Are you at the airport yet?
Almost.
She'd insisted on coming with, but I didn't want to put Milo through double the hell with both Margaret and my sister shooting questions at him. Instead, I'd lied and told Katrina we had to run a bunch of errands first, and then we'd head to pick up Mom.
I was getting good at covering things up, I realized. I wondered if this was Milo's—or rather Seven's—influence. Or maybe I'd always had it in me.
After a few more exits, he said, "You don't have to do this if you don't want to."
I blinked. "Which part?"
"This—" He flicked his gaze at the space between us, then back to the road. "Worry about me."
"I will always worry about you."
"Isn't it my job?"
"You're on vacation," I argued.
"I can't win with you, can I?"
"This isn't a fight." I reached out and rested my hand on his thigh. "That's just what couples do."
"I see."
At the terminal, we parked in short-term. Milo shut off the engine. Then he sat there, staring at the steering wheel with both hands on it.
I waited.
When he finally looked at me, I realized his eyes were a color I'd never bothered to categorize before—gray, but with a weird, blue-white edge, like the sky when a storm was about to start. They didn't seem human, but I guess that was the point. He'd spent half his life convincing himself he wasn't.
"I'll wait in the car," he said.
"You can come in if you want."
He shook his head. "It's easier if you do the meet-and-greet first. I'll be here."
He made it sound like a military op. I wanted to correct him, but it wouldn't do any good.
"Alright, be right back." I pushed the door open. Then I changed my mind, leaned across the console, and kissed him on the cheek.
"What's that for?" he asked, timidly looking around like he'd been caught doing something illegal.
"That's what couples do." I grinned at him. "Besides, we've done this and more before."
He suddenly blushed and whispered, "But not in public."
It was adorable.
"Gotta go," I supplied and climbed out of the vehicle.
I made my way across the ramp, through the glass doors, and into the madness of LAX arrivals.
Inside, it was a different universe.
A sea of luggage and people flowed through the space. Kids sat on suitcases. Couples argued in various languages. There was a man in a Lakers jersey holding a cardboard sign that saidNANA, and another wearing a surgical mask and nothing else on his face but tattoos.
I moved through the crowd and checked the baggage claim monitors to see what carousel number I needed to get to. It was all the way at the end.
