Chapter 8
JFK International Airport
Hayes
I keep my head buried my copy of Gray’s Anatomy, hoping the torn cover and yellowed pages will make it through the summer itinerary of European cities Brady sent me.
I trace my finger over the red and blue illustration of the lung.
I pass over the oblique fissure and then a few inches up to the right inferior lobe.
Studying the structure of the respiratory system should make it easier to breathe, but it doesn’t.
Back to my book. I have to force my eyes to read the words one after another and not let my mind wander. I wonder if Brady has cut his hair short like he does every summer. Or if he’ll be wearing that green shirt that matches his eyes. Or if he’s got a tan line already from…
I slam my book shut and a loose page flies out.
I’d told myself that I wouldn’t start thinking about him that way again.
“No,” I say out loud, making the older woman sitting next to me grab her carry-on, get up and find a new seat.
Why did I think this would work? I haven’t even seen Brady yet and already I can’t control my body or my thoughts.
That was the problem when we were together. I was helpless against his pull.
Once I was late for an organic chem lab because he wanted me to decide which powder blue shirt looked better on him.
“Brady, you’re fucking adorable in everything.
” How was I supposed to decide? But I stayed and he tried on a parade of shirts, and I loved every second.
I became some other version of myself, acting only on passion and impulse.
I put the errant page back exactly where it belongs, crack open the spine of the book and force my eyes to go lobe by lobe through the diagram of the lung.
I keep my head down and try to feel the weight of the book in my lap and nothing else.
I’ve re-read the same sentence three times when I feel a hand tap me on the shoulder.
I don’t have to look up to know it’s him.
His fingers brush my shoulder, and the air is immediately charged.
I need to get my brain to function like a fucking doctor, not a libidinous teenager.
Come on, right side of my brain. Kick in.
Kick in, I command. I close my eyes and focus all my energy on remaining calm.
“Hello Brady.” My voice cool and steady. But then I turn my head to see him. He looks great. Short hair in the back, like I expected, sexy tan, big, excited smile like he can’t wait to see what the next second of the day brings. I can feel my heart rate bouncing out of normal into tachycardia.
“Hi, Hayes.” His eyes connect with mine and then dart away.
Silence.
It’s not that we don’t know what to say to each other.
There are a million topics even I could think of, and I’m the quiet one.
It’s more that I want to sit in this moment of being with him.
His eyes return to mine and hold them for a half a second before looking away.
Then my watch catches my eye and I’m suddenly unable to bear the silence any longer.
“Only forty-five minutes late. Congratulations. That’s basically on time in Brady World. I’ve been sitting here forever.” The words come out totally wrong. My intention was to be slightly teasing and light-hearted, but I crossed the line with my tone. It came out more like a jab.
“Oh, let me guess. You’ve been here since they opened the terminal at four a.m. Or maybe you were so worried about missing the flight and being on time that you slept at the terminal doors.
” Brady removes his sunglasses from the top of his head and puts them on top of the small mountain of brand-new blue and gold suitcases he has on a cart.
“Jesus, Brady. We have half a dozen international flights ahead of us and you packed like you’re moving into a new apartment. What is all this stuff? Wait, let me guess. That one is just skin and hair stuff.” I point to the largest bag.
“Ha, ha! For your information, I need all of this. I want to make sure everything we wear is on point.” He does that thing where he spreads his fingers and pushes them between his curls over his head, making them bounce and frame his face perfectly.
“Wait. We?” What is he talking about? “I’m going to be behind the camera.
I don’t need a fashion runway. I’ve got it all in my carry-on,” I say, and point to the stuffed backpack on the chair next to me.
When we were dating, he loved to dress me like I was some kind of Ken doll.
I’d protest every time but I kind of liked it.
He’d always pick something I’d never wear but it gave me an excuse to dress outside my usual uniform of loose jeans and a t-shirt or sweatshirt.
I’m totally oblivious to fashion, but it was fun to experiment with the sleeveless sweater vests and bold-colored pants.
There was even a shirt made of a blanket like my grandma had that was pretty cool.
But this trip is not about how I will look. “What do you mean we?” I ask again.
“Right, of course. I meant me. Not we. I did not mean we. We have both agreed there is no we. I don’t know why I said that.
” Brady grabs his sunglasses and puts them back on so I can’t scan his eyes and figure out what this sudden bluster of nervousness is about.
Was the term “we” an accidental slip, or something more?
“Look, Hayes, I appreciate you doing this. I hope I’ve made it clear this is a business arrangement.
” I nod. “Still, I wanted to explain…” He takes off his sunglasses and his always playful hazel-green eyes are slightly serious for a change.
Maybe this is my chance to apologize for how I overreacted when I thought he had manipulated me. I should have offered him more of a chance to explain. He’s been crystal clear that this is a professional engagement and nothing more, so we should start with a clean page.
“Brady,” I cut him off, hoping to shift the tone of things.
“I appreciate this opportunity. I also would like to say…” My voice is stilted and overly formal.
I know what happened on the road trip was partially my fault too.
I could have handled everything better. At first I was still too fired up to see my role in it, and then I was too ashamed, and now I’m trying to get the words out but it’s hard. “I wanted to say…” I start.
But at the same time, he says, “I wanted to say…” His words echo mine but I’m not sure if he trails off or if I interrupt him.
“What?” I ask, grateful for the delay. Expressing my feelings is not something I’ve ever been good at.
When I was with Brady, it got easier and easier until the feelings were a field of overgrown wildflowers I couldn’t contain.
But after all these months of being apart the feelings are still there, but they’ve been buried under by neglect.
“No, you go, really. What I have to say can wait.” I’m such a coward.
“Well, ah…” Brady starts. I’m not sure what he is going to say.
He’s not the kind of person to hesitate about anything.
Brady is the kind of guy who jumps in first without looking, which is what made me both crazy and crazy about him.
“I wanted to know if you already checked in online or if we need to go to the counter?”
“I definitely need to go to the counter. Checking in online was not an option.”
I slide my hand into my jeans and pull out an object that I’m sure he thinks is from the prehistoric age. I hold it in front of him.
“What? Is? That?” he asks, like I pulled out a disembodied head and plate of blood from my bag.
I grin, knowing this is going to make him explode.
I open and close my flip phone like it’s a brand-new toy.
Which it is, sort of. I traded in my ancient smartphone for a dumb phone.
This phone is way cheaper and the international sim card I got cost a fraction of what service abroad was, but I knew Brady would pop a vein.
“You can’t be serious.” Brady rolls his eyes and lets out a sigh.
“What? It’s a phone. I can text and call. I assume you brought your fancy media kit and tripod.”
Brady rolls his eyes and tries to move the mountain of luggage that’s neatly stacked on his cart. My instinct kicks in, and I jump up to push it for him. I always did that kind of stuff before. I liked it. It made me feel useful and important, so I can’t help wanting to play the same role.
“Let me do it,” I say.
“I’m fine,” he says sharply. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of my own baggage.”
Brady takes the cart from me and tries to push it forward but forgets to push the handle down; the brake fails to release so he trips forward, almost taking out a family of three and a potted plant.
The man pulls the woman away, gathering the toddler in his arms. I have my hand over my mouth trying not to laugh.
Brady stares at the cart and wrestles with it like it stole his favorite lip balm.
He uses all his strength to push it forward.
He gets a few feet away and I can’t help but stare at his ass as he clenches and lunges forward to keep the cart moving. This is going to be a very hard summer.