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Simple.
I shove the rest of my stuff that’s making the trip to Illinois into the suitcase and zip it closed. My anxiety starts to climb as thoughts of this weekend’s festivities parade through my head. The game, the dinner, the brunch. I haven’t attended a homecoming game since I left Southern, but here I am, getting ready to fly home, the invitation practically burning a hole in my purse.
When the invite arrived, I was prepared to throw it in the trash. In fact, I did. Then I read the accompanying letter and realized this was more than just an alumni event. This was so much bigger. This was an invitation to give one of two keynote addresses at the Sunday brunch. The alumni are celebrating my graduating class, as well as that of the twenty-five year class. Being invited to speak is a huge deal—one I’m not sure I was really qualified for, or wanted, for that matter. But I couldn’t ignore it.
Believe me, I tried.
Two days later, I found myself emailing the alumni foundation and accepting the offer to give one of the keynote addresses.
No going back now.
Even though, again, I tried.
I’ve talked myself out of it a thousand times. Everything from a random bout with the flu to a plane crash has crossed my mind, though that last one can’t be corroborated with facts. Every time a new excuse would pop into my head, I’d see my parents. They’re so excited I’m finally coming home. It’s been three years, and even then, it was a short weekend visit. At the end of the day, I just don’t want to hear the disappointment in their voices when I tell them I’ve changed my mind.
That’s why I zip up my luggage and set it beside the door. That’s why I verify I have my travel documents and my wallet ready in my purse. That’s why I wave goodbye to my co-workers (grateful that Todd isn’t anywhere to be found) and make my way out to my awaiting Uber ride. That’s why I tuck in my big girl panties and prepare for a weekend of handshakes and fake smiles.
Of seeing former classmates.
Of dealing with Danny for the first time in a decade.
FML.
***
“Welcome to St. Louis Lambert International Airport. We hope you enjoy your visit.”
I watch for my luggage as the carousel slowly moves, suitcases thrown haphazardly on the belt. Mine, of course, is on the bottom of a pyramid, and the moment I pull at my handle, they all tumble down. A woman comes barreling toward me, speaking in a foreign tongue, as she gathers up one of the fallen bags. I’m pretty sure she’s cursing me out right now if the side-eye is any indication.
“That one’s yours,” I hear over my shoulder. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as familiarity washes through me.
I spin around and come face to face with a smiling one from my past. He’s still wearing glasses, though these are a black frame that, for some crazy reason, only make him hotter. He’s a little beefier than he was in college, though mostly in the shoulders and chest. You can tell he puts a little effort into his appearance now, especially with his designer jeans and pressed button-down shirt.
“Rueben!” Before I even realize what I’m doing, I throw myself against his chest. He catches me easily, barely stumbling under my unexpected body slam, and pulls me tightly against him.
Against his chest.
His very nice, muscular, toned chest.
I gasp at how nice it feels, and the fact that I’m enjoying this hug a little too much.
“Hey, Crick. Long time no see,” he whispers against my ear, sending little shivers of something I don’t want to think about racing through my body. I’ve never had this sort of reaction to Rueben, and I can’t start now. He’s a friend, plain and simple.
I pull myself off his body and take a step back. Awkwardly, I pat his upper arm, only to find that just as defined as the chest I was just plastered against. “It’s so great to see you. It’s been…a long time.”
Ten years, to be exact. Even though there were a few text exchanges, I haven’t seen Rueben since the day after our college graduation. He showed up to get Danny’s things and helped me load my stuff in a rental the following day. He offered to drive out with me, but I refused. My dad was ready to make the trip. At that point, I was determined to do it myself, to prove to Danny he didn’t break me. We parted ways on the front step of my former apartment with a hug and a wave, and bid each other luck in the future.
Now, he’s standing directly in front of me.
And hotter than ever.
I run my hand along my hair, wishing I had done something a little different with it. After the broadcast and my bags were packed, I just pulled it up with a hair tie I found on my dressing table. With all the hairspray and goop in it, at last look, it resembled something of a football helmet rather than a ponytail. And that was before a four-and-a-half-hour flight, sandwiched between an elderly woman and a businessman who claimed the armrest as his own, in which I power-napped for a good two hours of the air travel, thanks to my trusty earbuds and old school Paula Abdul.
I probably have sleep crusties in my eyes and drool marks on my chin.
Typical.
“It has been,” he replies, pulling me back to the now. Rueben rocks back on his heels and shoves his hands in his pockets. His dark chocolate brown eyes do a quick head-to-toe scan, probably noting all the not-too-flattering things wrong with my sudden appearance in the airport. Finally, after a few seconds, he adds, “You look good, Crick.”
