“No. That’s not what I said.” Two angry patches of color have appeared on my father’s cheeks. “But I do expect you to be considerate of your mother and me, especially after all the money and time we’ve poured into your career.”
My mother is looking away from the camera, shaking her head slightly and waving her hand in front of her face, as if she’s bravely holding back tears. I’m trying to remember if she’s always been so theatrical. My anger wanes, replaced by impatience. I want to tell her to grow up.
“I do appreciate everything you two have done for me,” I say in a voice of tight, forced calm. “But I’m staying in London, and I’m going to try to get back into racing.” I take a steadying breath. “I’m sorry if you’re upset, but I’m not going to argue about it anymore.”
Kelsie gives me two thumbs up across the table. My father is red-faced. My mother is still shaking her head in disbelief.
“What about your things?” she says finally. “All of the things in your room.”
I put on a very thin smile. Kelsie and I made a plan for this. “I thought you and dad could come visit. There’s probably only one or two suitcases of stuff in my room, you could bring it over with you. And that way you can see the apartment and everything.”
I initially wanted to ask them to mail all my stuff, but Kelsie suggested this instead. And she promised to be there for moral support the entire time they visit.
“You won’t even come home to get your things?” My mother’s voice wobbles.
“I just thought, it’d be more convenient—”
“More convenient foryou,” my father says.
“And what about Paul?” my mother asks. “He and Candace are coming for dinner this weekend. I already told them you’d be here.”
It takes a lot of effort not to roll my eyes, because why exactly would she tell them that? I never said anything about going home this weekend.
“I have my meeting with Crosswire on Tuesday.”
“If you came home tomorrow, you could spend five or six days here and still make it back in time.”
I glance up helplessly at Kelsie. I’m desperately hoping she’ll hold up the “Unreasonable” note, but instead she shoots me an apologetic grimace and lifts the “Reasonable” one.
I take a deep breath and briefly close my eyes.
“Fine,” I say through my teeth. “I’ll book a flight now.”
31
Autograph
The eighteen-hour trip between London and Albuquerque is no more fun the second time. Actually, it’s about a thousand times less fun, because at least last time, I had the delusion of getting back together with Travis to distract me. Now, all I have to look forward to is three and a half awkward days with my parents. My mom is still mad that I’m not staying longer, but I wasn’t about to risk missing my meeting with Crosswire.
I spend the whole trip studying. I’ve been intentionally avoiding F1 since my crash, and now I’ve only got eight days to get up-to-date. Not that I’m expecting them to suddenly pitch questions at me during the meeting, but I’m determined to go into this as well-informed as possible. I need to know all the new regulations and tech developments, I need to know which teams failed or succeeded last season and why.
I start from the beginning of the season and watch every race, one by one. I jot notes down in the notebook Kelsie gave me (it has this creepy drawing of an evil unicorn on the front, and I don’t know if I love it or hate it), making notes about technical developments and regulation changes and track updates. It’s actually sort of fun.
Or it would be, if it didn’t mean thinking about Travis all the time.
It’s impossible to avoid. From the very first race, it’s clear the championship battle is between Crosswire and Harper. At first, Matty holds on with Travis and the two Crosswire drivers, Mahoney and Clayton, but then he has a string of bad luck with engine failures and crashes, and then it’s just Travis, fighting alone against the best team in F1.
The first half of the season is the hardest to watch, because I was with him then. I wasn’t actually at every race, but I watched them all. I remember everything that happened. I remember talking to Travis about all of them. I know more than the commentators do. I know he had brake issues the whole Melbourne race, and that he almost had to retire in Monaco because he had a really bad flu and his vision was starting to go spotty. He was so annoyed afterward, it was kind of cute. Like he couldn’t believe a fever of 104 could actually affect him.
I make it to the French GP while I’m waiting for my last connection. I feel strangely disconnected and numb, watching it. The commentators are subdued, and the whole pre-race show is about the crash. My crash. They do a tribute to Ellis Parrot, and a moment of silence before the race where everyone stands around his helmet. The camera mostly focuses on Ellis’ team and his family, but they show the F1 drivers a few times. I swipe at my eyes impatiently and click back in the video to stare at Travis’ face.
He looks tired. Really, really tired.
I must be feeling masochistic, because I end up watching all the press conferences and interviews and everything. I listen to Travis say he didn’t know any of the drivers in the crash that well. I watch his face while the others answer questions.
I hear my own awful voice in my head.
I know you think this is so fucking serious, but that’s just because you’ve never dated anyone before.
