54
We decide that, actually, the best thing for everyone—for Oliver, really—would be for him and Sam to head back to Okatie, and Tennyson and I will stay here and learn as much as we can. Oliver’s agreed not to say anything to anyone, not Mom, not Maryanne, not Vi (though I suspect she already knows something), at least not until Tennyson and I get back and we all have more information to go off.
Oliver’s taking it all how I thought he would—which is poorly, to say the least.
If it’s not a snide comment, it’s a death stare, and if it’s not a death stare, it’s a blank, lost stare out the window, and I think that’s the worst of them all.
I don’t want Sam to go with my brother, even though I do. I have this strange anxiety hanging over me like an overgrown tree branch that’s casting unwanted shade in my otherwise sunny garden—what if Oliver says something to Sam that makes him change his mind about me? I don’t think Sam’s that kind of person, but Addict-Oliver is. Addict-Oliver is spiteful and vindictive, and I am the target. Justifiably so, I suppose.
There’s obviously nothing direct to Okatie because it’s Okatie, but there’s not even anything direct to Savannah, so they’re flying New Orleans to Atlanta, Atlanta to Savannah. We’re standing out front of the Delta drop-off at MYS, and Tennyson is in hyper-fix-it mode, prebooking an Uber Black for the boys from Savannah to drive them home when they land.
I’ve always had a fondness for airports. I like that they sort of represent something exciting. But today, as I stare up at Sam, his arms draped around my waist, I get this weird, horrible feeling: Sam and I are going to have to do this again in a few days when I go back to the UK and he goes back to LA. It feels bad saying goodbye to him right now, and I’m going to see him again in like twenty-four hours. How’s it going to feel saying goodbye to him and not knowing when we’ll meet again?
It’s on my face, I suppose, because Sam catches it. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head, force a smile as I glance at my brothers—I don’t want to be overheard.
“Nothing,” I lie. He gives me a look with a raised eyebrow—calls out my lie without saying a word.
I sigh. “Sam, what are we doing—like, how is this ever going to work?”
“We work. This is us actively working…”
“Okay, so we’re going to do long distance then, or—?”
“Fuck no,” he says with some conviction. “Fuck long distance.”
I breathe out, mildly exasperated. “What then?”
“Well, I’m going to come to London. Obviously.”
I pull back, surprised. “Why?”
“Well”—Sam squashes a smile—“Uh, primarily because you’re there. But also, it’s a great city. Good restaurants. A lot of history. I like those cobbled streets—”
“Sam.”
“What?” He smiles.
I roll my eyes. “Be serious.”
“I’m so serious.” He nods once.
I flick him a disbelieving look. “You’re just going to move to London?”
“Do you not want me to?” he says, and it sounds almost comically Australian, I don’t know why.
I toss him a disparaging look. “Of course I want you to, it’s just—”
Sam pokes me and gives me a knowing look. “Priority.”
“You’ve known me nineteen days,” I remind him.
“Yeah, so?” he shrugs.
“That’s a lot of change for less than three weeks.”
“Yeah…” He nods, then he shrugs again. “Still. I’m in, Carter. I’m not changing my mind. Are you changing your mind?”
I shake my head.
“Right, so—” Sam pulls out his phone and opens the Notes app. “What flight are you on? I should probably try to book the same one back…”
I hook my arm around his neck and kiss him a lot, because I love him and he’s perfect, and then Oliver walks toward us, his face like a stone.
Instinctively, I pull away from Sam, flashing my brother an apologetic smile. “Sorry,” I say, and it’s met with an eye roll as he shoves his sunglasses on his beautiful, grumpy little face.
“See you in a couple of days?” Sam says, trying to make it less awkward.
I force a smile, but actually, I just feel like crying. I don’t want to be without him. I don’t want to figure this out without him. But Oliver needs him, and I don’t think I can figure this out with Oliver here and hating me, so—here we are.
“Look after him,” I tell Sam.
