“They really gave me a hard time at the airport over my Wakandan passport.”
–Overheard at Comic-Com
“You’ll never understand how much I’m going to miss you. We’ve had good times and bad times, but you’ve come to mean so much to me.”
Kylo Hen’s shimmering feathers twitch with her jerky neck movements, one golden eye flickering at me before she pecks at my shoes.
“I know, I know. You’ll miss me, too, in your own little birdie way. Don’t forget about me. Be good for Granny. Try to stay out of the moonshine.”
“Fred girl,” Granny calls from outside the coop.
“Coming,” I yell back.
Granny is waiting for me in the middle of the yard. “Beast is here to drive you to the airport.”
We walk up to the house together and we’re halfway there before Granny speaks again. “Grace is hiding somewhere. I’m not sure she’ll be out to say goodbye.”
I nod, unable to speak through the lump forming in my throat.
“She doesn’t deal with people leaving the way most of us do. We’re sad, but we know it’s not forever. She hasn’t quite figured that bit out yet. She doesn’t know that just because someone leaves, it doesn’t mean they’re gone.” With that, Granny puts an arm around my shoulders. “Be patient. Stay in touch. She’ll come around. It will be good for her.
“Thanks, Granny. I will. And thank you for . . . everything. You saved me at a time when I didn’t even know I needed the rescue.”
“Oh, Fred girl, don’t you know? You saved us, too.”
I manage to hold it together while saying goodbye to the others. Jude carries my bag to the truck before giving me a hard, swift hug, followed by Fitz. I only have the one bag, everything else was shipped, and there wasn’t much.
Reese and Annabel squish me between them, promising to text and call.
Granny gives me one last hug, squeezing me tight. “Give your momma my regards, and tell Scarlett to bring that handsome man and his family down for a visit.”
“I will.”
“Good luck with your new job, and remember, the road to hell wasn’t paved in a day.”
I laugh. “I’ll always remember that, Granny.”
And then I’m in the truck with Beast, heading down the driveway, then through Blue Falls, down Main Street. Past the Finer Diner. Past the H-E-B, waving to Ol’ Roy.
It’s both the longest and shortest drive in the whole damn world. I want to get it over with, but at the same time I want it to never end.
Beast parks at the curb, gets my bag out of the back, and opens my door for me. People move around us, dragging their luggage.
I can’t meet his eyes. I might lose it. He kisses me with my eyes shut, like that will keep the emotion away. Tears threaten to overwhelm me, especially when the kiss turns into gentle pecks, first my top lip, then the bottom, brushing his nose against mine before pulling away, his hands surrounding the back of my neck.
I keep my eyes shut. “You’ll come to visit as soon as you can?”
But of course, he can’t answer unless I open my eyes. His thumbs brush my cheeks and I blink my eyes open.
I immediately want to close them again. Beast’s eyes are glassy, lined in red.
I can’t handle this.
“The very first break in school, we’ll see each other. We’ll make it happen.”
He nods.
“Why does a few months feel like a lifetime?”
He kisses me again, this time harder and swifter.
“Can we have phone sext?”
That generates a smile, a small upturning of his lips, but it doesn’t chase the shadows from his eyes.
“I better go.” My mouth is dry, my stomach threatening to revolt.
I want to say it. I almost say it.
I love you.
But I can’t. It’s too hard.
Instead I kiss him, one last time.
“This isn’t goodbye. It’s see you later.”
And on that super lame parting—which fits, considering our history—I grab my bag and walk inside. I don’t look back. If I do, I might not be strong enough to leave.
The flight home is a blur. I can’t see much through my tears. My mind keeps going back to those final moments with Beast and everything that I’m leaving behind.
Now I understand why Bella was so depressed in New Moon. We may as well be Edward and Bella . . . minus the sparkly skin and blood drinking and you know, gross and questionable hundred-year age gap.
My seatmate gives me a wide berth, but things start looking better when I’ve downed three of those little booze containers.
I manage to pull myself together by the time the plane is taxiing on the runway at JFK.
Exiting the terminal, a group of people clustered near the escalator wave at me. It’s my parents, along with Scarlett, Guy, and his two little sisters, Emma and Ava.
They’re holding up signs. Scarlett’s reads Welcome Home and Prosper with the Vulcan hand sign drawn next to it. Dad’s makes me laugh out loud: Fred, I am your father. There’s another one, but Emma swings it toward Ava’s head right as I’m trying to read it.
I wave and run toward them, and then I’m surrounded by family and friends.
“I missed all of you,” I say between hugs and cheek kisses.
I breathe in my mother’s lemony scent. It is good to be home.
This time, when my eyes blur, I can’t help but smile, too.
Apartment hunting in New York City is like trying to defeat the White Walkers blindfolded with one hand tied behind my back. I spend a few days searching ads and listings before I find something larger than a closet without twenty percent broker fees.
And I don’t even find it myself.
