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“Can I come stay with you?” I burst out.

There’s a shocked silence.

“Of course, but…is everything okay?” she stutters.

I consider lying, but decide against it. What’s the point? “Things are different now, and I need a change, too,” I say. “Just for a few weeks.”

“I’ll book your flight. When did you want to come?”

“In the morning.”

Another shocked silence.

“Are you okay?” she asks. A door closes in the background, maybe she’s in her office.

I swallow back the rising lump. “Yeah, I just can’t sit in the same place anymore.”

That seems to hit a nerve because she clears her throat, like it makes her sad. Her keyboard clatters as she types.

“Can you have someone drive you to the airport for a six a.m. flight?” she asks after a minute.

“Yeah, I can.”

Click-click.

“Alright, it’s booked,” she says crisply. “I’ll be there to pick you up.”

The relief is a tsunami, crashing over me, drowning my lungs. All at once, the impending panic attack is gone, and my shoulders sink. By this time tomorrow, I’ll be in New York in my soft pink room in Mom and Hugh’s house where I have nothing but good memories.

“Thank you, Mom,” I say.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asks.

“Yeah, it’s just stuff,” I say, letting out a breath. “Boy drama. Other stuff. Nothing bad is happening, but I need a break and some time to figure myself out.”

“I get it.” Her voice softens. “You can stay as long as you like.”

“Thank you again. Alright, I’d better tell Sabrina and Coen.”

“Sounds good. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

She hangs up. I fall onto my back, a limp pile of bones. Oh my God, I did it. I’m going somewhere alone, for the first time ever, even if it is just Mom’s house. I’m so fucking excited, I have no idea if I’ll even be able to sleep. That will give me more time to pack. God, I need to start packing. I have to find my rolling carry-on…it’s been ages since I used it.

I vault to my feet and start tearing apart my closet.

By the time Coen’s truck pulls up, I’m packed. I roll my bag to my bedroom door and leave it there before coming downstairs. They’re both talking, laughing, as they enter the kitchen. I can tell Sabrina has had a couple drinks; she’s giggly, blushing, and tugging on Coen’s hand.

“Hi,” I say, sliding up to the breakfast bar.

They both go quiet at the expression on my face.

“Everything okay?” Coen asks.

I nod. “So…I’m going to Mom’s.”

Sabrina’s jaw drops. It takes her a second to recover. “What? Why?”