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Dropping my suitcase, causing a loud bang that people jump in shock over, I run fast, throwing myself into her arms just like Flynn, but this time I sob, sob so deeply, crying into her shoulder, snot coming out of my nose, and I don’t care who can see. I don’t care what people think of me. I just want to hug her because I don’t know how she will be when I come back. I don’t know if I will be coming back to the same woman.
Most importantly, I don’t know if she will even remember my name again.
She pulls away slowly, her eyes full of tears threatening to fall. Despite her strong will, one escapes, and a tear falls graciously onto the smile she wore before.
“Do this please, for me, just do this for me,” she begs with exhaustion. “It’s all I ask of you. If anything changes, I promise you I’ll be the first to call you to come back.”
I hold onto her words and reluctantly let go, Flynn calls my name one more time as the announcement warns us that check-in time is almost closing.
Swallowing the pain that consumes me more than I can imagine, I take those baby steps back toward the door, but this time, I don’t turn around. I keep walking and link my arm into my brother’s, resting my head on his shoulder for support.
Crying silently as the plane takes off, and I say goodbye to my home, I continue this for the whole trip.
Chapter Four
It has been an eventful few days in Los Angeles.
We find a place to rent—a small, run-down but liveable apartment—in a questionable part of town. It’s all I can afford until I land a job and earn some decent money.
Flynn hates the apartment. It is nothing like our home. It’s dreary with brown walls and squeaky floorboards that creak with every step. There is no view of the mountains, instead, a brick wall that belongs to some Indian restaurant and a questionable massage parlor on the top floor.
He has made a few friends at the backpacker hostel where we stayed and wants to crash there. As much as I also love chatting to the friendly tourists who were sharing the rooms with us, our purpose is to make a life here, and that means finding a permanent place to live.
Once we finally have the keys to the apartment, Flynn makes himself scarce, busying himself with God knows what. He refuses to talk to me, shutting down all channels of communication like this is my fault.
It only makes it all the worse for me. Battling being homesick and trying to be strong for everyone becomes a difficult juggling act. I can’t recall a time when I’ve felt such an enormous amount of pressure on my shoulders, and the worst part is, I can’t run to Mama to save me.
I try my best to make the apartment feel like home with the little I can afford to spend. We have our own beds, a small sofa, and a fridge full of food. The first night in, I cook us a meal, and all I get is a grunt before Flynn disappears into his room.
It’s the night before my big interview, and the nerves are eating away at me. Phoebe calls me to run through some prep questions, but all it’s doing is making me more anxious.
“Okay, just breathe,” she says, calmly. “What are you wearing tomorrow?”
“My black pantsuit and white blouse.”
“Too simple. What about your red blouse?”
“You don’t think it’s too loud?”
“Milly.” She laughs out of nowhere. “You’re in Hollywood. I highly doubt your red blouse is too loud.”
True. Earlier today, I saw a man in a pink sundress carrying a straw purse like it was normal. I let out a loud sigh, hoping to alleviate the stress.
“Hollywood… nothing like what the movies depict it to be.”
“I’m still jealous,” she reminds me. “Movie stars and fancy cars. Rodeo Drive, the Playboy Mansion.”
“All of the places that have no interest to me.”
“I love you, you’re my best friend, but Jesus Christ, woman, you need to live a little. Head out of your sandbox and go have some fun in Tinseltown.”
This isn’t the first time Phoebe has told me to let loose, often calling me Nanna Milly. A joke that doesn’t bother me since I have no concerns with my social life. I don’t need one, happy to plod along doing what I do. Phoebe is deprived of hurrahs, often telling me that it’s the only place I would let her down in the best-friend department. But despite Phoebe’s eccentric ways, she knows my limits and never pushes me beyond my comfort level.
We talk for a few minutes before hanging up. I need sleep and pray that I will get some with all this anxiety building up. I have so much riding on this that the more I force myself to sleep, the harder it is to shut down.
The next morning, I wake up early, just as the sun begins to rise. Flynn is still sleeping, snoring loudly through the thin walls. The coffee begins to brew, the aroma reminding me of back home. I pour myself a cup while reading through my notes. I practice my answers out loud—at least, the questions I expect to be asked in a face-to-face interview.
The clock ticks past eight, and it’s time to leave. With my purse in hand, I grab my keys just as Flynn stumbles out of his room wearing only his boxers, rubbing his eyes vigorously like a vampire struggling to see through the sun.
