He sighs, unbothered, with a practiced calm that hits me square in the gut. I do love Jerry, I just don't want to be with him like that anymore. And I'm pretty sure that if it weren't Christmas, he wouldn't be calling me like this, either.
"I know, I know. I just miss you so damn much." I hear a hitch in his voice. He clears his throat. "Listen, I got a few things for you and Sanders. Can I see you to give them to you, at least? Maybe we can do dinner together, just to catch up."
The old ache stirs, sharp as ever. So many years together means patterns that don’t break easily. Of course he bought gifts.
"You didn't have to do that." The ceiling seems impossibly far away as I stare up at it.
"I know. But I wanted to."
"Look, I should go. It's late, and tomorrow's packed with?—"
"Just dinner," he interrupts. "For old times' sake."
The path of least resistance beckons. My fingers press against my temple.
"We fly back tomorrow, but we'll be exhausted from travel, I'm sure. What about you come over for dinner on Sunday? I can roast a chicken."
"That would be amazing." He accepts too easily, which should be my first warning.
When the call disconnects, silence rushes back in like an unwelcome guest. I stare at my reflectionon the dark screen of my phone. I'm not sure if that was the smartest move, but it is Christmas, after all. Just dinner.
Jerry's voice used to be my comfort, a steady presence when Woody was absent. Now it's just an echo of something that no longer fits, a sweater I've outgrown but keep trying on, anyway.
I set the phone face down on the nightstand and exhale slowly. The emptiness of the room presses in, and I hope Sanders is having better luck with sleeping. We've got a busy day heading back to North Carolina. He's going to need it.
The airport churnswith Saturday morning chaos, a sea of rolling suitcases and bleary-eyed travelers clutching coffee cups like lifelines. I spot Carly near the check-in counter, her hands full with boarding passes, while Leigh tugs at her sleeve.
"Mom! There they are!" Sanders points, bolting ahead with his bag flopping back and forth on his back.
I trail behind, dragging my roller carry-on. The sparkle and magic of our New York adventure has dimmed, like Christmas lights the morning after. No one's laughing. No one's taking videos.
Luke had dialysis this morning, and we decided to meet back up here.
"Hey," I manage a smile that doesn't reach my eyes. "Everything go okay this morning?"
Carly looks like I feel. She's hollow-eyed with smudged mascara. "It did. Luke feels good, so that is a relief."
Luke stands quietly beside his mother, shoulders hunched inside his oversized jacket. His face looks palertoday, the circles under his eyes deeper. The week has taken its toll.
Sanders nudges him with an exaggerated wink. "Bet I can beat you to the window seat."
Luke's mouth twitches into the faintest grin. "Whatever, Bro," he mumbles, but there's no energy behind it.
My throat tightens. Just days ago, they were superstars bouncing around a television studio, dizzy with excitement. Now the absence beside us feels like a physical thing. There's a Woody-shaped hole that no one wants to acknowledge.
"Gate B12," I say, checking the boarding passes. "Food court's on the way if anyone's hungry."
"Can we get Cinnabon?" Sanders asks, but his voice lacks its usual bounce.
We trudge through the terminal, a subdued procession, nothing like our arrival days before. I keep thinking about the last time Woody walked away. Different airport. Different reasons. Same hollow fut-wrenching wreckage in its wake.
I need to shake this. Maybe once we're home, I can leave all of this moping behind.
At the gate, Carly settles Leigh with her tablet while Sanders and Luke slump into adjacent seats, halfheartedly discussing some game on Luke's phone.
"Long week," Carly says, dropping into the seat beside me. Her eyes search mine. "You okay?"
"Just ready to be home." The lie slips out too fast, too practiced.
