Page 97 of The Pretender

Grabbing my bag, I sling it over my shoulder and walk to the front door. I turn and give everything one more look before I close the door and lock it, leaving everything behind.

“Took you long enough,” Maverick says, as soon as I open the passenger door and chuck my bag into the back seat. His eyes follow its landing, and he frowns.

“Thanks for taking care of the Jeep while I’m gone,” I tell him, ignoring the sour look he still has. His leather is fine. It’s not like my bag was made of jagged metal.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, pulling away from the curb and gunning it down the road, not even giving me the opportunity to look back.

* * *

“Fuck. Seriously? You told them?”

My friend is the devil.

Maverick shrugs, not bothering to look up from his phone. “Ainsley made me. I told her you didn’t want to see them.” He flashes me an apologetic look. “She didn’t care.”

I shake my head. “Tell her I’ll miss her sensitive self.”

I swear, she’s worse than Vee about saving the world and shit.

“Get out of the car and text me the address when you land.” Maverick sounds a lot like my father instead of my friend, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I nod. “I’ll see you soon.” It’s not a question with Maverick. He keeps up with his family and I have no doubt he won’t allow me to disappear out west and never speak to him again.

With one last fist bump, I get out of the car and open the back door to retrieve my bag and then turn to face my mom, dad, and sister.

“Maverick told us what time your flight was leaving. We wanted to say goodbye.” My mom wraps her arms around me, her body shaking.

I loop my arms around her, exhaling.

“We are so proud of you,” she says between sobs.

I snap to attention. “You are?” You can’t fault me for having doubts. All my parents have ever wanted for me to do is go to school and get a good job. I think I always felt like they just wanted me out of their house. Once my sister married and moved out, I was the last hurdle in their way to freedom.

“Of course we are, sweetie. Why would you think we weren’t?” My mom pulls back from my arms and wipes her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re looking for, Sebastian, but all we’ve ever wanted for you is to be happy. If that happiness is in California, making movies, then we hope you take California by storm and live the life you’ve always dreamed of.” She smooths her hand over my cheek. “You deserve it.”

It’s like a dam of tension breaks in my soul. My mother didn’t declare that I wasn’t a failed stem cell donor, but she admitted that all she ever wanted was for me to be happy and, honestly, just feeling seen by the most influential people in my life is all I could ask for. It doesn’t fix all the years of insecurities I’ve brought onto myself, but it’s a start, and right now, that’s all I need.

“Thank you,” I tell her, kissing her on the cheek and giving her one last hug.

My sister steps up next and grabs me by the shirt and squeezes me. There are no tears in her eyes, only a threat. “You will tell me where you are staying and you will not avoid me when I come to visit you. Do you understand me, little boy?”

It’s cute when she tries to threaten me, even though she’s a foot shorter than I am. “I understand,” I tell her, grinning and feeling a lot lighter than I did before.

When she finally lets me go, I turn and look at my dad. He nods and then pulls me by the shoulder and hugs me. “You take care of yourself, Son.”

I nod. “I will. Take care of them for me.” I tip my chin to my mom and sister, who are now hugging each other like I’m dying instead of moving.

“You better go so you don’t miss your flight,” he mutters.

I don’t tell him that I changed my flight three times since I bought the ticket. I kept finding shit I needed to take care of before I left. What was an afternoon flight ended up as a red-eye flight. But the airport will have some good footage I can shoot and it’s not at my house where I will be tempted to watch a particular neighbor until it’s time to leave.

With another round of hugs and promises to call as soon as I land, I make my way to security. “Ticket,” the TSA agent demands.

I unzip the front pocket of my bag and pull out my ticket and hand it over.

“Don’t play with me, boy,” the agent says, handing the ticket back. “You need a real ticket to get through.”

“What?” I take the ticket from him and flip it over. There, instead of my flight information, is a note in handwriting I will never forget.

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