Niko was quiet for the briefest of seconds, then said, “All right, but if you find out, you have to tell me. So try to talk to her at the wedding.” There were some loud voices in the background, it sounded like his brother was in the locker room. “I gotta go. Change your flight,” Niko added before the line disconnected.
AJ stared at his phone for a moment, debating the cost-benefit of switching his flight. The efficiency of flying direct to Sacramento was nearly irresistible, less time in transit, less exposure to crowds and strangers, a neat and tidy solution. But Niko’s plan, as usual, had a gravitational pull. He could feel it working on him, even as he resisted it.
He opened the app, checked the alternate flights, and started to game out the scenarios in his head. If he kept his original route, he’d have to navigate the car rental desk, then the winding mountain roads up to Hope Falls, which was tucked in the Sierra Nevada mountains about thirty minutes from Lake Tahoe, all while fighting off the fatigue that always hit after cross-country travel. If he swapped to LAX, he’d be forced through that airport’s chaos, but only briefly. Then it would be straight to the private lounge and onto the Citation, where the only other passengers would be Niko and maybe a couple of randoms Niko had picked up along the way. Probably less tactile misery overall.
He ran the numbers, as he always did, penciling out time lost versus discomfort versus anticipated social performance required. The math wasn’t simple, but it was satisfying.
A notification buzzed. It was a forwarded itinerary from Niko, subject line, “Your chariot awaits.” He’d already booked AJ a seat on a flight to LAX.
AJ shook his head, amused despite himself, and started the process of canceling his old reservation. He hated waste, but Niko’s offer was, as usual, impossible to deny. And maybe, just maybe, a couple of hours with his twin, stacked side-by-side in the leather seats of a private jet, having a few drinks while the clouds floated beneath them, wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.
He'd just finished canceling his flight when he heard a loud knock on the door. He didn’t have a large circle of friends—he didn’t even have a small circle of friends—so the sound ofa full-knuckle rap coming from his front porch was enough to jolt him out of his pre-travel checklist and into a state he could only describe as social vigilance. There were three possible explanations, a delivery, a solicitation, or some kind of emergency. None of those scenarios required him to actually open the door, but, out of curiosity, he flicked his thumb to the Ring app. The live feed revealed a single person waiting outside, Emory.
A complicated, low-frequency hum vibrated in his chest. He had not been expecting her on the eve of his departure. The last time she’d been at his house was...two and a half months ago? A week or so before he was deployed. And yet, here she was, hands crammed into the pockets of a bomber jacket, her hair in two French braids that made her look younger and somehow more severe at the same time. He left the bedroom, walked down the hall, and as he opened the door, her hand was raised, ready to knock again. He stood with his body blocking the entrance, a maneuver she ignored with the same clinical disregard she’d demonstrated for personal boundaries since the first day they met.
“Hey,” she said, already pushing past him on the threshold with the inertia of a moving train. “I lost my left AirPod. I think it’s under your bed.”
He blinked. “It’s been almost three months.”
Her shoulders shrugged as she toed off her ankle boots, each one flopping to its side in opposite directions. AJ bent down and set them neatly on an open shelf in the getabako.
“I just realized I was missing it. You know how I zone out sometimes.” She called out, already halfway down the hallway.
He didn’t follow her immediately. He closed the front door, locked it out of habit, then went to the kitchen and poured water into a glass. He just needed to hear the sound of water running to calm the anxiety spike he felt. By the time he reached hisbedroom, Emory was on all fours, sweeping her hand beneath the bedframe, an errant coil of her braid dangling like a rope in search of a rescue target.
He cleared his throat. “Are you sure it’s here?”
“Positive. The last time I spent the night, I fell asleep listening to a true crime podcast, and when I got up, it was gone. Your room is more sterile than an autopsy table, so it’s not like it’s lost forever.”
AJ wasn’t sure autopsy tables were known for their sterility.
She looked up at him, her face a study in impatience. “Are you going somewhere?”
He set the glass down on his bedside table, which was cleared of his chargers in preparation for his trip. “Yes.”
She stood up, brushed invisible dust from her knees, and gave a pointed glance at his open suitcase on the bed. “Deployment again? Already? Is that why you haven’t called me?”
“No.”
She folded her arms, and her eyes narrowed. “No to what?”
“Your questions.”
“You’re not being deployed, and that is not why you haven’t called me.”
“Yes.”
AJ noted her breathing was beginning to grow shallow and her nostrils flared slightly. “Where are you going?”
“California.”
The tone in her voice held a forced casual quality as she tilted her head to the right. “Why?”
“My mom’s getting married.”
Emory’s face rearranged itself into a combination of shock and anger. “Yourmom’swedding? You never told me your mom was engaged.” The accusation held the weight of a missed anniversary or birthday.
Interpersonal talks were out of AJ’s depth. He didn’t understand them. He didn’t want to have this conversation. He didn’t want to have any relationship conversation, but especially not the one that required an elaborate emotional performance playing a role he had never auditioned for. “It’s recent.”
