Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
CAMERON
Wednesday
San Francisco International Airport
San Francisco, California
The sliding glass doors part with a soft hiss, and the cool pre-dawn air of San Francisco curls around me.
I drag my bags behind me, leaving the still half-asleep terminal.
It’s just after five in the morning, and the sky beyond the terminal windows is a faint wash of pale gray and violet.
It promised sunrise but it wasn’t quite there.
The terminal is mostly empty, just a few red-eyed travelers slumped against their luggage, a janitor pushes a mop bucket, and the distant crackle of an intercom announces a soon to depart flight to Chicago.
Our crew trickles out one by one, our uniforms wrinkled from crossing too many time zones. Riley stretches with a groan. “Crossing the dateline did it officially. My body’s given up. I don’t even know what day it is.”
“I know.” I offer her a sleepy smile. “I don’t think I could do this type of trip again. If you want, you could come with me to Mom’s. She’d love to see you.”
Riley shakes her head, but her smile stays warm. “As tempting as your mom’s home cooking sounds, all I want is a dark hotel room and at least twelve hours of sleep. Tell her I send my love though, yeah?”
“Yeah. I’ll tell her.” I nod a little wistfully, but I get it.
Behind us, Marc trails silently. He still hasn’t spoken to either of us since that night in the Business Class lounge, almost six days ago, only what was absolutely necessary for the job.
“Bye, Marc,” I call out, keeping my tone cordial. “It was nice to fly with you.”
He barely glances at me, already aiming toward the waiting shuttle with the rest of the crew. “Mhm, see ya’ around.”
Riley gives me a look and rolls her sleep-heavy eyes. “Oh well, he’ll get over it.”
I linger a moment, watching them disappear into curbside shuttle, then I draw a deep breath and let the quiet of the nearly empty airport settle over me.
Mom would be here any minute, and she never minded if I took a minute to breathe.
The late afternoon sun shines across my childhood backyard, gilding the edges of the garden my mom has tended for years.
Lavender and rosemary spill from clay pots, and a row of tomato plants leans toward the light.
I stand beside her with the hose in hand, watching the spray catch the sunlight in a fine mist. I’m still so heavy with sleep, my body dragging after days of chasing time zones.
But the smell of earth and herbs levels me more than any airport or hotel room ever could.
Mom clips a dead bloom from a rosebush, glancing sideways at me. “You’re pretty quiet, sweetheart,” she observes.
I shift, tightening my grip on the hose. “It’s just… you know. This time of year is getting to me. The anniversary of the plane crash and losing Drew. And I’m so tired from this trip, but I'm moving through it.”
“Drew loved that about you, how you keep going.” She sets her clippers down and wipes her hands on her worn shorts. “You always see the world like it is something worth discovering. He’d want you to keep doing that.”
I nod pensively, my throat thick. “I keep thinking about that night in Bangkok. It felt like Drew was telling me it was okay to keep going. To let myself feel again. And then there was that night in London…”
Mom cocks her head, waiting. “Oh? What happened in London?”
“Well, there’s someone.” The words slip out with a small smile. “I met someone. His name is Gregg, and it’s very new, and it scares me, because part of me still feels guilty. But when I’m with him, I feel… lighter. Like maybe I don’t have to carry all of this alone.”
She reaches out and touches my arm, her voice steady. “That’s not betrayal, sweetheart, that’s healing. Drew’s love will always be a part of you. But it doesn’t mean you can’t make room for someone else too.”
“Trust you to turn watering plants into a therapy session.” I laugh, shaking my head. “You know, that’s almost word for word what Riley said to me. She’s been telling me the whole trip that I need to stop feeling guilty and embrace living again.”
Mom smiles softly. “That’s what mothers are for, honey. And Riley is a smart woman.”
“Yeah,” I agree, letting my eyes drift over the lavender blossoms swaying in the breeze.
“She’s been pushing me a little, but I think she’s right.
And you’re right. Gregg and I… we’ve been texting a lot.
More than I expected. And…” I hesitate, lowering my voice like I’m sharing something fragile.
“He’s actually here. In San Francisco, for work. ”
“Oh?” Her curiosity piques. “What kind of work does he do?”
“He’s a real estate developer,” I tell her, coiling the hose back on its stand. “Big properties in London, Paris… even here in San Francisco. Honestly, it feels like he’s got the whole world on his shoulders and at his fingertips, but he still makes an effort to text me across time zones.”
She studies me for a long moment, her expression softening. “Sounds like a man who knows what he wants. And maybe who he wants, too.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” I feel heat slip up my neck, cheeks warm in an embarrassing-but-kind-of-hopeful way. I crouch down and pinch a dead leaf off one of her basil plants just to give my hands something to do.
“So tell me,” she says gently. “What is it about him? What draws you in?”
“He’s… I don’t know.” The words came out slow, and with a smile that I don’t realize I give.
“He’s confident, but not in a way that overshadows.
He listens, like really listens. Like every word I say is worth holding onto.
And when I look at him, I see this balance between strength and vulnerability.
Like he’s carrying all these expectations, but he hasn’t let them harden him. ”
Mom tilts her head and smiles, letting me ramble.
“He plays piano,” I continue, “against his dad’s wishes, even. It’s his way of holding onto something that keeps him feeling like himself. That hit me, because it reminded me how important it is to keep pieces of yourself alive, no matter who’s trying to shape you into something else.”
I draw in a slow breath and rub the back of my neck. “When I’m around him, it doesn’t feel like I’m forcing myself to move forward. It just happens. Naturally. Like it’s okay to want something beyond the grief.”
“Then maybe that’s your answer,” Mom says quietly. “It’s not about forgetting. It’s about finding someone who helps you remember yourself.”
My chest feels strangely light. “Yeah,” I whisper. “Maybe that’s it.”
The garden settles around us in the late afternoon sun, the hum of bees fill the soft silence.
“So,” Mom says finally. “Why are you here and not in the city?”
“What?” I blink. “I’m here to visit you!”
“Oh, please! Go get changed and pack up. Put on something decent, I’ll drive you up to the city.”
“But—”
She gives me a soft smile of hers, one that both comforts and scolds. “I’ll always be here, Cam. You don’t need to worry about me. But like raising a garden, you need to cultivate relationships if you want them to grow.”
I look down at my hands, suddenly feeling like a kid again, caught between staying safe and being pushed out into the world. “You really think I should just… go?”
“I do!” She reaches out and squeezes my arm. “You’ve watered my plants, taken your nap, and listened to my gossip. Now go water your own life!”
I let out a nervous laugh, rubbing my neck again. “You make it sound so simple.”
Mom smiles wide. “Sometimes it is, sweetheart.”