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“And then it was time to go home. I was sure we’d fixed it. I felt more relaxed than I’d been in years, and we were joking around at the airport. But on the flight, we sat behind a baby that screamed so much, I thought there might actually be something wrong with it. The airline lost our bags. We couldn’t find a cab. Sandy and I started bickering about whether to take a shuttle or call a car service, and the next thing I knew, I was yelling at a skycap, and we weren’t even home yet.”
May stared at a stall door.
“You hear what I’m saying?”
She recrossed her arms.
“It’s not real,” he said. “We can’t make it be real.”
Her eyes brimmed with moisture, but she didn’t blink or look at him. She inhaled raggedly and asked, “Where will you go?”
Ben shrugged. “North, maybe.”
That brought her eyes back to his face. “You’re going to visit your dad?”
“Not him. The farm.”
She didn’t reply.
“What about you?” he asked. “What’s next?”
“I’m not sure yet.” She lifted her chin. Held his gaze. “I’m in love with this guy.”
Sweat broke out on his forehead, slick across the lines of his palms.
That wasn’t right.
Loved him. She loved him.
“You haven’t known him long enough,” he said.
“Yes, I have.”
The space he’d found in his head—gone. He’d lost it, so he reached for anger, but he couldn’t find it. He felt sick and lost and hopeless.
“May, come on. Why are you doing this? You know I’m leaving.”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
“I’m too messed up,” he said. “Too angry. I’ll ruin it.”
The words echoed off the walls, louder than he’d wanted them to be.
“I know why you think so, but angry isn’t the worst thing in the world. That’s something I discovered this week. Angry can be okay.”
Ben took a step back. “What are you even suggesting, that I stay here? The Midwest … God. No. It took me twenty years to escape. I’m not coming back, and you’re not coming with me. I’ve known you a week. I don’t even have an apartment, or a job, and neither do you. It’s impossible.”
“It’s not impossible. It’s difficult.”
“May, grow up. This is a fantasy.”
Her face fell, and he recognized the knife he’d been scrambling for. He grabbed it. “What’s real is that your sister needs you. Your mom—you’ve got to talk to your mom. This whole wedding is maybe not going to happen, and I don’t belong here. I sure as hell don’t belong in the middle of it. I have to go.”
“Because you need to work on your golf swing.” She sounded sullen now.
“Yeah. I do.”
“All right,” she said. “Go, then.”