Oliver makes a nose at the back of his throat before he spins around and walks into the airport.
Sam nods at me before he catches Tennyson’s eye. “Look after her.”
Tennyson nods back once. “Will do.”
Sam brushes his mouth over mine. “I love you,” he says quietly so Oliver can’t hear.
“I love you too,” I whisper back.
Then Sam walks away.
I count to five in my mind, but I don’t even make it to four before Tennyson says, “Y’all love each other?”
I scoff a laugh and walk back toward the passenger seat. He climbs into the driver’s side, waiting for me to give him an answer. I ask, “So what if we do?”
Tennyson shrugs innocently. “So nothing, then!”
I look out the window, huffing a bit, and he peels out, driving back toward the hotel.
“I’m happy for you, Gige.”
I look over at him, search all over his face for a reason that would allow me to say “No you’re not” with any validity, but I can’t find one. He is happy for me, that’s the truth.
I’m still mad at him though, so I just say nothing.
“Are we fighting?” Tennyson asks, glancing over at me.
“No,” I tell the window.
“I don’t have a PhD in whatever, and even I know that was a lie.”
I give him a look.
He chuckles, then stares at the road for a bit, goes quiet. Then he breathes out a breath I didn’t realize he was even holding. “I don’t think any of that shit about you, Gige. What you said the other day? None of it’s true. You’re not the fuck-up—”
I roll my eyes exaggeratively. “Really, golden boy? Self-identifying as a fuck-up?”
“Yes,” he says loudly and firmly. “I was a fucking shit brother to you, and to Oliver, and look at what happened.” He stares at me with guilty eyes. “We are a family of fuck-ups, Georgia—no doubt about it. You’re not one of those fuck-ups though. You’re the only one who isn’t.”
I stare at my brother for four long seconds, and I don’t know what to say. “Thank you?” with an upward inflection is what I go with, because what the hell else was I going to say?
He sort of snorts a laugh again, then looks at me. “You’re welcome?”
Our eyes catch, and there’s that strange new warmth again that’s so unfamiliar and so welcome, all at once. It’s to not feel alone in the world, I think—the world can feel so lonely sometimes. Most of the time, I suppose.
“You think Oliver’s going to keep quiet about it all?” Tennyson asks, grimacing like he’s scared of the answer.
“Yeah.” I nod. “As long as he keeps a handle on his drinking.”
Tens gives me an uncertain look. “That doesn’t bode too well, all things considered.”
“He wouldn’t do that,” I say, fairly sure. “Even if just out of self-preservation.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, whoever tells Margaret Carter that her husband was a closeted homosexual is staring down the barrel end of a wrath that even someone suicidal would avoid.”
Then Tennyson’s phone dings. He glances at it briefly before his eyes bug out and he tosses it to me. His hands grip the steering wheel. He’s nervous.
“What?” I ask, before I look down at his phone.
There’s a text from an unsaved number in his phone.
Unknown:
Hi Tennyson,
This is Alexis. I got your number from Maya. I know you must have a lot of questions. I’m sorry. Please reach out if you want to talk.
Warmly,
Alexis
“Well.” I stare at my brother as I drop the phone in his lap. “Reach out!”
He flings the phone back. “You reach out!” he says in a way that I can literally only describe as “like a brother would sound.”
“You’re the big man of the house now.” I throw the phone at him.
“I’m driving! And you”—he plops the phone in my lap—“are the Oxford genius.”
I give him a look. “Cambridge.”
“Yeah.” He shrugs as he gives me a big, apologetic smile. “I can’t even get your school right. Definitely should be you who writes back.”
***
Sam:
hey
Georgia:
hi
how are you? Did you get home okay?
Sam:
yeah we’re back, everything’s fine.
Georgia:
is Oliver okay?
Sam:
I don’t know.
are you okay?
Georgia:
I don’t know too.
Sam:
Sorry I’m not there.
Georgia:
I’m glad you’re with him.