Page 81 of Nothing Like the Movies

“What about you, Liz? Do you think you can make it work?” Lilith put her hands in her pockets and said, “We only go if you go.”

“I mean, my parents would love it,” I said as I tried to mentally work through what the weekend would entail. “And I’m sure I can talk to my teachers about missing my classes.”

“But what about you?” she asked, looking concerned. “I want to make sure you’re comfortable with this. If you’re not, we scrap it.”

I could tell by her face that she was genuinely asking, and I felt a rush of gratitude that she was willing to abandon this idea if I wasn’t okay with it. That tiny bit of understanding was probably what allowed me to take a step away from my own feelings to recognize that if Wes was willing, the imagery would definitely add to his story.

“I think it’s a great idea.”

After that, we went into brainstorming mode, talking through the content she hoped for. It would be a nice supplement to see the inside of the house he grew up in and juxtapose it with locking the door for the very last time.

God.

It’d also be gorgeous to get some early-morning sunlight shots of Emerson Field, the place where he’d become a superstar pitcher.

Is this really happening?

It was surreal that the project we were talking through and the plans we were making would send us to Teal Street and my old high school. I loved that place, but I’d purposely taken summer classes and suggested family holiday getaways with my parents because I wasn’t sure how to handle being there, next door tohim.

I’d neverintendedto stay away for nearly two years, but I always just kind of found somethingelseto do every time there was a break.

But now I was going home.

To his house.

Withhim.

Is this really happening?

Apparently it was, because twenty-four hours later, I was disembarking from a plane at the Omaha airport.

“This is the airport?” Clark said, looking around the small terminal like he couldn’t believe his eyes. “Where are the stores? Where is the Starbucks?”

“You can get a mini Godfather’s Pizza over there,” I said, heading for the baggage-claim area while pointing to the right. It felt good being there, walking into a place I’d known my entire life and where I knew exactly which direction I was going. “And there’s a Scooter’s right under that sign.”

“What in God’s name is a Scooter’s?” Clark looked disgusted as he walked beside me, dragging his carry-on behind him.

“It’s coffee,” I said, surprised he didn’t know. Was that only a Midwestern thing? I loved Scooter’s.

“Just say ‘okay,’ Clark,” Lilith said, smiling. “I’m sure we can find decent coffee by the hotel. Wait—they do have decent coffee here, right, Liz?”

“Of coursewe have decent coffee,” I said defensively, walking toward the hall that led to the baggage-claim area. “I think Omaha has close to a million people—it’s not in the prairie, for God’s sake.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Clark said.

I was walking faster as I led them through the terminal, soexcited to see my parents. “I texted my dad when we landed, so he should be waiting.”

My dad and Helena (my stepmom) freaked out when I called last night. As much as they’d been happy to come to California to visit me during breaks, apparently me coming home was much better. Helena screamed through the phone when I shared the news, and my dad sounded suspiciously like someone who was weepy.

I couldn’twaitto see them.

But when we came down the escalator and there they were, standing beside the baggage-claim carousel, I was hit with all the emotion. No matter how fast I blinked, I couldn’t keep in the tears. Something about being here and seeing them felt different.

I was coming home after what felt like a very long time away.

I tried keeping it together, but when I stepped off the escalator and my dad jogged over and wrapped me in a hug, I was done. The smell of him, the laundry detergent on his shirt and the lotion he used for his dry skin and the cologne from the eighties that he still thought smelled good even though it was crazy-strong, took me back to every loving hug from my childhood.

“It’s about damn time,” Helena said, smiling at us with tears in her eyes. “You little shit.”

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