Page 115 of Passed Ball

Nerves send my heart plummeting into my stomach. "What do you mean?"

"With us? Last night it felt like you weren't all there with me. Is it just going home that's bothering you. Or have I pushed for more than you can give me?"

"No, you haven't pushed. I want this. I meant that when I said it last night."

"That's good because this is so much more than our list. That this is as real as it gets for me."

How can words I'm so desperate to hear be so scary? I shift Holland in my arms so she's resting against my chest, somehow having her closer eases some of those fears just a touch.

"This trip home has me in my head. Last night I wanted to forget about what was coming at me once I get to California. That wasn't fair to you and I'm sorry if that made you doubt this, because I'm right there with you."

He lets out a deep exhale and turns back to the stove and adds the cut veggies to the hot oil.

"Is there anything I can do to make your trip home easier?"

"Let me keep holding Holland until it's time to leave. She reminds me a lot of Tenley as a baby, she was always happy too."

"Do you always get stressed like this when you go home?"

He whips the eggs, his muscles putting on a show with each turn of the whisk.

"Vi." He tilts his head grinning. "I asked you a question."

"You did?" I laugh nervously, dragging my eyes back up to his face.

"Do you always get stressed like this when you go home?"

"It's never my favorite, but this year is different. I've been holding on to things that I need to air and I'm nervous about how it's going to go over. My family suffered when Erica died and I don't want to dredge that up, but I'm realizing how much losing her and the fallout from it hurt me. It's held me back in ways I couldn't see until now."

He sets the bowl of eggs on the counter, moving to stand beside me. He bends, kissing the corner of my mouth and pulling back so that there's nothing but a sea of blue looking back at me. "You deserve closure, you deserve to be heard, you deserve all of it."

I almost break into a million pieces right there on his kitchen floor. If it weren't for his arms wrapping around me at that exact moment I might have.

"How are you doing with the hearing coming up?" I ask when he goes back to the stove. Guilt has plagued me that I'm leaving when he's facing this draining ordeal with Kristy.

He shrugs. "We deserve closure too and this brings us one step closer. I hate that it has to be this way."

"Yeah, me too." And I'm not only talking about his custody trial. I hate knowing that what I have to tell my family has the power to hurt them. "You'll call me and let me know how it goes?"

"I will. And when you get home we can talk about those rules. Because I meant what I said about this being real."

I scan the baggage claim, searching for something outrageous--

a giant inflatable dinosaur costume maybe, or some other off-the-wall embarrassment. With Harlowe, it's never a regular airport pickup.

Then, I spot her.

Even being a brat, with her sunglasses sliding down her nose revealing those bright blue eyes, she manages to look like a goddess. Her long blonde hair is woven into a braid draped over her shoulder, disappearing behind a sign that reads:Ginger Daddy Detox Program.

People make all kinds of assumptions when they see my best friend. She looks like a model--perfectly put together, sweet, and approachable. Until she opens her mouth. That's when her dark sense of humor knocks you on your ass.

Today, she's rocking a baseball cap, a short unitard, a sweater tied around her waist, and a pair of pristine white sneakers. She looks like she stepped out of an ad for an athleisure brand. Only she can out-climb, out-run, and out-lift anyone in the room.

When she spots me walking towards her, the sign drops to her side and her other arm opens, beckoning me in for a hug.

"You're still short," she says, throwing her arm around my shoulder and hugging me.

"You're still tall." I hug her right back, a little tighter than I know she'd like because if we have one thing in common, it's our aversion to intimacy.

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