There’s a part of me that wants to say fuck it, let me reschedule, but that would only be drawing out the inevitable. The drive goes too fast and in what feels like a blink of an eye we’re pulling into the packed departures line.
“I could go to the garage and park, help you get your luggage in,” Liam offers with a hopeful gleam in his eye.
“It’s just one bag,” I remind him. “I don’t need help.”
“I know.”
He parks along the curb and helps me with my bag. Then we just stand there, looking but not touching, both of us seeming to understand that one final kiss would ruin us. But it doesn’t last as long as I wish it would because one of the airport attendants ushers him back into his car so another vehicle can unload.
I inch through security, barely holding it together, promising myself once I find my gate then I can duck into a bathroom and cry my guts out until my stomach is sore. It’s a slog, but I get to the packed seating area in one piece before looking back in the direction I came from for a bathroom.
When I look up, I see a man without a bag, running straight at me, brown hair sticking up haphazardly.
I don’t have a moment to collect my thoughts before he stops in front of me.
“You’re going to Albuquerque?” I ask, tilting my head to read the paper ticket in Liam’s hand.
“What?” His face scrunches, then he sees where I’m looking. “Oh, this? I just asked for the cheapest flight out. At the desk.”
“You bought that here? I didn’t know you could still do that.”
“Yes. I parked the damn car and got a ticket so I could get past security. Because, Henri, baby, fuck. I don’t want this to end. We can make it work. Iwantto make this work.”
“Please, Liam. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” My throat tightens and fuck I would really love to be locked in a bathroom stall right now so I can let the waterworks flow without people seeing my splotchy red face.
“I can’t let you go.” He swallows. “How is the ending so hard when I knew what it would be from the start?”
“Because the journey to get there was so damn good. Let’s not make this worse, though. Let me get on the plane.” My hand clenches around the handle of my suitcase until my knuckles go white. “In three years, when I graduate, I’ll come out here and look for jobs. Because by then I’ll probably be sick and tired of New York. Who wants to stay in one place that long anyway, right? And maybe we’re just friends, or maybe we just pick up where we left off. I don’t know because as much as I want to be able to, I can’t control that, and I have to trust that if the fates allow, this will all work out.”
“You’re trusting the fates with this?”
“Just this one time, and they better know how damn important it is.” And then I kiss him one last time. Too brief. Too public. But I’ll need this final taste of him to get me through. “And don’t you dare say goodbye.”
He stays until I have to board the plane, and even then, I wait until all other passengers have gone.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my forehead pressed against his. “For giving me a Christmas that felt like mine, instead of someone else’s. I’ll never forget it.”
I end up drinking so much cheap wine that I’m cut off by the flight attendants within the first hour and then I fall asleep for the remaining hours only to wake up with a hangover when we land.
I all but crawl into the back of my Uber at LaGuardia. Tucked in the corner of the leather seats, I pull out my phone and call theonly person I want to talk to, really hoping that she hasn’t gone to bed early.
“Hey, honey, we’re just about to be seated for dinner—we have a late reservation. Can I call you back?” Mom answers on the second ring.
“Mom,” I croak.
“Daniel, why don’t you go sit. I’ll meet you inside.” There’s a pause and then she says, “I’m right here. What do you need?”
“There’s this boy . . .” And finally, I cry.
29
Liam
The first set of boxes arrives two days after Christmas. Between unpacking and Dad putting me straight to work with the onboarding processes all Dulcet Point management go through, I keep myself busy enough that I go back to the cabin, with its finicky heating system, so tired I’m able to get some sleep. Still, my dreams are full of Henri.
It doesn’t help that I still have to finish up the article. I write and rewrite it three times before downing a bottle of red wine and just let it all out. What does it matter? It’s not like I have anything to hide since the truth of what transpired between Henri and I won’t put my job in jeopardy.
I submit it sometime close to two a.m., and the next morning I get an email from Fallon asking me if I’m sure this is the version that I want to print. Without hesitating, I tell her yes.
