Page 129 of Okay, Cupid

I press my forehead against his chest, and I can’t stop the crying, the swing in his step carrying both of us to the song as he comforts me, pulling me in so tight I can’t breathe for a moment.

“It’s okay,” he promises me. “It’ll all be okay.”

It will be.

I have to believe that.

“Hey,” he says. I feel his hand on my chin, pulling me back up. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I know.” And I kiss him again.

And again.

And again.

I kiss him for as many times as I can spare because for some reason he hasn’t forgotten about me, and I’ve been gifted these extra seconds that I won’t waste.

“Huy.” I pause when I say his name. “Please, do something for me.”

“Whatever you want.”

“Please don’t forget me,” I beg him. “Okay?”

He smiles. “How could I ever forget someone like you, Jude Ricci?”

Huy leans down one final time. Not that we know it’s the last one. Our lips meet, and I taste that sweet vanilla on his tongue before everything shifts, the world around us moving from beneath our feet.

And everything goes white.

I’ve never understood why it’s so hard to pack up an air mattress. It literally comes in a box, but no matter how many times I try to fold it, I can’t manage to make it fit, and the stupid little box on the side with all the inflation controls gets in the way and the power cord slips out of the case that’s literally made for it.

“God, please! I don’t know if you’re up there, but please … enough is enough.” I sit on top of the mattress, trying to squish it down to fit properly, but there’s no way to maneuver the box.

“Everything okay in there?” Leah calls from the kitchen.

“It’s fine!” I lie, but I can already hear her shoes on the wood floor.

“Here.” She squats down. “Hold the box, help me guide it in.” She squeezes the mattress tightly, forcing it into the box as hard as she can before she gives me a chance to close the box. “Did you actually break a sweat doing that?” she asks, standing up with her hands on her hips.

“Listen … it’s hard with just one person.”

“Sure, kiddo.” She laughs, brushing the hair that’s slipped free of her baseball cap away from her face. “Are you all ready?”

I nod. “My bags with my stuff are already in the car.”

“Okay. The moving truck is already across the bridge, so we’re running late.”

“I know.” I’ll admit that part of it was my fault. I’ve been dreading this day for weeks now, but I knew it’d come. Leah got a new job that’s carrying her up to Washington, which means goodbye, San Francisco. For the first time in my life, I’ll be somewhere that isn’t the Bay, and I don’t like thinking about that. I’m sure Washington is great—I mean, we’ll be right in the heart of Seattle, but … this has been our home since I was a kid, since Mom and Dad disappeared and Leah took me in. No more walking down to NaYa for nightly desserts, or Gordo’s for the best burritos in the city. And sure, it’s foggy and wet and cold in the Richmond, but it’s a different foggy, wet, and cold from the northwest.

We packed my bed frame earlier this week, which is why I’ve been sleeping on this uncomfortable headache in front of me. All my posters and music and most of my clothes are all packed in a truck that’s headed north now.

Leah’s excited. She’s been looking up the best scenic route for us to take so we’ll get those perfect views, plenty of photo opportunities, and some nice motels. At thirteen hours, we could make it in a single day if I had a license, or if Leah trusted me with her car. But since she’s the sole driver, it’ll take us today and tomorrow to get there.

Quite the road trip.

I hoist the box for the air mattress, carrying it to the stairs, where the rest of our stuff we’re taking with us in the car is sitting. A bag of snacks and drinks, phone chargers, pillows and blankets, Leah’s work laptop that she allowed me to load with a few choice rom-coms for the trip.

“Are you ready?” she asks from the living room, taping the last box.