted ever again.
“I did it!” I exclaim, suddenly overcome with emotion. Then Mabel and I are bouncing around like two footballers who’ve just scored the winning penalty.
“I can’t jump anymore, I’ll piss myself,” she says, stopping abruptly. “Neverhave kids.”
I pick up her bag, too, and head inside the terminal at a busy London Heathrow. She scowls as we join the short queue at passport control. “I hate these new machines. Whatever was wrong with the people in the booths?”
I watch a woman put her passport in upside down. “Same.”
“Andeverythingis becoming an app now.”
“Oh my god,thank you!” I say, hands dragging down my cheeks. “No one else understands. Why do I need an app to claim a free croissant? Why can’t they just give me one anyway?”
“World’s gone to shit,” she grumbles, as a short man in uniform directs her to a passport machine. I scan mine, turning to see where Mabel is. She makes eye contact with me, mimicking shooting herself in the head as the man asks her to step back from the machine and head to a booth instead.
I don’t want to leave her without saying goodbye, so I pull my phone from my pocket and switch it from airplane mode. Heart rate not yet below one fifty, I type out a text to Alex while I sit and wait for Mabel to stop flirting with the older gentleman checking her passport.
