“Done.”
“I just wish I could go back and not let him go to Africa the first time. Whatever happened to him over there just changed his life and mine. Things would be so different if he hadn’t gone, you know?”
This deep desire has rolled around in my head too many times to count, but those times are when I’m alone and often late at night, when the only thing around to judge your thoughts is the darkness. But I’ve never actually said this out loud, in the open, and something about releasing it into the world is cathartic.
Presley rests her head on my shoulder. “I think you’ll always miss what could’ve been. That’s pretty normal for a first love. I mean, I haven’t been with Shane for two years and I still miss him.”
“But would you jump back at the chance if he came back now? If he showed up at the door today, would you just run off into the sunset with him?”
“I don’t know. Honestly, probably not. I think I’ve changed from the person I used to be. I was so needy then, you know? And that’s probably why he took off. But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss him or think about what our life would’ve been like if we hadn’t split up.”
“I don’t want Grant back. He cheated on me and I really think he had something to do with Brady. But he was the love of my life. I had our entire future planned out. We talked about it—the things we would do together. The places we’d go, the house we would build somewhere. I need to bleach my mind of those things.”
“No, you need to replace them with new ideas and visions. And I’m not saying you’re going to do that this week with Fenton, but I’d try bleach in the form of him.”
My mind wanders to Fenton and his hands on me, his mouth on me elsewhere. I’m pretty sure those images could dampen, if not black out, a lot of old memories.
When I look at Presley again, she bursts out in laughter.
“That smile says it all,” she quips, putting her arm around my shoulder. “I have a feeling you’re going to be smiling a lot in the coming days, my little Brynnie.”
A niggle of excitement flutters through me, replacing the melancholy from before. “I hope so, Pres. I hope so.”
“I’m gonna be sick.”
“It’s just your new birth control shot,” Presley contends. “Those things always make me nauseous. Just relax.”
“No, I’m really going to be sick and it’s all nerves.” I grip the handles to my luggage and try to quell my anxiety as the airplane comes into view.
“You are not. Breathe,” Presley says, taking a deep inhale of her own and blowing it out. “Just like that. Follow my lead.”
“I don’t need Lamaze, you idiot,” I laugh.
“No, but you laughed, so it worked.” She slows to a stop. “I can’t go any farther. Go have fun, enjoy yourself, and call me at least five times a day.”
I giggle, setting my bags on the ground and pulling her into a hug. “I put all the hotel information on the bulletin board in the kitchen. If anything changes, I’ll text you.”
“I love ya.” She pulls away and takes a step back. “And you look like a boss.”
My skin is kissed with a fresh spray tan, my golden legs set off by a pair of white shorts. My top is a dark golden color, the fabric thin and cool despite the three-quarter sleeves. The heels on my feet match the color of my top. It’s an outfit Edie and Presley put together for me, and although I thought it was an odd match at first, I’m totally in love with it now.
Brushing a strand of my stick-straight strands out of my face, I can’t help but grin. “I do, don’t I?”
“You so do. Now go show the man what you got.”
“I love ya, Pres.”
“I know.” She blows me a kiss and walks through the double doors towards her car.
I roll my suitcase and pull my glasses over my eyes. The sun is bright as I make my way to the small jet in front of me. A man in a suit and tie is waiting for me at the ramp.
“Can I take your bags, Ms. Calloway?”
“Sure.” I take a satchel off my shoulder and set it beside my suitcase. “I’ll take this smaller one on with me, if that’s okay?”
“Absolutely. Go on inside,” he says. “Mr. Abbott is waiting for you. We’ll be taking off shortly.”
Nodding, I head up the stairs. My legs feel like jelly as I get closer to the entrance, the dark opening awaiting me with all of the answers to my anxieties. I pause midway up and look behind me and nearly march right back down. I know what’s behind me: safety, security, predictability. Everything ahead of me is the exact opposite, and the thought terrifies me.
“Miss?”
I spin around to see a woman with ruby red lips hovering in the door way. Taking a gulp of smoggy air, nearly choking to death, I make it up the remaining steps and into the chilly cabin.
“Ms. Calloway, welcome aboard,” she says.