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“Angie? Hey Angie, are you in there?”
Angela awoke to knocking on her hotel door. She looked at the bedside clock, it was 7:38am. She had fallen asleep without setting an alarm.
She was still in her clothes from last night. She got up and walked to the door.
“I'm coming,” she said quietly, her throat felt uncharacteristically dry. Her face felt tight and swollen. She must have been crying in her sleep.
She opened the door and turned back to the bed without looking at Kieran. She threw the comforter over her shoulders
“Hey sleepyhead, you aren't ready yet?” he asked.
“You're early,” she said, her voice gravelly, eyes averted.
He snickered. “Barely. We need to be at the airport by 9 and it's at least a 40-minute ride.”
“Where's Dalia?” Her tongue felt fat and graceless in her mouth. Every word was a Herculean effort.
Kieran sat in the club chair by the bed. “Downstairs in the cab with our luggage. I came up to help you with yours. Where is...” he trailed off as he looked around the room again. He furrowed his brow and gave her a concerned look. “Hey, Angela, are you okay?”
More silence.
His kindness was her undoing, and the tears began to run. Loud, aching sobs exploded from her throat as hot, salty tears leaked from her eyes.
Kieran stood up and came to the side of the bed. He put his hand on her shoulder, sat down and said, “Angela, what's wrong?”
She couldn’t say the words, least of all to him. She just wanted to be home, in bed, sleeping.
She summoned all her strength to quell her crying. She needed to bottle up this sadness until she could give in to it fully.
“Give me five minutes,” she said quietly.
She grabbed the travel clothes she had laid out the night before, changed, and packed her toiletry bag, stuffing it into her luggage; a gift from Soren. She ran her hand over the golden initials embossed in the side of her bag and sighed.
“I'm ready,” she said quietly, not making eye contact with Kieran.
He grabbed her luggage with one hand, threw her carry-on over his shoulder, and wrapped his other arm around her shoulders in a reassuring manner. “Let's go.”
When they got to where the cab was waiting, Dalia rolled down the passenger window. “Finally, what took you guys so—”
The look on Angela’s face cut Dalia off quickly.
Dalia got out of the cab and went to Angela as Kieran put the luggage in the trunk. She enveloped her friend with her arms. “Hey honey, are you okay?”
Angela said nothing, burying her face into her friend’s shoulder. Even though it was barely 8am, Angela felt exhausted.
“Let's go,” Kieran said quietly as he held the back door open for them, ushering them into the cab, taking the front passenger seat for himself.
––––––––
Soren watched through the window of the hotel as the anonymous black cab pulled away from the curb. His barely-eaten breakfast and coffee had grown cold as he had kept watch. He had seen Kieran arrive and then depart with Angela folded under his arm like a broken bird.
He wasn’t sure which hurt more: seeing her in pain, or seeing her with Kieran.
His heart ached dully.
The weight of wearing his emotional armor all last night had taken its toll. Today he was emotionally naked, and the pain of letting Angela go was visceral. He looked out again at the street where she had just been.
“Goodbye,” he said quietly as a tear streaked down his cheek.
