Chapter Thirty-Two
WHEN WE START our descent into Newark, I almost don’t believe my eyes. It’s been three long months since we left the city. That’s two months and three weeks more than the longest stretch I’d been gone before this.
I can’t even turn to Oliver and gush over the sight of the Empire State Building. We booked our tickets so late that there weren’t any seats next to each other. He’s two or three rows behind me on the other side of the plane.
Not that it matters—New York is a short ninety-minute flight from Portland, and we already spent an hour in the back of a taxi cab that smelled like cigars and coffee, plus we sat together at the airport in an exhausted daze.
Now that I’m here, that sense of elation that has been noticeably absent returns. After all this time, I’m home.
Well, almost home, as I’m starkly reminded when we taxi on the runway for half an hour.
I crane my neck and try to catch a glimpse of Oliver, but he’s either slouching or sleeping because I can’t find him.
Instead, I answer all the texts from my family, letting them know we made it back safe and sound.
When we’re finally let off the plane, I want nothing more than to run to baggage claim and get my stuff, but I make myself wait for Oliver at the gate.
It’s strange to see him emerge from that tiny hallway, to see him in the flesh on home turf after everything that’s happened between us.
I wonder if he looks at me and sees a different version of me, too.
I watch as he approaches, his leather bag slung over his shoulder and his carry-on rolling behind him, and I feel somehow comforted and more anxious the longer I stand there.
Day by day, we said back in Maine. In reality, we’ve only been doing whatever this is for—what, six weeks?
Maybe two months since our first kiss? That’s not a long time, but it all felt so intense, so inevitable with the two of us in that house, making our music together.
Now here we are, back in the big city, a world of options at our fingertips. What happens to us now?
But then Oliver breaks into a wide grin when he’s a few feet away from me. That warm, tingly feeling zips all through me, stronger than it ever was before. I smile back at him without having to think about it.
“It’s good to be back, isn’t it?” he asks, and just hearing his soothing voice calms my nerves a little.
“So good.”
Between my tote bag and carry-on, plus his own stuff, our hands are full as we make our way down a series of long airport hallways.
We’re at that part of a trip where I’m eager to get back to my own place but constantly deterred by everything else.
Too many people. Slow walkers. A baggage claim carousel that hasn’t started moving yet.
I check the time on my phone. It’s well after noon now. Even though the dinner isn’t until 8:00 p.m., I can’t help but feel the pressure of time running out cloaking my shoulders.
Our bags do show up eventually—that I had to pay fifty dollars for, this morning’s stark reminder that I need to get paid—and Oliver hoists them off the carousel.
I’m hit with a cold blast of winter air when we head outside for the taxi stand.
I didn’t pack my real winter jacket when I left the city in the height of summer, and my little lightweight coat is not cutting it.
“You’re in Midtown, right?” he asks as we queue up behind the short line of travelers waiting for a car.
I shiver. “Yeah. Where are you?”
“West Village,” he replies. “Here, take my gloves.”
He’s already stripping them off his hands but I shake my head to stop him. “I’m okay. I guess it doesn’t make sense for us to share a cab, right? Mine will take the Lincoln Tunnel but you’ll take the Holland.”
“Right.” The line is getting shorter; it’s almost our turn. “I guess this is it, then.”
“Until tonight,” I offer with a smile.
“Yeah. Tonight,” he replies with a weak smile of his own. It doesn’t reach his eyes.
“About that,” I start, but suddenly my heart is beating so fast I have to take a deep breath to calm myself. “I think we should keep it professional. Between us. At the dinner.”
Then it’s my turn to get into a cab. The driver hops out, puts my luggage in the back, and opens my door for me. For a long beat, Oliver and I stare at each other, the cacophony of the airport our soundtrack.
As his expression shutters, effectively cutting me off, my stomach drops.
“Just for tonight,” I explain quickly, my tone bordering on desperate. “I don’t want to give them the wrong impression.”
There was that moment back inside, when he smiled at me and I thought everything would be okay.
Our little whatever-this-is that started between us would survive the transition from quiet, coastal Maine to the hustle and bustle of the city.
But now, when I look at him, closed off and cool, I’m not sure.
“Just for tonight?” he asks, so low I almost don’t hear it.
“Yes. I promise.”
He doesn’t respond, but his head does dip the tiniest amount. It’s almost a nod.
This does nothing to help my anxiety, nor does the loud, abrupt honk from my driver. My heart jumps into my throat and I think, Fuck it. I grab the front of Oliver’s sleek black jacket and pull him toward me until our lips collide.
It’s no different to kiss him here. He still feels the same against me, still smells just as good even after a long morning of traveling. When we pull back from each other, a smile breaks him open, slowly but surely.
“I’ll see you later,” I say, then hop in my cab to go home.
TODAY 1:44 PM
Celia
1:44 PM
Made it back! We’re still on for tonight?
Rebecca
2:02 PM
Yes!!!! 6:45 at the Old Town Bar. Right down the street from Gramercy Tavern. We’ll walk over together
Celia
2:05 PM
Perfect. What’s the dress code tonight?
Rebecca
2:07 PM
Hmmm professional chic? The guys are pretty casual but you know how it is for women. Double standards and all that
Celia
2:08 PM
yep sure do
Rebecca
2:10 PM
can’t wait to catch up!!!
see you later :) :) :)