Page 114 of The Sweet Spot

“Yup.” I pat my purse. “Got it all.” But I check again, just in case. Arlo and I will be in Manhattan for about four days before we fly down to Mexico, so I suppose Mom could overnight my passport if I did forget it. But no, it’s right where it should be, nestled securely between my insurance card and a wad of cash Mom gave me on our way to the airport.

“Plastic’s good, but paper’s essential,” she’d said, pressing the crisp stack of ATM twenties into my hand.

We park in the deck and make our way into the busy terminal. My stomach’s full of butterflies, which I both love and hate. Mom steers me over to theticketing counter, where we get in line. After the couple ahead of us goes, it’s my turn.

“Go ahead,” Mom says, pushing me a little. “You’ll figure it out.”

Swallowing, heart bumping along, I drag my suitcases to the counter and smile at the immaculately coiffed blonde. “Hi.”

Once I’ve bumbled my way through that, and my bags are safely—I hope—on their way to the plane, I return to Mom with my boarding pass.

She smiles, lower lip trembling. “Well, this is it. I can’t go with you…they stopped all that after 9/11.”

“Stopped what?”

“You used to be able to go to the gate and wait with people.”

“Oh.” I nod. I guess I’ll see what she means when I get there. “Okay. Well, bye. I love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too. So much. I’m so glad you’re doing this.” She squeezes me in a hug, briskly rubbing my back. “You’re gonna have a ball. You and Arlo.”

I grin, keeping their late-night phone calls to myself. I like that they have a thing. A secret thing. Or whatever. “Yeah. We will.”

“I want you to have fun. Don’t worry about…” She falters, probably tripping over Luca’s name. “Anything. This is about you and your dad. You deserve this in so many ways, baby. I’m so proud of you.”

“For what?” I giggle at her emotional display. “For accepting the trip of a lifetime?”

“For being brave and putting yourself out there. For finding your dad and letting him find you. And for telling that silly boy how you felt even if he can’t find his ass from his elbow. Things don’t always work out the way we want them to, but don’t let that stop you from trying, Wren. Ever. When you were little, you were so much like me. You even copied the way I spoke. But you’ve changed as you’ve gotten older. You think with your heart, and that’s powerful. Don’t lose that.”

She’s rambling, but I think I understand. This is her way of telling me not to be so emotionally closed off. Like her.

Now I hug her, kissing her cheek. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Now, go on. Be careful. Keep your bag close! Don’t leave it anywhere…”

“All right, all right.”

“Love you, little bird!”

I glance back over my shoulder to wave one last time. “Love you, too!”

Locating the sign directing me to my gate, I join the river of people pouring through security and then the rest of the terminal, going deeper and deeper inside until I find my gate. I have about forty minutes until my flight takes off, so I grab a granola bar from my backpack and have a seat.

My butt vibrates; I’m sitting on my phone. Wrestling it from my pocket, I find a notification from Venmo. I stare in disbelief. Marissa—Luca’s mom—just sent me $200 for my travels. I’m not even sure how she got my Venmo details. From Luca, probably.

A lump forms in my throat. I don’t know what to think. I’m grateful, obviously, and touched that she would do this, but I’m trying not to thinkabout Luca or his family too much right now. I adore them, but that’s part of the problem. The part of me that was raised to always write thank you notes wants to respond immediately, thanking Marissa, but I don’t have her contact info and I can’t bring myself to ask Luca for it. We haven’t spoken in nearly a week, since the night before he left for São Paulo.

He texted me that night, late, asking me not to give up on him. To try to understand. I asked him to give me some space because he was confusing me.

I love him. I’min lovewith him. I don’t know how to be his friend.

I catch a flash from the corner of my eye and look up in time to see a plane as it soars into the sky, the sun glinting off its sleek, metallic body. It seems impossible that flying even exists, but in about a half an hour, that’ll be me.

* * *

Arlo’s waiting for me in baggage claim with a smile and a sign that saysWren Angelos.

I practically run toward him, relieved.

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