I snort. “Clearly I’m not, or you wouldn’t be asking.”
She laughs. “If Travis doesn’t want to date you again, he won’t. But he deserves to know all his options. At the very least, he deserves an apology.”
I shift in my seat. “But don’t you think he would’ve reached out, if he wanted to talk to me?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “I’ve never met him. Does that seem like something he would do?”
My cheeks color. It definitely doesn’t. Travis was never the one to make the first move. Even after we’d been together for months, he was rarely the first one to text, and almost never the one to initiate any plans.
Probably because every time he made a gesture, like buying me that sim, I brushed him off.
“I guess I could try again.” My palms prickle at the thought of it. What if I show up at his house and that guy answers the door?
“I think you should,” she says firmly.
She usually never tells me what to do, which means she feels strongly about it. I nod.
“I will,” I say. “I promise.”
“And you should think carefully about what you want to say,” she adds.
I raise an eyebrow. “Are you going to go make yourself tea while I do?”
She grins. “You read my mind.”
Somehow, I make it to the end of the trip without exploding at my parents, but it’s a very near thing. My mother tries at least six times to convince me to stay, and my father makes about a thousand passive-aggressive comments about racing and “realistic expectations.” I force myself to stay calm and speak politely, which seems to be working. On my mother, especially. It’s like she doesn’t know what to do when I don’t rise to her tears and pleas.
I pack up the stuff I want to take to London into two suitcases, and the day of my flight finally arrives. My mother has been twisting her hands together and pacing all morning, like she’s trying to find a last-minute reason for me to stay. It’s easier to be patient with her today, knowing I only have twenty-two minutes to go.
Scratch that—it’s twenty-one minutes, now.
“I’m going to throw my suitcases in the car,” I say pleasantly. “And I thought maybe we could get coffee on the way?”
This is a bit sneaky, since I know it means we’ll have to leave a bit earlier. My mother manages a watery smile in response.
Her car is parked in our driveway. As I heave the second suitcase into the trunk, I see the neighbor’s kids approaching on their bikes. I wave at them politely. This should kill a few more minutes.
“Nice bikes,” I say.
“We got them for Christmas,” says the older kid, Oliver.
“Very cool,” I say. Oliver’s younger brother, Mason, smiles at me shyly.
“Are you leaving?” Oliver asks.
“Yep. Heading back to London. I’m going to be living there now.”
They both look suitably impressed, which is nice. “Are you on a race team again?” Mason asks.
“Not yet, but I’m working on it.”
“That’s so cool,” Mason says.
I smile. “It is cool,” I agree.
“Is Travis Keeping going to come back here again?” Oliver asks.
I blink. “Is—what?”
