“Maybe I should trade with a person in the back,” I sighed, sinking into the cushions and eyeing the man staring out the window beside me.
“Who’s next to you?” Thay asked.
"Six foot. Fishing beanie. Eight out of ten,” I teased, attempting to blot out the panic surging through my core.
“Eight?” My travel friend’s pearly whites cut into the conversation. “Come on, I’m at least a nine.”
“Never mind. Let’s go with six.”
Thay laughed again, but white teeth didn’t. Good.
“What I was trying to say, or rather ask, is if you have a library card.”
“And why the fuck would I have one of those?”
“Because you need it to get into the stacks, and Wolfe’s off the table, so I guess it’s up to you to put me on one.”
My travel buddy choked, splattering sparkling water across the cabin wall.
“Fuck you,” Thay growled, and I could feel him stroke his mouth, the way he always did whenever he wanted something he couldn’t have.
“You’ll have to hang up.” A warm smile gestured in front of me as the safety demonstration began. No one cared if their seat was a flotation device or how opting for legroom meant playing superhero, because neither would save you from falling from the sky.
My heart skipped, sending every bit of my life into my throat in waves.
“I sent you the song. Wait until the plane takes off, then take the two tiny pills I put in your pocket and fall asleep, Daph. You did it.”
“Wedid it,” my voice cracked. “And what do you mean by pills? What are they?”
“They are presents from Nathem,” he laughed.
“Well, in that case, I am taking half,” I groaned, recalling the last time Nathem gave me one of his little presents. I took one and poof, suddenly it was Tuesday.
“Fair enough! Talk to you when you’re in Maine.” There was a pause. “Love you,” he said first.
“Like a handcage to the face?” I teased, masking the horrified realization that I was about to move away from him on purpose.
“No, like I’m getting a fucking library card!”
“Sure, you are,” I called his bluff. “I love you, too.”
And then the phone went silent, leaving me without him.
“Come on,” Thayor nudged, holding onto the back of the bicycle seat. “When I let go, pedal fast. And do not be a wuss about it.”
“I am not a wuss,” I scowled, knotting my eleven-year-old fist to punch him in the arm.
“No, you are not. So don’t be one.” His eyes shaped the world around him. “You have to go fast enough to keep your balance.”
I nodded, staring at the abandoned alley before me. It was long and narrow, reminding me of forgotten places.
“Just do not let go until I’m ready, okay?” I said, glancing back over my shoulder.
For two kids who had never experienced Christmas, we were over the moon when we found a discarded bike by a dumpster and spent the entire afternoon trying to ride it.
“Have I ever?” he leaned forward to brush a kiss on my cheek. Even at twelve, he knew how to make me listen.
“No,” I placed my hands on the bars and nodded. “Never.”