Chapter 43
Sitting cross-legged on the cold floor of a terminal I’ll probably never want to see again, with a dead-end future buzzing in my ears, I’m genuinely considering letting a man I just met take me across the country.
With my backpack digging into my spine and my blue hoodie bunched at my waist, I’m sure I’m giving off lost-freshman-on-their-first-day-of-college kind of vibes, or some broken version of myself I thought I’d outgrown.
Yet, none of that matters more than this interview tomorrow…It’s not just another job opportunity.
It’s the opportunity.
The one my mother dreamed about for me before I even knew how to dream for myself.
“You’re going to do something big,” she used to say, handing me a mug of tea while flipping through old issues of Verve Magazine. “Bigger than this town, bigger than your fear. You just have to keep going, and one day, your name will be on these beautiful pages.”
We used to sit at the kitchen table for hours—me circling spreads I loved, her making me guess which photographer shot them. She always knew. She said photos had fingerprints. You just had to train your eyes to see them.
“I’ll never make it,” I told her once at seventeen, freshly rejected from a school exhibit I thought I’d win. “I’m not good enough.”
“You are,” she’d said, without hesitation. “And even if you don’t believe it yet, I’ll believe it until you do.”
That was her gift—seeing people not just as they were, but as they could be. Now she’s gone, and I’m here, sitting on the god damn floor of an airport trying to figure out if trusting a stranger with good hair and beautiful eyes is going to destroy me or save me.
ME
I need you both to promise not to yell.
MAY
absolutely not
JUNE
oh no
what happened
what did you do
ME
I didn’t DO anything
yet
just… hypothetically
if someone, say…me, were to accept a ride to LA from a stranger
who seems stable
and is very much not a creep
would that be the worst idea?
MAY
April
are you about to get into a car with a MAN
JUNE
are you alive?
blink twice if you’re being kidnapped
ME
he overheard me at the counter
said he has a rental and is driving to LA anyway
offered me a ride
he was super chill about it
not pushy
like he didn’t care if I said yes or no
MAY
oh good
a chill man
how comforting
JUNE
okay but be honest
is he hot
ME
stupid hot
like “probably has a tragic backstory and expensive conditioner” hot
JUNE
oh no
MAY
oh HELL no
ME
I asked all the questions
he passed the serial killer quiz
even threw in a feminist line unprompted
said he doesn’t listen to joe rogan
I mean. come on.
MAY
UGH
we’re losing her
JUNE
we already lost her
ME
I haven’t said yes yet
I told him I needed five minutes
he’s waiting at the coffee shop
I just… I don’t know, okay?
Gripping my phone tighter, I lower my forehead to my knees. The screen casts a soft glow across the fabric of my leggings, steady and persistent—unlike my thoughts.
I can’t afford to miss this interview. Not just because it’s a dream—but because if I don’t at least try, then what was the point of all the pain? What was the point of sacrificing everything?
I want to make my mom proud. I want to build the life she saw for me before I ever could, and I want to believe—for the first time in along time—that I’m allowed to chase that life again.
JUNE
okay
but if you go
you share your location
every hour
voice memo check-ins
full name
license plate
blood type
vibes report
MAY
and if he turns out to be a serial killer
you better take a hot pic of him first
for the true crime documentaries
you know how important casting is
I laugh to myself, and something in my chest softens.
ME
okay
I’m doing it
wish me luck
I’ll update soon
Also, I think Henry Cavill would be the right choice.
I stand. Smooth out my hoodie, grab my bag, and head toward Layover Latte. Toward a man who might just change everything.