Page 51 of Fake As Puck
“Your flight’s at three, right?”
“Three-twenty.”
“Plenty of time.”
“Yeah.”
We lapse back into silence, and I focus on driving, trying not to think about how wrong this feels. How the past three days flewby too fast and now she’s leaving and everything’s going back to normal.
Except nothing feels normal anymore.
“So,” I say as we pull into the airport departure area, “the next wedding is July fifth. Fourth of July weekend.”
“Right. You mentioned that.”
“It’s going to be a road trip. Down the coast. Probably three days total.”
“Okay.”
“I was thinking you could fly in July first. Give us a few days to... I don’t know. Hang out. Before the wedding chaos.”
She turns to look at me, and there’s something in her expression I can’t read.
“You want me to come early?”
“I mean, it makes sense. If we’re supposed to be dating, we should probably spend more time together. For consistency.”
“For consistency.”
“Yeah.”
I pull out my phone and scroll to the airline app. “Actually, let me book that now. July first?”
“West, you don’t have to—”
“It’s fine. I want to. For the... for consistency.”
I book her flight before she can protest, and when I hand her the confirmation, our fingers brush.
“July first,” I say. “Same time, same airport.”
“Same time, same airport,” she repeats.
We get out of the car, and I grab her suitcase from the back. The goodbye feels weird like too casual for what the weekend was, too formal for what it felt like.
Do we hug? Shake hands? Kiss goodbye?
We settle on a hug that lasts a beat too long and feels like we’re both holding on to something we’re not ready to let go of.
“Thanks again,” she says into my shoulder.
“Thank you.”
She pulls back and looks at me, and for a second I think she’s going to say something important. Something that might change everything.
Instead, she just smiles.
“See you in three weeks.”