My phone rings in the morning, a week after moving back. I’m in my old bedroom, moping around like a scrub, un-showered, unhappy, reveling in misery, but trying nonetheless.
“I emailed you a number and address. Call it and tell them Sophia sent you.”
“Hi Grace, it’s so nice to hear from you.”
She sighs.
“Stop rolling your eyes at me.”
“I didn’t.”
“You always sigh when you’re rolling your eyes at me.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “Fine.”
I grab my laptop from where I left it on my nightstand and pull up my email. “So what’s this number you want me to call?”
“I found an apartment for you, it’s one subway ride to your work, and it’s in Manhattan. There are no broker fees, it’s rent controlled, and it’s a thousand square feet and in your budget.”
“Grace . . . you didn’t kill someone, did you?”
“No.” She laughs and my heart squeezes a little. “I did a little digging. For me, this was nothing. But it’s going be snapped up soon. You need to call them today.”
“I will. Assuming this isn’t some elaborate trick because you want me to come back to Blue Falls and strangle you.”
She chuckles. “Don’t be a stranger.”
“I’ll call you every day.”
Tapping in the background. She’s on her computer, even now. “Not necessary. Email me.”
“Why? So you can hack my accounts?”
She groans. “I’d only do things that were nice.”
“I know.”
She blows out a breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t say goodbye.”
“It’s okay. I understand. I’m sad, too. It’s okay to be sad, but I’ll always be your friend. And I’ll always be a phone call or plane ride away.”
We hang up and I call the number in her email, rattling off the address I’m inquiring about when someone answers.
There’s a long pause. “We haven’t even listed that property yet.”
How did she . . . I remember her other instructions. “Uh, Sophia sent me.”
“Oh. Right. Did you want to take a look today?”
“Yes. Please.”
Miraculously, the apartment is perfect and because I have my paperwork and down payment ready—because that’s how you do it in New York if you want to get it done—I can move in within the next two weeks.
Later that afternoon, while I’m presenting a well-thought-out argument to my parents on the benefits of eating takeout as opposed to my mother’s cooking, I get a text from Beast.
Did you get the apartment?
A heat wave rolls through my body and I race upstairs to get away from my parents’ prying gazes.
I got it! Did Grace tell you?
A few long seconds pass before he replies. She did. She told me about emailing you the details, but I convinced her to call.
I lie down on my bed, clutching my phone like a lifeline. You can be very convincing. Thank you. The place is perfect. How are things in BF?
It’s good. Picking up extra shifts at Bodean’s to help in the kitchen.
There’s another long pause with the text bubble dotting my screen.
I miss you.
I miss you, too. And then before I can chicken out, I tug down my tank top, take a probably not that sexy but topless duck-face selfie, and send the picture.
His response is immediate. Damn. I think you’re trying to kill me.
I laugh and wish I could see his face, his dark gaze capturing me like a fist.
He’s still typing. You’re too gorgeous. Now I want to get on the next flight to New York.
I wouldn’t stop you.
I’m coming to visit as soon as I can.
It’s not soon enough.
The very next day, the whirlwind begins. Shopping, working, moving into my new place. Staying busy and occupied is literally the only reason I haven’t totally lost my shit.
I’ve exchanged some texts with the others, not just Beast. It’s not the same and my heart aches with the loss, the yearning unbearable if I dwell on it for too long. So I don’t. Instead, I keep going.
The job is brilliant. Everyone is awesome and into geeky pop culture. I have to work with a marketing team, which is scary at first, but they actually listen to me like I’m a human being with value and insight.
To celebrate, my parents take me with them to Blossom on Ninth for Thursday night dinner.
It’s not Sunday supper at Granny’s. There are no “Dearly beloveds,” and it’s just me and the parents, but I make an attempt to enjoy myself nonetheless.
I text Beast on my way home in the cab but don’t get a response. A glance at the clock tells me why. He’s working. An ache builds in my chest. I wish I could see his face. I miss him so much.
Tears threaten and I force myself to take a deep breath and avert my attention to unpacking my apartment.
It’s almost finished. I didn’t have much to begin with. My parents gave me an old hand-me-down sofa and TV set. I brought my old bed from home. I have a small kitchen and dining nook, which opens into the living room, and then there’s a small bedroom and connecting bathroom with a claw-foot tub and standing shower. It’s practically a mansion by New York standards.
Once I’ve finished hanging a picture on the wall, my only picture, I step back to admire it. Beast mailed it to me last week to celebrate my new pad. It’s a framed quote from Stan Lee. “If you have an idea that you genuinely think is good, don’t let some idiot talk you out of it,” I read out loud.
I’ve been avoiding hanging it up, because while I love it, seeing it there every day reminds me of what I’m missing.
Needing some air, I step out onto the square patio. It’s basically the fire escape and the size of a small coffee table, but still. It’s mine.
The sounds of the city surround me, distant honking, tires shrieking against the pavement, voices blending and filling the night air with a distant murmur. It’s the sound of home.
But when I look up, I can’t see the stars.