Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
I DON’T WANT YOU TO BE ALONE
Gretchen
“I promised I’d come through for you, didn’t I?”
As my plane descends into Phoenix, I replay the phone call I received right before I boarded in Chicago.
“Ahhh! I can’t wait to have you back here,” Monica had squealed in delight.
She’s ten years older than me, but we clicked from the first day I started my internship back in January—boss on paper, but kindred spirits in every other way.
“I’ll send over the job description for you to review and you send me your resume.
I’ll pass it along to the hiring committee.
Interviews will be the week after the July fourth holiday. ”
I thanked her profusely for the referral and promised to get my resume emailed over by tonight. The job isn’t a guarantee, but the interview plus Monica’s letter of recommendation increases my chances. It’s the bit of distracting good news I needed to start this trip.
Out the window across the aisle, orange hued mesas and buttes line the horizon. The sky the brightest shade of blue I’ve ever seen, the desert palm trees and cacti gleam green and bright under the blazing sun, resting against a backdrop of city buildings and residential areas.
As the landing gear touches down on the runway, a new wave of butterflies swoops low in my gut. If all goes according to plan, I’ll tell Drew everything over dinner tonight and, in three days, I’ll meet my birth mother.
The hustle of the other passengers has me on my feet in the aisle when the seat belt sign goes off, reaching for my carry-on in the overhead compartment.
As I emerge off the jet bridge a few minutes later, I pull my phone from my pocket and switch off airplane mode.
I make my way over to the large monitor display that lists upcoming arrivals.
Before I can spot his flight number on the screen, my phone begins a symphony of buzzes and pings in my hand.
Dozens of notifications. Missed calls, voicemails, texts…all of them from my brother.
I fight an eye roll. His plane should be in line for takeoff by now, but I suspect I’m about to find out his flight is delayed. I open the texts first and my irritation turns to panic as I read the messages. The first one was sent a few minutes after I switched to airplane mode back in Chicago.
Drew
Gretch! You’re not answering your phone. Please call me.
Two minutes later.
Drew
Dammit. You’re probably already on the plane. Call me as soon as you land!
Ten minutes ago.
Drew
Have you landed yet? Have you listened to my voicemail? I’m so sorry. Please call me !
Two minutes ago.
Drew
Forget about the voicemail. Just call me.
I ignore the red voicemail icon and call him immediately.
“Gretch! Thank God!” His panicked voice leaves no space for pleasantries. Heartache from an unknown source consumes me—if he’s answering his phone, he’s not on a plane.
Travelers whizz past me and the intercom overhead blasts announcements every few seconds, a cacophony of noise from every direction. I plug one ear as I try to speak above it. “Drew, what’s going on?”
“I’m so sorry. Something came up and I can’t come.”
My breath catches. I must have misheard him. “What do you mean you can’t come?”
“I swear to God, Gretch. I wouldn’t be bailing if it wasn’t serious.”
“What happened?” I ask as I move through the terminal in search of a corner, hallway, restaurant, any goddamn place where I can hear better.
The anguished exhale on the other end sends shockwaves of fear to my heart. “I can’t…I can’t tell you right now and I know that sounds so shady, but I need you to trust me.”
“Oh…okay. You promise everybody’s alright?”
“Everyone’s going to be fine. I promise.” They’re going to be fine, but they’re not fine right now. I nod, concern and disappointment catching any response in my throat. “Gretch, you there?”
“I’m nodding,” I say, voice trembling.
“I know this trip was really important to you and,” he lets out a tired sigh, “am I right that maybe it’s about more than just graduation or your birthday?” I nod again as I swipe the first tear away. “Gretch?”
“Still nodding,” I reply. “How did you know?”
“Brother’s intuition maybe.” A light chuckle breaks past my defenses. Tears cascade down my cheeks and I clear them with the back of my hand. “I don’t want you to be alone, so I?— ”
“No! It’s fine. I mean, it’s not, I guess. But I’ll be alright and I hope whatever is going on with you ends up being okay and, um…you don’t have to worry about me.” I ramble the words on unsteady breaths, parsed with sniffles.
“Connor’s coming.”
My heart stops, feet screeching to a halt in the middle of terminal C. People push past me on all sides as I attempt to catch some sort of mental foothold to process what I think my brother just said.
I scan my surroundings and spot an alcove that leads to a hallway of airport personnel offices and equipment closets. Luggage in tow, I wait for a clearing and dart across the path of travelers. Once I’m around the corner, I lean against the wall and slide to the floor.
“Did you hear me?” Drew asks.
