Page 126 of The Tartan Thesis

Beau

Haverin’ (hay-vurh-in)

Translation: To talk foolishly or babble

Usage: To refer to someone who is blethering on and on and on and on

I’m about to start the car and drive to the airport when—

“Dammit!”

I forgot my passport.

I get out of the car and head back to my door. My inability to focus since talking with Torin has been debilitating. I barely heard a word in my final class sessions, and this is the third trip I’ve made back in for an item that hadn’t made it onto my packing list, items that should have been obvious. Upstairs, I punch in the code, open the safe, grab my passport—and the watches I would’ve accidentally left behind for the summer. I tuck everything under my arm, close the metal door, and turn the handle, making sure it’s secure before leaving again, locking up the house, and getting back in the car.

Everything goes into my carry-on. Then I lean back, eyes closed, taking a second, thinking what I might have forgotten. I can’t afford any more trips back in or I’ll be late for my flight. When nothing comes to mind, I lean forward to start the ignition.

Just as I hit the button there’s a loud bang.

“Fuck!” I yell and jump in my seat, adrenaline surging, wondering if something had blown up under the hood.

Then there’s a softer knock against the passenger window. Torin’s there, looking like he ran here. Hair mussed, sweat on his brow, jacket askew. None of which makes my heart beat any slower.

“Beau,” he shouts, voice muffled through the glass, “can we talk?”

I look ahead, unsure if I can do this right now.

He’d said enough last night. Enough to make it clear we could be civil, polite colleagues. Just two people who used to be something, now orbiting the same space. I figured that was it, that we could move on. Separately.

So why is he coming to me now, right as I’m getting ready to head back to Texas to lick my wounds? If he’s just trying to clear his conscience before I go home, then I’d rather leave now and make it to the airport on time, and put an ocean between me and him.

But if he’s here for something else…

I look over at him, and I’ve rarely seen his face look so earnest, so desperate. His lips move again. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but I don’t need to. Please.

I scrub a hand down my face, then take a deep breath before getting slowly out of the car, pressing the door closed behind me. I stay on the driver’s side and look at his relieved expression over the hood. He ripped my heart out of my chest the last time we really talked, and the odds of him being here to try to get back together are astronomical, so while things are better than before, I need to keep my distance for now.

We stand in awkward silence, both of us with our hands in our pockets, but I refuse to speak first. If he wants to talk, he needs to buck up, and he needs to be more transparent than last night. I’m not going to make this easy for him. With no small amount of difficulty, I keep my eyes on Torin as his mouth moves, but no words come out.

I raise an eyebrow, my impatience rising to the surface.

“I’m sorry,” he says in a rush. He hasn’t gotten any better at apologies. If that’s all he’s got, I’m getting on a plane.

I turn back to my car door.

“No, wait!” he says and sticks out a trembling hand.

I huff out a sigh. “Torin, I’m late for my flight. If you want to apologize, you can unblock my number and call me when I get home.”

His shoulders drop, the fight draining out of him. “Please, Beau. This can’t wait. Just give me two minutes, then you can hate me forever if you like. Please.”

I sigh again. “Torin, I don’t hate you. The fact that you think I do is the reason I’d rather just go. You clearly don’t know me at all.”

“No, I do,” he says, leaning over the hood, reaching toward me. “I do know you.”

“Do you?” I ask, tilting my head, studying him.

“Aye.” He nods, chewing his bottom lip. “I’ve known you all along.”