15. Finding Equilibrium 2 Too long
Breaks in Reid’s school schedule used to mean one thing—more time for basketball and sleep.
Not flights home. So when my phone buzzes during my lunch break and his name pops up with a video call, I already know something’s different.
He never FaceTimes in the middle of the day unless it’s important or he forgot what size diapers Liam wears again.
I wipe my fingers on a napkin and answer.
“Hey,” I say.
Reid smiles at me through the screen, hair a little messy, hoodie half-zipped like he threw it on in a rush.
“Hey, Mills,” he says.
“You’re calling me on your ‘I barely have time to breathe’ schedule,” I say. “Everything okay?”
“Better than okay,” he says. “I have good news.”
My chest tightens on reflex. Good news from long distance always feels suspicious, like it might be bad news disguised as a life lesson.
“What kind of good news?” I ask.
“The type that involves you,” he says. “And Liam. And me not being here for a few days.”
I stare at him.
“Reid,” I say.
“I have a short break,” he says. “Prof canceled Friday’s class, and we don’t have anything major due next week. I already booked a ticket. I’m coming home.”
I blink, because my brain tries to do the math before my heart can catch up.
“You… already booked it?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says. “I land Thursday afternoon. I go back Sunday night.”
The booth around me feels smaller. Thursday to Sunday. Three and a half days. It’s not a lot. It’s everything.
“Reid, that’s…” I trail off and look at the half-finished salad in front of me. “That’s such a short trip. You didn’t have to spend that kind of money just to be here for a weekend.”
“I know I didn’t have to,” he says. “I wanted to.”
“Plane tickets aren’t cheap,” I say. I rub my forehead. “You’re already working and studying and paying for stuff there. I don’t want you stressing yourself out over this.”
“I’m already stressed,” he says, and his smile goes wry. “But I’d rather be stressed and see you than stressed and staring at your contact name on my phone wishing I was there.”
My throat tightens.
“Reid…” I say.
“I miss you,” he says. “I miss Liam. I know it’s not a long trip, but I want to come home. I want to show up in real life, not just as a voice on your speaker at night.”
I look away for a second, because my eyes are getting shiny and I am not crying over chicken and croutons in the break room.
“I still have work,” I say. “And a work function Friday. And Mom’s family thing on Saturday. It’s not like I’m going to be sitting around with nothing to do.”
“Good,” he says. “Then I’ll go with you.”
I blink back to him.
“What?” I ask.
“I’ll go with you,” he repeats. “To whatever you’re comfortable with. Work event, family thing, grocery store. Whatever. I don’t care if I’m just driving you to daycare and back. I want to be where you are. Even when you’re busy.”
The words land low in my chest and settle there, steady and warm.
It’s not the kid-version of Reid who only wanted alone time and soft sheets.
This is the one who chased me. The one who used to sit in my mom’s living room for hours just to be close, even when my sisters were loud and nosy.
The one who made me feel like his whole world without saying it.
“You really want to tag along to boring adult things?” I ask.
“I want to tag along to your life,” he says. “That’s the part I’ve been missing.”
I let out a slow breath as something inside me loosens.
“Okay,” I say. “Just… don’t expect it to be glamorous.”
“I’ve seen you in a stained hoodie and a messy bun trying to rock Liam to sleep while reheating leftovers,” he says. “I know exactly what I’m signing up for.”
“Wow,” I say. “Romantic.”
He laughs, and the sound pulls a reluctant smile out of me.
“Are you mad?” he asks.
“No,” I say quickly. “I’m not mad. I’m just… surprised. And trying not to think about your bank account panicking.”
“We’ll figure money out,” he says. “Right now I care more about time. I don’t like feeling like I’m missing whole chapters of your life because I’m stuck on the wrong campus.”
“It’s the right campus,” I say. “You worked hard to get there.”
“I know,” he says. “I just don’t want school and us to feel like they’re on opposite teams.”
I pick at a crumb on the table.
“They don’t have to be,” I say.
“That’s what I’m trying to prove,” he says.
I inhale, slow and steady.
“Okay,” I say. “Come home, then.”
His shoulders relax.
“Yeah?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “Come home.”
He grins, and it’s the kind of grin that used to undo me in high school.
“Good,” he says. “I’ll text you my flight info. And, uh… there’s one more thing.”
“There’s more?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says. “Don’t make plans for Thursday night. Unless those plans involve me.”
“Reid,” I say.
“Trust me,” he says. “I’m trying to make things right. Let me have one night to prove it.”
