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Maybe the circles under his eyes aren’t as dark. Maybe he’s better…I hope so.
I follow the signs and descend two different escalators. My palms sweat and my heartbeat thumps wildly with each passing second. But then the baggage carousels come into view.
Whipping my head around, I try to find him in the crowds.
And then I freeze.
People move around me, passing to the nearest carousel, but my eyes are on him.
Garrison stands near carousel four, his gaze already pinned to me, a bundle of pink orchids in his hand. But he’s just as frozen and rooted to place. Unmoving.
We just stare at one another like we’re processing the fact that we’re here.
In the same room.
Almost in breathing distance.
“Hi,” I say, but he’s too far away to hear me. But he sees me.
He sees.
Hi, he mouths back. I read his lips.
Tears prick my eyes, and I walk.
I jog.
I run.
My backpack almost slips off my shoulder, but I catch it at my elbow. He meets me halfway. We practically collide into one another, but it’s like reuniting a missing puzzle piece. Arms fitting around bodies. Heads leaning to the correct side on instinct. His chest against my body, warmth blazes through me—a hug so powerful that I tremble from his touch.
Our lips meet like they can’t stand to be away for a second longer. And I forget where I am. In public. In an airport. The only thing that matters is him.
My fingers slide up the back of his neck, threading his soft hair. His hand cups my cheek strongly, protectively. My head is lighter than air. Urges pulse through me, hungry for so much more. Touch. Talking. I want everything all at once.
I break from his lips first, lightheaded.
“Garrison,” I say in slight disbelief.
He’s here. I’m here. We’re together.
He hugs me again, tighter this time. My forehead presses into his chest. His shirt smells like fresh laundry detergent and orchids. Different but the same.
Our chests are flush together. His heartbeat thumps and thumps, the embrace like a comforting return home.
But he feels thinner than I remember, yet still bigger than me.
“Willow,” Garrison says quietly and tenderly as if we’re the only people in the airport. We break apart a little, his eyes flitting around me like he doesn’t want to stop staring. “You still look twenty.” He tilts his head, longer pieces of his hair falling over his brows. He pushes it back. “I could have sworn that fifty years passed since you left.”
I laugh and brush tears from my eyes. “You don’t look twenty anymore,” I say.
He’s twenty-one now, and I wasn’t here for his November birthday. Guilt tries to crash against me.
He shrugs. “How does twenty-one look on me? Gray hair. Wrinkles. I’m practically Gandalf, right?” I missed hearing his dry wit out loud. In person.
My cheeks hurt from smiling. “Gandalf is two-thousand years old. Maybe dock some years on that one.”
He smiles. “Okay, yeah. Dumbledore, then.”
“One-hundred-and-fifty years old,” I say.
“Look at that.” He grins. “I’m already a hundred. I’m in my prime.”
“You’re too pretty to be anyone other than you,” I murmur.
But the dark circles weren’t a trick of the screen. And his hoodie looks baggier on his body. Has he even been eating? Worry infiltrates, but neither of us stops touching.
My hands are still hooked around his neck. His still on my waist. Like if we completely break apart, some magical force may rip us away again.
Garrison takes a deep breath. “You’re prettier than me,” he says. “But also…” His eyes sweep my body. “Have you been eating Willow?”
I almost laugh, we’re both worried about each other. I think it’s been that way since I left. “I could say the same about you.”
“I asked you first.”
“I’ve just been busy and stressed with school.” And being away. But I don’t add that part.
He opens his mouth to reply but a man with a professional-quality Canon camera skirts over to us. “Willow!” he yells. “Where are your brothers?!”
Garrison slides his hand into mine, and he exchanges a look with me like yeah, nothing has changed. “Welcome back to Philly.” Sarcasm drips from his voice.
Can’t say I missed this part.
Garrison reaches into his hoodie pocket and pulls out a balled up baseball cap. He passes it to me along with the bundle of orchids. I gratefully put the cap on and shield my eyes.
“Willow!” Paparazzi approaches as we start walking towards carousel six. “Look here!”
There’s only one person I want to look at.
One person I can’t take my eyes off of.
Garrison glances back at me, and then he squeezes my hand. I feel it. Palm against palm. That simple pressure lights up my world. It’s strange—how something so simple can mean so much.
His hand in mine.
I will never take that for granted again.
49
garrison abbey
After a long car ride, Willow and I are dropped off at my apartment. Alone again. Tomorrow we’ll be back surrounded by her family.
