Chapter Twenty-Eight

Sophia and I arrived at the airport to my mother’s idea of a “funny joke.” She had invited Summer to come to the airport with her. Summer didn’t seem surprised by Sophia accompanying me, which was going to require me to slap my mother later. As I walked past the security check point, Sophia close behind me, Summer ran from the crowd of people and threw herself onto me. Her arms encircled my neck in a hug. She squeed and gushed at how happy she was that I was home.

I knew her enthusiasm was only for show. Even if she was happy to see me, she was really seething on the inside. Thankfully, I was saved from the decision of hugging her back or pushing her off since my arms were full of luggage. Sophia had gotten sick on the flight, so I was the bag handler. Summer eventually let go and turned to retreat without so much as a glance at Sophia. I was not going to let Summer get away with her little display of rudeness and jealousy.

As she was turning from me, I said, “Summer, this is Sophia, my girlfriend.”

Summer turned around, looking incredulous, but quickly hid it under a plastered-on smile.

“Hi, Sophia,” Summer said while sticking out her hand. “I’m Summer, Penelope’s best friend.”

I have to give large props to Sophia. Although she was feeling sick, she didn’t miss a beat. In two steps she had covered the distance which separated her from me and by proxy Summer. She stuck out her hand to shake Summer’s while putting the other one around me, pulling me to her side. Summer’s eyebrow rose, and she dropped Sophia’s hand after one shake.

From the background strolled my mother, who enveloped me in a hug. Sophia released me and took a half step away.

With false sweetness, my mother whispered into my ear, “No public affection.”

To which I replied, in a voice like a whisper only in volume, “You brought this on yourself.”

She recoiled from my venomous rage, obviously only beginning to comprehend the gravity of the situation she had forced on everyone. I dropped my carry-on at Summer’s feet and just looked from her to it and walked away. Pulling my luggage from the carousel, I fumed at the audacity of my mother. Turning to my mother, I thrust the bag into her hands along with one of Sophia’s carry-ons.

I took Sophia’s hand under the frosty gaze of Summer, who had indeed picked up my luggage, and marched out of the airport to the many glances of on lookers. I no longer cared about the bargaining my mother and I had done on the phone. My mother knew the relationships between Summer, Sophia and I were tenuous at best. She had made certain to test the limits by bringing Summer to the airport.

I had to slow my angry march to the car so I would not drag Sophia along behind me. Though she did not complain, I knew she still felt horrible. I let my mother pass us because she knew where the car was parked, but I did not see Summer, and I refused to look around for her. Once we arrived at the car, I opened the back door for Sophia. She climbed in, and I shut the door behind her. I walked to the trunk. My mother was loading the luggage into it and waiting for a word before she closed the lid. I stopped to look at her, my eyebrow raised, before shoving in the luggage I carried.

“I’m not your chauffer,” she stated.

“Well, I guess you are today because if you think there is any way I’m going to put Sophia and Summer in the back seat together you have seriously lost your mind!” I roared.

I was enraged. I felt my face turning red. My mother opened her mouth to say more, but by that time Summer had made it to the car, so she plastered on her fake “happy family” smile and loaded the last of the luggage into the trunk. I climbed in beside Sophia and pulled her into my arms. She rested her head on my shoulder and fell asleep on the way to my mother’s house.

I was still angry when we dropped Summer off. I was not going to wake Sophia to say goodbye. This situation was just as much her fault as it was my mother’s. I simply grunted when Summer told me to text her later. When we arrived at the house, I woke Sophia gently. Her eyes opened groggily. I felt my mother’s eyes on us through the rear view mirror, so I bent and kissed her. She kissed me back and then smiled. My mother huffed and then exited the car.

Sophia was horror struck. “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t thinking!”

“No, it’s fine. Her actions have nullified the agreement,” I explained. “I cannot believe her! I really wonder what she thought she was going to accomplish. Enough, I’m done. How are you feeling?”

Sophia looked into my eyes, clearly trying to gauge where my emotions were erupting from.

“I’m feeling better,” she said. “I could use some food, though.”

“No problem. Let’s get you inside, and I’ll make you something.” I smiled at her.

She gazed at me bemused.

“You’re going to cook for me?” she asked.

“Well, yes. Why not?” I replied.

“It’s wonderful.” She smiled. “I’ve never had your cooking before.”

This was true. You can’t cook in dorm rooms, and Sophia’s mom always had food ready for us when we were hungry. I smiled at her and pulled her close for a moment.

“Well, let me take care of you, then,” I said as I kissed her on the top of her head.

I cooked Sophia a simple meal of grilled cheese and tomato soup (from a can with added spices). She ate heartily then asked if I would mind if she went to bed early, so I took her upstairs to my room. I opened the door for her, and as she looked in, her mouth fell open. I had completely forgotten to mention to her that my room was like a scrapbook.

She immediately started taking in every detail. There were pictures all over the wall not obscured by furniture. Some were of me ranging in age from infancy to current, but many more were of my friends. In hindsight, I would have removed or at least lessened the number of pictures with Summer and me. It was probably a little disheartening for her to see picture after picture of Summer and me laughing, posing, making faces and hugging, plastered all over my bedroom wall.

Instead of climbing into bed to nap, we spent the next 3 hours going over the photos on the wall. She was fascinated by the stories that went with them. We ended up both lying on my bed and laughing while I shared parts of my past. She really seemed to love hearing about my life. It was different for me to be with someone who needed or wanted to hear all of those stories instead of someone who had lived them with me.