The seriousness in his eyes cuts through whatever sarcasm I was about to throw at him. I nod instead.
“Okay,” I say. “One night.”
He smiles again.
“I’ll see you soon, Mills,” he says.
“Yeah,” I say. “Soon.”
When the call ends, I sit there with my phone on the table and my salad forgotten. My heart feels like it’s beating in two places at once—relief and fear. Hope and caution. He booked a ticket without asking. Not to run away. To come home.
The “old Reid” isn’t back. He’s different now, older and tired around the edges. But that spark—the one that says I am not letting go of this so easily—is still there.
And for the first time in a while, I let myself feel a little bit happy without apologizing for it. Airports used to make me think of vacations and Instagram posts. Now they make me think of time limits and countdowns.
Liam wiggles in my arms as we stand near the arrivals gate. He’s too big to sit in the stroller without protesting lately, so he’s half on my hip, half launching himself toward anything shiny.
“Calm down,” I say. “You’re going to blow my shoulder out before you’re three.”
“Dada?” he asks, craning his neck toward the sliding doors.
“Yeah,” I say. “We’re waiting for Dada.”
My stomach is doing something between gymnastics and nausea. It’s ridiculous. We’ve been together for years. We have a whole human. This isn’t a first date. It’s just… the first time in a while that it feels like he’s coming in on purpose instead of passing through.
The arrivals door slides open. People stream out—business travelers in suits, families with too many bags, a couple arguing about directions.
Then I see him. Reid walks out with his backpack slung over one shoulder and his duffel in hand.
He looks tired but lighter somehow, like the decision to be here has taken some of the weight off his face.
His eyes scan the crowd once, twice—then lock onto me.
He stops walking for a second. His whole face changes.
“Mama,” Liam says, like he’s narrating.
“That’s him,” I whisper.
Reid starts moving again, faster now. My throat tightens as he closes the distance. When he’s finally in front of us, he drops the duffel, and for a heartbeat we just stand there, looking at each other.
“Hey,” he says. His voice is rougher up close.
“Hey,” I say.
Liam makes the decision for us. He reaches out, grabbing at Reid’s hoodie with both hands.
“Dada!” he yells.
Reid’s expression cracks fully open. He laughs, then steps forward and wraps his arms around both of us. I shift Liam so Reid can take him, and suddenly we’re all tangled together, and for a second the noise of the airport fades out.
“I missed you,” Reid says into my hair.
“I missed you too,” I say.
Liam pats Reid’s cheek like he’s checking that he’s real.
“Dada,” he repeats.
“Yeah, buddy,” Reid says. “I’m here.”
We pull back eventually because people need to get around us and my eyes are starting to sting.
“You look tired,” Reid says.
“You look worse,” I say.
He laughs.
“Fair,” he says.
We shuffle to the side, and he takes the stroller handle with one hand while holding Liam on his hip with the other.
It’s a little chaotic and a lot domestic, and something in my chest steadies.
On the way to the car, he keeps stealing glances at me like he’s making sure I’m real. I catch him once and raise a brow.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says. “Just… you.”
“That’s helpful,” I say.
He grins.
“You look good, Mills,” he says.
“I’m in leggings and a sweatshirt,” I say.
“You still look good,” he says.
In the car, Liam fights his car seat for a minute, then gives up and sucks on his fingers while I merge into traffic. Reid reaches over and rests his hand on my knee, thumb brushing back and forth.
“I know it’s a short trip,” he says. “But I want all the minutes.”
“You’re not getting the minutes where I shower,” I say.
“That’s a lie and we both know it,” he says.
I snort, but there’s heat under the amusement. The distance didn’t kill attraction. It just buried it under stress. We stop at the grocery store on the way home because I never actually planned meals for a weekend that includes one extra human with the appetite of a linebacker.
“I can go in,” Reid says as I park. “You stay with him.”
“You don’t know what we need,” I say.
“That never stopped me before,” he says.
“Exactly,” I say.
He insists on coming in anyway. I put Liam in the cart seat, and Reid pushes while I grab what we need.
“This is thrilling,” he says as he steers us down the pasta aisle.
“This is my thrilling,” I say. “Welcome to adulthood.”
“I like it,” he says. “I like being here for this stuff. Not just the highlight reel.”
I look at him, and he’s focused on Liam, who is currently trying to gnaw on a box of macaroni. Reid gently pries it from his hands and gives him a plastic spoon instead.
“Hey, buddy,” he says. “Leave the boxed carbs alone.”