Soon they’ll be hunched over the kitchen island reading my note. I’m sure there will be a text waiting for me when I arrive, telling me that I’m not who they raised and that I should never come home. Or worse, nothing at all. Ever again. But I don’t want to know until I’m there.
“Stevie?” Ryan asks, waving his hand in front of my face until my vision focuses on him. “Did you hear me? I’m this way.” He points over his shoulder to the opposite end of the airport from where we’re headed.
“Oh, okay…”
It surprises me that a lump rises in my throat as I look at him. He’s become a really good friend this summer and I’m going to miss him. I’m so tired of saying goodbye.
“Send me a postcard,” I tell him, trying to keep it light as he gives me a hug.
“Don’t let those Angelenos turn you into one ofthem,” he says, making me laugh.
“What does that even mean?” I ask.
“Oh, you’ll see.” He adjusts the strap on his bag. “See you, Nora. I know you won’t turn into an Angeleno,” he says, giving her a one-armed hug.
“What. Does. That.Mean?” I press, and both of them start laughing at my expense.
“Okay, see you guys,” he says, turning away from us.
“Oh, Ryan! Wait.” I jog a few steps to catch up to him, digging around in my front pocket until I pull out the pocketknife he won me at the fair.
I turn it around in my hand, running my thumb over the wood. Something that will always remind me of the person I was so desperately forcing myself to be. Once I give him this, I’ll finally be free. I’ll be stepping into my new chapter, my new life.
“I want you to have this,” I tell him, dropping it into his hand.
“Oh my God,” he says in a hushed tone, closing his hand around it as quickly as humanly possible. “Probably not the best thing to be waving around at an airport, Stevie.”
Oh, right.
“Well, just put it in your checked bag,” I say.
“You sure?” he asks, holding his fist up to me.
“Yeah, something to remember this place when you’re eating authentic spaghetti and sweeping girls off their feet at the Spanish Steps,” I tell him.
He smiles at that and tucks it into his suitcase.
“Wyatt’s a pretty hard place to forget, but… thanks, Stevie.”
I wave as we go our separate ways, but this time the sadness in my chest feels manageable, because I know this won’t be the last time we see each other.
As Nora and I check our suitcases and head for the TSA line, I wonder why it feels like I’m still holding a weight on my shoulders. I thought once I got here, I would feel some sort of relief. I mean… I did it. I’m getting out. Iwantto go to UCLA. I want to move to California and find my place in the world. And most of all, I want to do it with Nora. I want it more than anything. But I can’t shake the feeling that something is off.
“What’s wrong?” she asks as we’re making our way toward the front of the line.
“Nothing,” I reply, thinking about checking my texts.
“Stevie, we do not have to go.” She takes my hand and turns me to face her. “We can figure something else out. We can even stay in Wyatt if that’s what you want.”
“No. I want to go. I never wanted to stay in Wyatt, even before we met. It’s just…” I can feel a pressure building in my chest as we move through the line. “I didn’t know it would feel like this. I’ve wanted out of Wyatt for as long as I can remember, but now that it’s actually happening the way it’s happening… I don’t know… It hurts.”
She steps closer, cupping my cheek in her hand.
“I’m okay,” I tell her, trying to convince myself of it. Trying to convince myself that I’m okay leaving, that I don’t need anything from Wyatt, oranyone. “I’m okay,” I repeat, the weight of my phone screaming at me from my pocket, telling me to check my textsjust in case.
But I ignore it.
“Let’s go. I’m ready,” I tell her, grabbing the handle of my duffel bag and closing the space between us and the lady ahead of us as she steps up to the very front of the line.
