Page 144 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

A Good Samaritan behind me clears his throat, lifting from his seat. “Miss? I think she’s callin’ you.”

I keep staring ahead,

eyes on the seat in front of me.

“Nah. Don’t know her.”

The plane takes off,

and time drips slow after that.

An hour slips by,

the engine humming white noise.

I try to sleep,

my eyes two heavy sandbags,

but even though my body wants it,

my brain won’t shut the fuck up.

It’s the distance. Every mile is pulling Andrew and me farther apart.

A pink line of sunrise bleeds behind us as the plane outruns the sun, chasing the darkness, and every inch of sky means another mile between his hand and mine.

Grandpa Andrew and Grandma Me have been arguing the whole time.

Him: “Don’t start. Not here. Not with her between us.”

Her: “She can’t hear. She’s got her AirPods in.”

(I can hear. Music’s the broken condom to this nightmare.)

I bob my head anyway,

fake-drowning in the song.

Her: “I mention one thing, you act like I’m tryin’ to start a war.”

Him: “‘Cause you are. For fifteen years⁠—”

Her: “Oh, here we go…”

He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re always lookin’ for more reasons to sign those papers.”

Her: “And you’re always scared I will.”

Him: “‘Cause makin’ you happy is impossible.”

And me?

Statue-still, death-grip on my ginger ale.

Until—fuck me—my eyes start to burn.

And one fat tear slides down my cheek.