But for two grand, I could be in London the day after tomorrow. The day after tomorrow, I could be standing at Travis’ front door.
I stare at his picture a little while longer. I think about what it would feel like to be in his arms.
Then I drain the last of my beer and click Book.
27
A Huge Deal
My flight doesn’t leave until five p.m. the next day, which gives me about eight hours to make up a lie to tell my parents. I’m pretty proud of what I came up with. My old high school girlfriend Kelsie lives in London now. I tell my parents she reached out, and that we’ve been messaging a bit, and that I’m going to go visit her for a while.
“A while?” my mother says anxiously. “What does that mean?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. A week. Maybe two.”
“You didn’t book a flight back?”
I shrug again. “Not yet.”
My parents exchange a look. “Are you sure you’re well enough?” my mother asks.
I make myself count to three before I answer. “My rehab team’s cleared me to race again. I think I can handle sitting in a plane for a few hours.”
More than a few hours, actually. I’m flying from Albuquerque to Chicago to Dublin to London, with two-hour layovers at each stop.
My mother hesitates. “What does your therapist say?”
I count to three again and force a smile. “She thinks it’s a great idea.”
That part is actually true. I left a message with Amanda’s secretary telling her I wouldn’t make my sessions for a while, because I was going to London to see Travis. An hour later, Amanda called and told me she was proud of me.
I’m kind of proud of myself, too. I mean, yes, I was a little drunk when I did it, but it was definitely the right thing to do. I keep getting these little bursts of fizzy excitement every time I think about it. In less than twenty-four hours, I’ll see Travis again.
“What does Kelsie do in London?” my mother asks.
“She’s going to school there, doing her masters in anthropology.” I know this, because I looked at her Instagram.
“Is she married?”
I roll my eyes. “Mom.”
“What?” She holds her hands up. “I’m allowed to ask.” She’s quiet for a second, then her mouth turns up a little. “I always liked her.”
Of course she did. On paper, Kelsie was her idea of a perfect girlfriend. Shiny blond hair, pretty pastel clothes, always smiling, always polite.
When our parents weren’t around, though, she was kind of a badass. She was the first person I ever got drunk with, and the first person I smoked weed with, and the first girl I ever slept with. We were together all through high school and broke up completely amicably after graduation. I remember her grinning and saying something like, “This isn’tHigh School Musical, babe. High school sweethearts who stay together forever wind up as bitter alcoholics with no imagination and fifteen kids.”
We kept in touch for a while—we even hooked up a few times when we both happened to be in Albuquerque—but I haven’ttalked to her in ages. I have half a mind to actually message her once I’m in London, after I’ve sorted things out with Travis, to see if she wants to grab coffee or something.
I can kind of see telling her about me and Travis. I don’t think she’d judge me. She would probably be like, “That’s hot, babe,” and ask me to text her a sex tape of me and him or something.
“Are you going to stay with her the whole time?” my mother asks. “You don’t want to impose.”
“I’ll get an Airbnb or something.”
Her eyes widen. “You haven’t booked anything yet?”
“You should book a hotel,” my father says. “Most of those Airbnb places are scams. You show up and it’s a shack, or there’s nothing there.”
