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“I am so sorry,” pregnant mother to Chloe whispers as she points to the two vacant seats inside.
I stand, step out into the aisle, and notice the father sitting across the aisle. “Would you like to switch seats?”
He looks down and shakes his head as his wife answers for him, “Nervous flyer.”
Fuck me, I think but do it anyway. “Would you like to switch seats so that you can be next to your husband?”
She looks me up and down. “He’s just six feet, and he hates—”
“Hate’s bad, Mommy.” Chloe pushes past her, climbs onto the middle seat, and steps over to the window seat.
“Right,” she acknowledges as she sits in the center and finishes, “You can’t stretch out and relax sitting on the inside seat. Plus, Miss Thing would have a meltdown if she didn’t have the window seat, but thank you.”
“No problem.” I sit down and put my AirPods back in my ears. I can’t help but look over at Chloe’s dad, who’s having a hell of a time keeping his eyes open. It’s obvious he took something to knock him out.
Two and a half hours to Lincoln.
By the time we’re in the air, Chloe’s dad is passed the hell out, and drooling on himself as Chloe’s screaming because her ears hurt. The mom is now one hundred percent in tears.
“Can she have gum?” I ask. “Might help her ears.”
“She can have a shot of vodka if it’ll help quiet her down.”
I’d laugh at that, but in this situation, I don’t think she’s joking, and straight up, only a tiny bit of judgment if she’s in fact being serious.
The gum’s a game changer.
As soon as it’s announced we can feel free to move about, Chloe’s mom, Christine, tells me she needs to use the bathroom, and her husband, Joel, is passed the hell out. I do what I should and offer to take over reading the thickest princess picture book I’ve ever seen.
Sitting in the center seat, knees to my chest, Chloe’s head on my shoulder, I read for what must be twenty minutes. I wonder if someone should check on Christine, but her husband’s sawing wood, and it’s quiet. More importantly, Chloe’s head is bobbing. When Christine returns, it’s more than obvious by her puffy red eyes that she had a “good cry”—that’s what the females in my family call it. So, when I close the book to switch seats, and Chloe starts in again, wanting me to keep reading, while stuck in the middle seat of a plane, I give up, give in, and read on.
* * *
It’seleven p.m. when I walk out of Logan International and message my brother to let him know I landed as I wait for the Uber.
It isn’t until I’m three-quarters of the way back to Lincoln University when I’m hit in the gut with the realization that the past eighteen hours of airport bullshit, I haven’t been tripping over the fact that I’m going to see Riley within the next day or two. How the hell am I going to deal with that?
I don’t think I’ve ever looked at someone and just felt … hell, I don’t know how to even explain how I felt exactly because it was like everything all at once. It’s so messed up that even thinking it makes me sound like an idiot, but it is what it is.
Seeing Riley the first time was like watching fireflies dance in the night or standing on top of a waterfall it took hours to climb to and feeling the mist on your face. It was being eighteen and seeing snow for the first time.
Hearing her whimsical laugh that night, and seeing her brilliant smile, her brown eyes absolutely sparkling, it was like fantasy and reality blended and made the experience enchanting. And yes, I hate admitting that to myself, but it was in fact enchanting to meet her. Pretty sure I just lost my man cardandmy balls all at the same time for admitting that, even if only to myself.
I stayed there, in the enchanted land of Riley Park for months, not wanting to fuck things up by getting too close, but never wanting to be too far away either.
We followed each other on social media, got to the point we were sending simple DM’s.Good mornings, have a good day, good game.How was your competition? Goodnight sleep well.Just shit like that, but it was building into something. I knew it, and I know she did, too.
Around the time Dean’s grandfather passed, we stopped messaging as much, and then all at once I’d sent four messages without so much as a heart emoji or even a thumbs-up.
The last one I sent was a “we good?” To that, she gave a thumbs-up.
That was it.
I have no idea why, and I have mind-fucked it enough that I should be way over it, yet knowing I’m going to see her fucks with my head.
My Tahoe’s parked at Dean’s old place where Riley, Ellie, Grace, Leah, and Cody will all live this year, so it’s not even something I can avoid for long.
“Kid?” The uber driver asks, and I open my eyes.
