Page 43 of The Other Side of Apart
I stand against the Rover where I’ve parked along the curb at Mei’s work, watching the sliding doors for her to come out and for signs of Nick. Everything was in fast motion until now, and it’s slowed to a crawl. My thoughts are catching up to me. Like how much I never wanted to stay in Vegas, but how much I don’t wanna leave it now because that means we’re moving farther from Stanford. How much I wanna kill Nick. How much I question all our decisions up to this point. But they all make me mad and achy, so I shove them aside and use the few minutes I have before she comes out to practice being calm and rehearse the story I’m gonna tell her.
When Mei sails out the door, clutching her bag over her shoulder, I open the passenger side door, then close it behind her and run around the front of the Rover and jump in the driver’s seat.
“Marcus,” she says through a smile-frown. “You’re going to get fired if you keep ‘borrowing’ people’s cars.”
I glance over my shoulder and pull away from the curb to screech out of the parking lot and into traffic. I grip the steering wheel. Check my mirror for signs of any car following us. I slam to a stop at a red light.
“What’s going on?” Mei’s voice is no longer filled with her smile.
“I…” If I just show her the note, it’ll explain everything, but her reaction will haunt me more than walking away from my bike or starting over again. “Motorcycle wouldn’t start.” My voice shakes as realization claws its way out from under the avalanche of adrenaline. When the light turns green, I punch the gas pedal, ready to outrun any cop that dares pull me over right now.
“Marcus, what’s wrong?”
The needle on the speedometer lays flat, and I glance into the rearview mirror, switching lanes to enter the freeway. Mei grips the door handle like she can squeeze answers from it.
I crank the radio’s volume, letting the beat numb my mind; I want it to suffocate the anger awakening under the anesthesia of panic, and I grip the wheel tighter, my eyes boring into the car ahead of us like I can move it with my mind.
Mei cranks down the volume on the radio. “Are you going to tell me what’s really going on? There’s something you’re not telling me, and it’s not a surprise.”
Oh, it was a surprise for one of us already, and it’ll be one for her, too.
I veer toward the off ramp and exit to downtown Vegas. “I will. Just…when we get there.” I search the signs, swear, and jerk the wheel, making a U-turn. I screech to a stop at the curb in front of the Greyhound station.
“When we get where?” she presses.
I bail out of the car, slamming the door, and grab our bags before Mei has gotten out of the passenger seat. But I can’t wait—can’t stand still—and open her door, holding out my hand to her. “We gotta go.”
“You’re scaring me.”
That makes two of us.
“I’ll explain everything, but please get out of the car.”
“Tell me now. I’m not getting out of this car until?—”
I turn and walk through the sliding doors toward the ticket counter. She’s gonna fight me on this, and I don’t blame her, but I can’t do it right now.
The Rover door slams outside, and I flinch but keep walking as Mei’s footsteps slap against the tile floor behind me.
The notes in my pocket hiss at me, and I want nothing more than to rip them out and shred them, leave my reasons for us leaving Vegas like a trail that will blow out the door and across the melting asphalt. I can’t watch Mei fall apart again—see the fear that dilates her eyes and sinks so deep inside her that it pulls her with it. Gotta buy some time to make up a story about why we’re getting on the first bus out of Vegas because the real reason, I will keep to myself. Forever.
“Marcus, talk to me,” she bursts, grabbing my elbow as we cross the endless expanse of dingy white tile.
I shake my head, put my hand over hers on my arm. “We need to get on the bus. Then I’ll tell you.” My words are too sharp, but the whirlwind of the last hour subsides, leaving the debris of reality scattered around me until I’m wading through resentment and anger and fear.
She runs around me and stands in front of me. “Are we leaving?”
“Yeah.”
“Like…on a trip?” Her eyes are all over my face. “Or for good?”
“For good.” I close my eyes and swear. “Mei, I promise I’ll tell you, but we have to get on the bus and we’re running out of time. I’m sorry, I just…”
I step around her to the ticket counter, pulling out today’s tips from my wallet, and slide the crumpled bills under the Plexiglas window to the cashier. “Two tickets to as far eastbound as we can go with this.” Next time I’m running, it better be west and end in Stanford.
The operator gives us tickets and tells us which terminal and time for departure. We’re going to Indiana. I hand the tickets to Mei and pull out my phone to text Patrick.
Big favor. Can you pick up the Rover at the Greyhound Station? Key’s under the front left tire. Great working with you. Thanks for your help.
