Page 134 of Smoke and Glitter

By the time it arrives, I've found a rugby match on television and watched enough of it to know I'm retaining absolutely nothing. I eat half the sandwich, decide British mayonnaise may be a criminal enterprise and am considering the chips when the screen beside my leg lights up.

Autumn: Jesus Christ, Sam. You're actually in London?

I laugh before I can stop myself.

There she is.

Me: Yeah

and before I can put the phone down again another message appears.

Autumn: Why didn't you tell me you were coming?

That one takes longer.

I sit back against the headboard with the plate balanced across my legs and think about how easily I could make the answer sound noble. I came for you. I needed to prove something. I couldn't let you leave without trying.

All true enough to be dangerous.

Me: Because coming here was my decision. I didn't want you to have to make it for me.

The typing indicator appears almost immediately. It disappears once, comes back, and stays long enough that I set the phone beside me rather than watching it.

When it buzzes again, her message reads,

Autumn: You really got on a plane without knowing if I'd see you.

I look around the hotel room. My bag is open on the floor. My jacket is hanging crooked in the wardrobe because I couldn't be bothered to find a hanger that wasn't attached to the rail. There is half a terrible sandwich beside me and an unused return ticket in my email.

Me: Yeah.

Her answer doesn't come quickly this time.

I finish another bite mostly because doing something with my hands feels preferable to staring at the screen. A few minutes later the phone vibrates against the comforter.

Autumn: I need tonight. But I want to see you.

I stop.

For a few seconds, I just sit there with my hand resting beside the phone. Then another message arrives.

Autumn: Tomorrow at three?

The relief hits hard enough that I have to lean my head back against the wall.

She isn't promising me anything. She isn't saying the trip worked or that the conversation in Chicago doesn't matter anymore. She's giving me an hour tomorrow because she wants to hear me.

That is more than I had when I got on the plane.

Me: I'll be there.

An address appears a moment later. I tap it and find a park less than a mile from the venue where she's working. Another message comes through while I'm still looking at the map.

Autumn: It's a park. It's close to work. Don't turn it into a metaphor.

I laugh into the empty room.

I start to type something smart back, think better of it and delete the whole thing.