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He steps into the kitchen. His eyes catch the sandwich then they meet mine. “Good?”
“Yeah.” I bring my lips and take a sip. It’s too hot, but it’s tolerable. “Have you heard from Emma?”
“No, but Walker said he’d text as soon as she was up. She has work today. She won’t skip that.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. She’s a responsible kid. And she loves her discount.”
I try to muster up a laugh. I’m not sure if he’s joking. Emma does love her employee discount. And she’s also responsible. But she also ran off last night. She’s never done that before. We’ve fought a lot—who hasn’t—but she’s never run off without telling me where she was going.
Brendon brings his hand to my jaw. He tilts my head so I’m looking up at him. “It will be okay, Kay.”
“How do you know?”
“I know.”
I want to believe him, but I’m not sure I do.
Traffic is a crawl. It’s Friday morning. Traffic is always a crawl at this time.
The sun bounces off the pavement, flowing into Brendon’s sedan, making it hard to read my cell screen.
Not that there’s anything to read.
Emma still hasn’t texted back.
My parents’ have a safe flight, can’t wait to see you, let me know when you’ve boarded texts are the same.
The only thing changing is the time in the top bar of my cell screen.
I stare at it until the screen goes dark then I wake my cell and do it all over again.
Brendon reaches over and wraps his fingers around my wrist. “Kay, put your phone away. You’re driving yourself crazy.”
“I know. But—”
“Emma’s not gonna text back today. You have to give her time.”
I know that. I do. But my heart isn’t getting the message. And when I let my thoughts float away from Emma, they go straight to Grandma. To the question mark and all the possible answers. They’re too scary. I can’t take that.
He rubs my wrist with his thumb. It pulls my thoughts back to the moment.
Brendon is such a loving person, but he doesn’t see himself that way. No one else sees him that way.
But it’s there. It’s just hidden, like the stars on the ceiling.
He rubs my wrist through the last stretch of the 405. As we take the LAX exit. Even through the crawl to Departures then to my terminal.
God, this airport is a mess.
It’s constantly in construction.
It will be better one day. But right now the improvement is only making things worse.
There. He pulls into the short-term parking lot and finds a space on the second level. Even though it’s a bright day, it’s dark in here. The sun can’t get through the walls of concrete.
His hand goes back to his side. All the warmth in my body goes with it. Something changes in his posture as he turns off the car. Something that makes him harder. Further away.
Or maybe that’s my imagination.
It’s possible sleep deprivation is getting to me.
God, I’m actually looking forward to being on that plane. That’s six hours to close my eyes and block out the world. Or six hours for the world to invade my thoughts. One of the two.
“I’ll get your bag.” Brendon steps out of the car. He grabs my rolling duffel from the backseat then slams the door shut.
I pull my cardigan tighter as I step into the parking lot. The air here is cool. I hug my purse to my shoulder and adjust my jeans. This is weird. I’m flying to New Jersey. That’s how things are supposed to go today.
But they’re supposed to be different too.
Brendon takes my hand and leads me through the parking lot. It’s bright on the sidewalk. The sky is a brilliant blue. The sun is a luminous yellow. There isn’t a cloud in sight.
And his hand is on mine.
His touch still feels so fucking good.
Even though something—everything—else is wrong.
The red hand at the cross walk disappears as the walk sign flashes on.
I follow Brendon across the street. Then over the loading zone. We take the escalator to departures, step into the air-conditioned terminal, and go straight to the machines against the wall.
Shit, that security line stretches on for ages. This is going to take forever. And we’re no longer early.
I slide my credit card into the machine and follow the instructions. It spits out my boarding pass and a message to proceed to security.
Brendon rubs my shoulders. “You have everything you need for your flight?”
I nod. I think so.
“Load up your playlist with Linkin Park?”
I shake my head. “Joy Division.”
He chuckles but his eyes stay sad. “Call me when you get in. And let me know how your grandma is doing.”
“Of course.” I wrap my arms around his waist. “You’ll let me know what happens with Em? Whatever it is?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” I rise to my tiptoes. My eyelids flutter closed as I press my lips to his. He tastes good. Like coffee and like Brendon. I don’t usually like the taste of coffee, but it’s another thing that makes me think of him.
