“They’re also suggesting I find a manager,” I say, chewing absently on my thumbnail.
“Well, you’ll need one when the show takes off.”
“If,” I correct.
“When,” he corrects me back.
I shake my head but can’t hide my smile. I go back to the clip, deciding on 1:22. When it comes time to take a break, I glance over at Kit to see him scribbling in the notebook he brought to write down what he wanted to say to his family. He wrote:
Hey, it’s me your dead son/brother. I’m not dead!
But he has gotten distracted from improving that. He’s drawing now. My lips pull as he swirls the pen around the page, creating curls.
“She’s cute,” I say.
“She’s gorgeous,” he states, moving the pen to draw eyelashes on the sketch of me.
“I like it better than the one you ripped up.”
“You saw that?”
“Yeah.”
“How about I draw your portrait every day for the rest of my life?”
I kiss him on the cheek. “Please don’t do that.”
He responds with a half-hearted shrug, so I’m afraid he may actually do that. He keeps moving the pen across the page in quick strokes.
We land a few hours later and rent a car to get us to Kit’s neighborhood.
Kit’s parents still live in the house he grew up in. I park in front and turn the engine off. The two-story house sits upon a hill, steps leading up to the front door. Kit stares at it cautiously, his hand poised on the car handle.
“I can go in with you, if you need me to,” I offer for the third time.
Kit shakes his head, still staring at his childhood home. “No, no. I should do this alone. There’s that coffee shop I told you about? Just around the corner. You mind waiting there? I don’t want you to sit in the car.”
I smile. “That’s perfect. I have my laptop, so I can do some editing and research the locations they sent me.” I pull his mouth to mine, lingering close to his lips. “I’m a phone call away. I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He takes in a deep breath then gets out of the car before he can talk himself out of it.
He peeks back at me once as he cautiously approaches the front door.
He rings the bell, and a moment later, it swings open. Adark-haired, middle-aged woman stares in horror, letting out a scream. Kit looks back at me with panic. I give him a double thumbs-up, and he nods. He focuses on his mother, grasping her by the shoulders, saying something I can’t hear but probably along the lines of,“Hi, Mom. It’s me, your dead son, but the alive version.”He never did improve his first draft on the plane. She stops screaming and throws her arms around him.
I take that as my cue to drive away. I find the coffee shop and pull into a spot close to the front. I grab my things from the car, order a latte at the counter, and take a seat near the back. I send Kit a quick text to let him know I’m at the coffee shop and remind him he can call or text me if he needs me.
He sends back a heart. It must be going well.
A half hour later, he texts to let me know his dad is coming home from work and his sister, nephew, brother, and brother’s husband are coming over.Husband??he writes.He’s mature enough for a HUSBAND??I can’t help but grin down at my phone, thrilled it’s going well.
The bell over the door rings as someone enters, making me glance up. Before I can slap my hand over my mouth, I say, “Izan?”
And apparently, I said his name loud enough to hear. He gives me a puzzled smile.Shit. It’s him. Kit’s best friend, hair shorter and a decade older than when I had seen him in Kit’s memory, but it’s him.
Prior to the flight here, we couldn’t find anything on him but a website for his wedding three years ago. His and his wife’s Instagrams are both private, and we couldn’t find any other social media—not even a LinkedIn. We weren’t sure if he wasstill in the area or not. Kit had planned to ask his parents about him.
“Hi?” he questions, peering at me curiously.
