But this is the first time in six years he’s actually shown up in person. And because it ended so badly—because it was such an epic failure of a visit—there are no guarantees Teddy will ever get another chance to repair whatever might still be repairable between them.
When he doesn’t say anything else, I try again. “Has your mom—”
“She left him a bunch of messages.”
“And she hasn’t heard—”
“Nope.”
“Well, what if—”
“Let’s talk about something else,” he says abruptly. “How’s Leo doing?”
I stare at him in frustration. “I’m not sure. But they talked again last night.”
“Was it better this time?” he asks, his face brightening. “Or just more fighting?”
“More fighting, I think. He won’t really talk about it. He just keeps changing the subject.” I give him a pointed look. “Kind of like how you keep changing the subject whenever I ask about your dad.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Kind of like how you’ve spent nine years changing the subject whenever I ask about your parents?”
“Kind of like that,” I agree, smiling ruefully.
“Look,” Teddy says. “This week was the worst. But now we’re on vacation, so I think we should forget about all that stuff, at least for the next few hours. There are like sixty movies on this plane, and if we don’t get cracking we’ll never get through them all.”
I laugh. “How long do you think this flight is?”
“Long enough,” he says, punching the screen in front of him.
For a while we flip from one movie to the next, counting to three before pressing play so that they’ll start at the exact same time. But when Teddy falls asleep, I turn to look out the window, gazing out over the endless sweep of clouds below us.
Later, as the plane starts to descend and San Francisco Bay comes into view beneath all the fog, I glance over to see that he’s awake now, watching me.
“Hi,” I say.
He smiles. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I say again, then we both start to laugh. But for some time after that—until the flight attendant comes by and asks us to make sure our seats are upright—he keeps looking at me and I keep looking at him.
A black car collects us at the airport and we head straight to the hotel, which is definitely the nicest place I’ve ever stayed and possibly the nicest place I’ve ever been. The lobby has antique mirrors and ornate couches and so many flowers it looks like a garden, and when we step up to the desk to check in, the woman raises her eyebrows at the sight of us: two teenagers with backpacks in jeans and flip-flops, both of us trying to play it cool in spite of being slightly wide-eyed at our surroundings.
As she searches for our reservation, I keep waiting for her to call us out, or ask to speak with our parents, or tell us there’s been some kind of mistake. I think a part of me has been waiting for this the whole time. Because in what parallel universe do we take limos and fly first class and stay in luxury suites?
But she hands over our keycards without incident, and we head upstairs to drop the bags in our rooms, which are next door to each other. When I walk into mine, I let out a surprised laugh. It’s enormous, as big as an entire floor of our brownstone back home.
“This is like a ballroom,” I say when Teddy comes to get me. “You could throw an actual ball in here.”
“Well, you’ll have to save me a dance,” he says. “I’m too hungry to think about anything but lunch right now.”
“What else is new?” I say, and he makes a face at me.
“So where do you want to go?”
“I have an idea,” I tell him as we walk back out the door.
When I was little my parents used to take me to the farmers market at the Ferry Building on weekends, where we’d wander the tents and stalls, buying bread and cheese and fruit, then make a picnic of it on one of the benches overlooking the bay.
Until now, I wasn’t sure I’d want to go back there. Or to any of the places I remember from my old life. It’s one thing to dream about coming home to San Francisco and another to actually do it. I didn’t know if I could stand to visit all our favorite spots, retrace our steps, see our old house again—the place where we lived for so many years as a happy family—without further damaging my already-shattered heart.
