Page 16 of Old Acquaintances

I took a beat. “He’s sitting next to Steve.”

She liked Steven. I could tell. Gracie’s eyebrow raised. “Ugh, fine.”

As she stood up, I grabbed her. “Don’t tell him that I, like, asked you to do this.”

“What?”

“I don’t want him to think that I want to sit with him.”

“But you do.”

“But don’t tell him that!”

She rolled her eyes and walked away, and I was hit with a rush of embarrassment. I could imagine her over there saying, “Ella’s obsessed with you and wants to sit with you because she’s probably in love with you or something.”

He’d immediately saynoand run home and tell Johnny and my life would be absolutely ruined. I covered my face in my hands and turned toward the window.

The seat beside me moved.

“Hey,” Tucker said.

I removed my hands to see him holding out one of his earbuds. I took it. He offered me a piece of gum. I took it. Theplane started to move, and he lifted the armrest between us.

Chapter Seven

Today

He wants to assault me with getting-to-know-you prompts, as though we were meeting for the first time at book club, but I want to ask him a million questions starting with, “How dare you?”

But I don’t. I have no reason to be the bigger person. Tucker has amends to make, questions to start answering, explanations to spell out on a corkboard with yarn and photographs and proof. Not me.

After the plane reaches altitude and I relax into my seat, the only words spoken between Tucker and I are:

“You look beautiful.”

“Shut up.”

I try to pretend he’s not there. It doesn’t work. A traveling circus props up a carousel behind my closed eyes, tormenting me with memory after memory, most of which I feel on a sensory level.

His touch, his smell, his voice. It’s just like clowns to pop up in your nightmares and refuse to get out of town.

Tucker shakes me awake. I didn’t realize I was even asleep, my waking thoughts so intertwined with my dreams.

When the plane lands, the woman beside him edges quickly in the aisle, giving Tucker room to collect my bag. When the doors open, he stands in the aisle, waiting for me to walk out in front of him. I don’t move. I want to be far away from him.I wave him forward. When he’s tired of holding up the line, Tucker grabs the sleeve of my sweater and hoists me to my feet.

“Stop breathing down my neck,” I demand, walking toward the exit.

“Then grow a little.” He thrusts my bag in my arms.

Crossing the Miami airport, I bolt. One of his strides equals two of mine, but he doesn’t pursue. At baggage claim, I stand beside a Christmas tree decorated with mini palm trees and flamingoes, and Tucker stands on the opposite side.

When my suitcase rounds the conveyor belt, I scoop it up, and my phone buzzes a second later. Johnny’s outside, he’s just texted us. I walk toward the exit where a series of cars wait. A black SUV honks at me, a blonde-haired man with a wide grin waving behind the wheel.

He has a lot of explaining to do.

“What’s up, babe?” Johnny jumps out of the driver’s side. I let go of my bags and he scoops me up around the waist, swinging me in a circle, hugging me tight. He sets me down and slides his glasses back up.

Unlike with Tucker, I always see Johnny as the version I met when we were five. His wide, toothy grin and straight, fair hair. He has always been stocky, he had muscles in second grade, and he only ever looks short when he stands beside Tucker. His mom has a photo of us three, eleven years old, shoulder to shoulder in descending height, and the top of Tucker’s head was cut off so my face could be seen.

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