Page 144 of Faking Forever 1
Little rocks on the cement crunch under my shoes as I turn around to face Josh.
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“Ready?” I clear my throat.
“As ready as I’m gonna be,” he answers, dangling the keys before opening the door for me.
As we drove to the airport, my skin crawled the whole way—
and now we were minutes away. Every time I looked at Josh, he wouldn’t look back. Though he wasn’t planning on saying it, I knew he was holding back a generous amount of tears.
Letting him be was in my best interest—to let him process his emotions. He never does, but with all the quiet air in the car, what else would he be doing now? I had no problem holding his hand and staring at his beautifully hand-crafted face, which had developed a perfect chisel while I was away. He might not be aware, but I’m about to lose a part of me for a long time—a part of me that’s irreplaceable.
The only thing keeping me going is knowing that if I’m patient, I’ll have all of this back within no time.
“I’ll walk you through to security,” Josh says as we enter the airport exit, heading straight for the never-ending turnabout and parking lot. “Then, they’ll probably make me leave unless I plan on going through security and getting a ticket for myself.”
Or he could buy one, come with me, and we live happily ever after.
“If it’s too much—” I begin.
“It’s not. This is all I have left. I want that time. I won’t get it back once you’re gone, Paisley.” He interlocks his fingers with mine, hanging onto my hand tightly as he pulls into a parking space.
As the car stopped, he sat back in the seat, looking at me. It was as if the momentum of our stopping in place jolted the tears from his eyes. He let go of my hand and put us in the 350
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park before throwing his hands to his face.
“Hey…” I whisper, turning in my seat to face him.
“I’m sorry—this is much harder than I thought.” He coughs to clear his throat, pulling his shirt to his face, wiping away whatever emotion was there.
“It’s okay to cry, Josh. You never hid that before…” I place a hand on his neck, grasping what I can, caressing my thumb against his skin.
“No, but I wasn’t crying because mygirlfriendwas leaving me. Those other times,” he exhales, “they didn’t feel like this.”
I wouldn’t question what I knew was real. It felt deeper for me as well. Other times, it had nothing to do with a girl, but more with his internal struggles or how his life would be affected by whatever was happening then. He wasn’t worried about himself at all this time.
“We’ll be back together in no time,” I say, bringing my face closer to his to kiss his warm cheek, lingering for a few seconds. “I promise.”
“It’s going tofeellonger. No holidays. No birthdays. No,you, at all,” he says, his eyes glancing in my direction. “I’m sorry that I didn’t make you mine sooner.”
“Each holiday and each birthday, we’ll make time. Video chatting, talking on the phone—the whole works,” I respond, holding out my pinky. “Promise.”
“Promise,” he says heavily.
He reciprocates, linking his larger pinky with mine, linking it tightly. We both lean into our hands, kiss them, then let go. With that, we both got out of the car without thought and grabbed all of my things.
It felt like the end. It was followed by the longest walk down 351
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ugly airport halls until he was hugging and squeezing me.
I thought it was odd that I was the one holding it together until it dawned on me that none of this had felt real until now.
