Page 5 of The Two of Us

2

NOW

“Hold on. You’re telling me you’re at the airport right now? About to board a plane. This very second.”

“As we speak,” I mutter, shuffling a few steps forward in line. The person behind me steps on my heel and has the audacity to snicker at me as if we aren’t all going to the same place and have assigned seats.

“Who’s going to take care of Cheese?”

“You know his name is Cheddar. And you are, my sweet friend.”

Tally’s laugh blares through the receiver. “And why the hell would I do that?”

“Because,” I say, handing my ticket to the ticket agent. “I stocked the fridge with all your favorites before I left and I have every streaming service you love.”

She sighs in defeat. “How do I even get in? I don’t have a key.”

I roll my eyes as I make my way to my row. “You and I both know that you made a copy of my key after you watched that documentary on the dangers of women living alone.”

She’s silent for a few seconds. “You tell no lies.”

“Exactly. So just stop by once or twice a day to clean out his litter box and refill his food bowl. Other than that, he’s as self-sufficient as it gets.”

“Litter box?” She makes a disgusted sound. “You owe me.” I hear shuffling on her end. “Where did you say you were going again?”

I pause. “Um, I didn’t. I’m going to Maine to see my dad.” The shuffling stops.

“Didn’t you say he was sick?”

“…yes.”

“Has he gotten worse?” she says, her voice softening. “Mar, do you need me to come with you? Because I can, I—”

“Tally, I gotta go. We’re getting ready to take off and the flight attendant is giving me the death glare.”

“Mara—”

“I’ll call you tomorrow. Bye, I love you!” I hang up before she has the chance to respond.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Tally is the closest—correction—only friend I’ve got, and I still have a hard time letting her all the way in. But I’m afraid if I peel back my layers, even a little, the floodgates will open wide, threatening to release everything I’ve kept neatly tucked away for years.

Cinching the seat belt tight around my waist, I lean back on the headrest and exhale for the first time today. I thought waking up this morning with a hangover would be the worst of my problems.

As we pull out onto the tarmac, I decide to send one last text to Helen, my boss. We spoke this morning and she was more than okay with me working remote, but a small part of me hopes she’ll give me a reason to stay.

Me: Are you sure you’ll be ok without me?

A text bubble with three little dots pops up immediately.

Helen: Aren’t you on the plane by now?

Me: There’s an emergency exit.

Helen: You millennials and your theatrics. I lived through a war and never shed a tear.

Me: That… that’s concerning, Helen.

Helen: Look, you knocked the FlaxForm account out of the park with your web design. You haven’t slowed down since you started at the agency three years ago. You’re my best employee, but I’m afraid I’ve created a monster.

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