"—was a classic, yes honey." Mom pats his arm. "And how long did it sit in our garage before you sold it?"
"Dorothy Miller, that is entirely beside the point."
Mom turns to me, adjusting her purse strap. "Did Ivy text you how far she was?"
"Nope." I drag my carry-on toward the terminal entrance. The wheels snag on a crack in the concrete.
Inside, the fluorescent lights cast everything in a glare that's both too bright and too tired. Kind of like how I feel. Dad's already speed-walking toward the Delta check-in, his shoes squeaking against the floor with each determined stride, as if picking up speed might summon Ivy out of thin air.
"I'm sure she'll be here soon," Mom reassures. "Did you remind her about—"
"Yes, I reminded her about check-in times. And security. And liquid restrictions. And her ID and passport." My fingers tug at the edge of my sleeve, probably making it worse. "She's an adult who's flown before. She's fine."
Dad's voice booms across the terminal. "If she's not here in ten minutes, we're going through security without her."
"No, we're not," Mom and I say in unison.
I check my phone again. No messages. Which is fine. Totally fine. I'm not worried. Or annoyed. Or thinking about how if she misses this flight, I'll be stuck beside some random stranger while trying not to have a panic attack during takeoff. Or how I might actually lose my mind if I have to face the coming week with just my parents for company.
That's when I see her.
Ivy barrels through the sliding doors, looking nothing like herself and somehow more mine than ever. Blue hair piled into a mess of a bun, my old basketball shorts too long on her, and that hoodie I left at her place weeks ago swallowing her whole. She's swamped in my clothes, and my brain won't quit reminding me how wrong it is that I like it this much.
She squeezes Vinnie goodbye, then heads over, juggling brown paper bags that smell of butter and sugar. "I'm so sorry!" Her voice lifts with that breathless lilt she gets when she's flustered. Pink blooms across her cheeks and down her neck, and I catch myself tracking the color before I even realize I'm doing it. Ever since I saw her dating profile, these little details keep snagging my attention. "Traffic was insane, and we had to stop because I forgot my . . ." She glances down at her outfit and grimaces. "Everything, apparently."
"You're here now." My voice comes out rough, unexpected. But seeing her here, the tension I've been carrying since dawn finally loosens its grip.
She bites her lip and I track the movement, my throat tightening. "I brought breakfast?"
"Oh, honey!" Mom swoops in for a hug before I can respond. "Don't worry about being late. Greg just likes to be early. You know how men get at airports."
I shove whatever that moment was into a mental box labeled, 'do not open.'
Ivy pulls out this massive chocolate-frosted donut, my favorite, because of course she remembers that. The familiar ease of our friendship slides back into place.
"The hoodie looks better on you anyway." I reach over and mess up her already chaotic bun, earning a swat that lands exactly as it should—playful, familiar, uncomplicated.
"I know." She grins back, and everything's normal again.
"We need to check these bagsnow," Dad announces, like he's declaring war on airport inefficiency. "The security line could be backed up for miles."
I glance at the empty queue and bite back a comment. Dad's already marching ahead with his carry-on, but stops when he notices Mom struggling with her overpacked suitcase. Without a word, he circles back and takes it from her hands with a grunt, continuing forward like it's the most natural thing in the world. I grab Ivy's bag along with mine, adding to my personal bag-dragging mission.
"Caleb's such a gentleman," Mom beams, giving me an approving nod as she adjusts her purse strap. Dad doesn't acknowledge the heavy lifting he's doing—that's just how he operates.
Ivy opens her mouth like she's going to protest about her suitcase, but Mom cuts in. "Let him help, sweetheart."
"Wait," I say, trying to sound casual. "Who's on duck duty while you're gone?"
Ivy's eyes light up with that mischievous glint. "Amelia and Vinnie are tag-teaming. Well, mostly Amelia, since Vinnie's visiting her mom in Cresden."
"Amelia?" I groan. "The woman who tried to feed Puddles a piece of her fancy blue cheese last week?"
"Don't worry," she laughs, "they all hated it. Even the ducks have standards."
"She better not be giving them wine tastings next."
"Caleb Miller, certified duck dad. I didn't realize you were this invested in my feathered children."
