Harry nods. “Stick with her when Liam is busy.”
How often will that be, I wonder?
I told Folly and Harry about Liam’s revisions to my proposal and the three scenarios he predicted with equally likely outcomes. They both agreed that so long as I was feeling vulnerable, and emotionally exposed, then I am probably on the right track where songwriting is concerned.
We pull up to departures and pile out of the car. Harry popsthe trunk and unloads my suitcase and guitar while I shift from foot to foot.
“Listen, Paige.” Folly slides her focus to me, chewing on her lower lip. One hand is on her belly, the other on my shoulder. “I know I encouraged you to do this. I went all the way to that concert with you to makesureyou didn’t chicken out. And frankly, the romantic in me thinks this is a beautiful, if delusional, idea that will result in some interesting songs no matter what.”
“But?” I probe.
She sighs. Harry comes to stand beside her. “But if you want to call this whole thing quits—tomorrow, next week, next month—because it isn’t working, or it’s working too well, or you’re scared of getting hurt… I will support you.”
Harry nods. “Me too.”
“Folly Lancaster,” I say. “And Harry Rivera. What have you done with yourselves?”
Folly laughs, instantly winded, and sucks in a breath. “Babies change perspectives, Paige. My protective instincts are multiplying. I have tothink things throughnow. It’s mostly horrid, but I occasionally thank myself for it.”
“And you?” I jerk my chin at Harry.
He smiles weakly. “I don’t want you to get hurt either.”
“Isn’t that the whole point?” My voice is too soft for the clanging echoes in this tunnel. “Not getting hurt on purpose. But being brave enough to let it happen, because the hurt comes with so many other good feelings?”
Harry shakes his head. Sighs. “Maybe good music doesn’t have to hurt.”
My smile is wry. “Then how come so much of it does?”
He pulls me and Folly into a group hug, towering over us. “Because we’re all human or something. We hurt and we get hurt, but that’s only half of it. Don’t lose sight of the other half.”
“I love you both,” I tell them. “And I promise I won’t.”
“We love you,” they say together.
I blow Harry a kiss, give Folly’s hand a squeeze, and head to the other side of the country.
Where my brand-new boyfriend is waiting.
On the flight to Washington, I pass out from physical exhaustion. Hours later I wake up with drool on my chin, my hair smelling of sterile plane air. I have to pee so bad I become a loathed stander-upon-touchdown. The lady beside me glares like I’ve committed a mortal sin.
Waiting for you at baggage claim, Liam texts me.
I could have Ubered!I text back, fumbling like an idiot to restuff my carry-on with my headphones, book, and water bottle.
Nois all he responds.
In the airport bathroom, I freshen up and give myself a pep talk before texting Folly and Harry that I landed safely. The closer I get to baggage claim, the giddier my heart feels.
This is fake,I tell myself.
It’s real, I argue back.
It’s fake, it’s real, it’s a lie, it’s the truth. He’s your boyfriend. He isn’t going to kiss you. But he’s here to greet you because he’s your boyfriend. You’re in Spokane for him, only him.
It’s never been hard for me to find Liam in a crowd; the Spokane airport is no different. I catch sight of him immediately. His mop of brown curls, his stature and bearing. His body is facing the escalator, relaxed and confident, like he’s more certain I’ll magnetically draw to him than he is of his own name. When Liam sees me, his eyes light warmly.
I step off the escalator, then hesitate, wondering how we should greet each other.