“I’m gonna need you to say that again.” My tone lands somewhere between despondent and white-hot rage.
“Connor’s coming.” Yeah, that’s what I thought he said.
I bring my knees to my chest. “Why would you do that? Call him right now and tell him not to come.” His heavy silence settles over the line. I hang my head, foot nervously tapping in agitation on the speckled tile. “Drew!”
“He’s already on his way. I panicked and then it all happened so fast. I thought someone should be there that you know and that I trust to look out for you.”
A sob sputters out of me before I can stop it.
“Gretch, please don’t cry. God ! I’m sorry. I didn’t know who else to ask. Mom and Dad are in Italy and I don’t know any of your friends.”
That’s because there aren’t any.
I had casual friendships in college, people I hung out with regularly, like my roommate and a few others who shared my major.
We had a good enough time together, but they never really knew me.
In my entire life, I’ve only ever had two friends that I’ve truly let in: my high school best friend and Connor.
Given how those relationships ended, I haven’t opened myself up to anyone since .
“You could have sent Reagan!” I accuse.
He lets out a shaky breath. “No. I couldn’t.”
Something sharp yanks my heart into its grip. “Drew, is Reagan okay?”
“She’s gonna be. Look, I promise to tell you everything as soon as I can, but you don’t need to be worried about us. I swear.”
“Okay. I’m just…I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. But…” He pauses, his frustration riding a tired sigh. “Is having Connor there really so bad? You guys seem to get along fine.”
“We do. I don’t have a problem with Connor.
” I mean, unless you’re referring to the relentless self-loathing I’ve been drowning in since he face-mauled me at your wedding and how things are so weird between us except for when they’re damn near perfect, but mostly they’re weird because we’ve never talked about it. Oh, and I blocked his number.
Drew’s voice comes sincere, if not pained. “Do you wanna just tell me what all of this was about to begin with?”
I consider it. As excited as I’ve been about this trip, the loneliness of carrying this big, scary truth by myself has eaten at me.
I’m exhausted. But my brother’s going through something, too.
Drew would never bail on me if it weren’t something serious.
The distress in his voice, the panic in his texts…
no. No, whatever he’s carrying is heavy enough as it is.
“It’s nothing,” I say.
“Gretch.”
“Okay, it’s something, but”—I wipe my nose with the back of my hand—“it can wait.”
“You know you can tell me.”
I drag a hand under one eye and then the other and whisper, “I know.”
“Can you at least tell me that you’re safe? You’re not in trouble, are you? In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a lawyer. If you need help escaping the country, I can make that happen.”
A laugh erupts from my chest and I’m thankful for the levity. “One: I’m safe. Two: I’m not in trouble. And three: you’re a patent lawyer. If I needed to escape the country, pretty sure Mom would be my first call.”
“Fair,” he says. “You promise to tell me eventually, right?”
“Yeah. You?”
“I promise.”
“I love you,” I say.
“I love you more.”
After we hang up, I clock the time on my home screen. I usher myself through a few deep breaths to ward off another wave of tears.
Connor and I will spend the next five days together. Him and me. Car rides. Meals. Hikes. Hotel suites.
God , there’s no way we’ll get through this unscathed.
I have to remain focused on what I came here to do. I didn’t come this far, spend all this money, to get distracted by my brother’s best friend. Damn him and his perfect face, kissable lips and penchant for showing up when I least expect him to.
And damn him for breaking my heart.
Picking myself up by my bootstraps, proverbially speaking, I collect my things—along with my sanity—and make my way toward Connor’s gate. I find a pub style restaurant and settle into a booth near the back to wait out the next couple of hours.
Once I’ve placed my order, I retrieve my phone and open Connor’s contact. Ten days ago, I blocked his number. I never intended for it to be a conclusive message as to the status of our relationship. I was only trying to minimize distractions.
Except, thoughts of Connor haven’t minimized at all. They’re fully maximized. Every browser tab in my brain is open, my heart clicking the refresh button every few seconds.
There was a time when his comfort was my favorite kind. It’s hard to imagine ever getting there again, but I want to believe it’s possible. Not all that long ago, I was still wishing, hoping and praying I would wind up here with him.
And he’s on his way here. To me.
My mind shifts back into focus as the waitress sets my turkey club in front of me .
I’ve already begun to overthink everything and, overthinking, I remind myself, will only make it worse. With that, I straighten my spine on a resolute breath and unceremoniously unblock Connor’s contact.
“It is what it is,” I mumble, words for only me, myself and I to hear.