“It absolutely worked.”
The realization settles slowly and then all at once.
“You remembered,” I say.
“Of course I remembered.”
“You said this in the hospital.”
“I say a lot of things in hospitals.”
“You said this one seriously.”
“I meant this one seriously.”
I don’t even realize how wide I’m smiling until he points at me.
“There it is,” he says.
“What?”
“The Nashville face.”
“I don’t have a Nashville face.”
“You do.”
The next two hours pass in a blur that feels unreal in the best possible way. Suddenly, I am packing a bag instead of sitting beside a hospital bed, counting his breaths. Suddenly, I am choosing shoes instead of worrying about the outcomes of surgery. Suddenly, the future looks like something we are walking toward together instead of something fragile we are trying not to break by moving too quickly.
“You only need one jacket,” Blake says from the doorway of my apartment.
“I need options.”
“You don’t need options.”
“I always need options.”
“Are you moving out?” Zane asks as he walks into the apartment, making Blake laugh.“You are packing like we’re moving there.”
“You don’t know what Nashville requires.”
“We have to leave in five minutes,” Zane informs me while I throw the last of my things in the suitcase. Blake asked him to drop us off at the airport, something I never thought would happen if you had asked me six months ago.
“I’m done!” I yell as I throw another pair of shoes in my suitcase and quickly close it.
When we get to the car, it’s starting to hit me. Blake and I are going on our first trip. It’s small, but it’s a lot for me. I suddenly feel giddy.
“Ready?” Zane asks as we buckle up.
“Let’s do this,” I smile.
Blake and Zane talk about a strategy they call the 1-2-2 forecheck. Blake has been dreaming of playing again, and I am so happy for him.
“Have fun, sis,” Zane says as he hugs me goodbye.
At the airport, he insists on carrying my bag even though I remind him three separate times that he is still technically recovering from shoulder surgery and should not be lifting anything heavier than a grocery bag. Blake ignores me the same way he always does when he decides something counts as a gentleman's rule instead of a medical rule.
“This is not medically approved,” I tell him while we walk through security.
