Ask the Passengers

“Hold on. You’re not an androgynous bookworm?” she asks, and pulls out her phone. “Shit. I need to update my files.”

The drive to the Superfine parking lot is fun. We blast a few songs they play at Atlantis, and we sing along out of tune. I watch the scenery go by—the occasional farmhouse and the cornfields. Then the Legion diner, where I remember Jeff pressing me into his car too forcefully.

When Donna and Chad exit the car, Justin says, “I’m so happy for you, Astrid. I wish I would have known before so I could have helped you.”

“Me too,” Kristina says. Not completely convincingly. Almost like she might be a little mad or something.

“I guess I had to find my own time. I dunno. I’m still not really sure, you know?”

“That’ll change,” Kristina says. Which is warmer than the last thing she said.

I don’t say anything else the whole way up Main Street, and when Justin stops in front of my house to let me out, I say good-bye and close the car door quietly. I walk in the front door, lock up, turn off the lights and then walk out the back door and lie on my table. I don’t have any thoughts, because I’m not sure what thoughts to have. I know I just changed things, but I’m not sure if the change is for better or worse. So, I just send my love up. Away from here because love shouldn’t hang around confusion like this. It deserves a full commitment.

Then I wish it were as easy to send myself away from here as it is to send my love. I think I deserve a full commitment, too. From my family. From my friends. From my girlfriend. From myself. And for some reason, I think starting over somewhere else would be the best way to do it.

So I send my love, and I ask the passengers: Where are you going? Can I come with you? Maybe where you’re going, I could finally feel at home.

PASSENGER #338790

BILL DERRINGER, SEAT 12F

FLIGHT #795

LOS ANGELES TO PHILADELPHIA

BUSINESS CLASS UPGRADE

Going home again isn’t something I thought I’d ever do. Not for their weddings or their babies or their graduations. Not even for their funerals. The idea was: Get out and never go back.

But the idea changed when I heard Nuna got cancer.

Cancer. My little sister. I hadn’t even met her husband yet, and they’re married seventeen years. Three kids. A little house by the river, right down the road from where we grew up. Right down the road from all those ass**les who gossiped me out of town.

I Googled them. Most of them still live there. Until cancer, I cared about this.

Until cancer, you care about a lot of bullshit that doesn’t really matter.

When I left, I called them cancer. I said their gossip was like cancer. I realized too late that gossip can’t kill you unless you let it. But cancer? Cancer doesn’t give a shit how much you want to live. If it wants to kill you, it will.

Cancer killed my father. I didn’t come back for his funeral because I’d made my mind up to never go home again… and because he never understood my need to move away, and took it as a personal affront. Then I missed my mother’s funeral because I was on business in Japan, and I didn’t think she would want me there after the letter she sent after Dad’s funeral. She said I’d broken her heart. She said my alienating the family would one day seem foolish to me, as it did to her. She said: One day it will hit you.

Last week. Last week it hit me. Cancer. Nuna. My final good-bye.

Now she’s gone. And I’ve packed my black suit, and Anne will meet me for the funeral in two days so I have someone to hold my hand.

I stare from seat 12F into the dark sky, and I see the moon. It’s not quite full, but it’s big. And then Nuna appears outside my window. She’s healthy. She has her hair. She has that smile. We stare at each other for a long time. She sends me this feeling—like she’s telling me she loves me. Like she’s telling me it’s okay that I left. Then she takes off and flies around the moon, and I get that feeling like I’ve just gone over one of those hills in a car, at just the right speed.

I laugh at her and feel like I did when we were kids and she’d show off doing handsprings in the backyard. I keep my eye on her and she keeps flying around the moon and I keep laughing.

This is how I want to remember her. Nuna flying around the moon, smiling.

18

THE BIG BANG.

I CAN’T KEEP THIS SECRET from Dee, too. That’s the thing that hits me as I drive to work.

So when Dee asks me a few times, “Why are you so tired on Sundays?” I tell her that I’ll tell her later, which isn’t lying, so that’s good.

When we walk into the parking lot after work, I say, “What are you doing for the next hour?”

She shrugs and shakes her head.

I tell her to drive to Freedom Lake and that I’ll meet her there in ten minutes.

I call Kristina on my way to the lake to make sure this will be okay with her. “First, I’m sorry again about not telling you sooner. Second, I want to tell Dee everything so she can come with us next weekend. Is that okay with you guys?”

She pauses. I know she’s having the same conversation with herself that I’ve had with myself about how even one person might tell, and that would be just enough to ruin everything.

“It’s fine,” she says finally, but I hear something in her voice that sounds like it might not actually be fine.

“And asking her to come with us to Atlantis next Saturday. That’s cool, right?”

“Oh, shit. Yeah. Next Saturday. Look—before we go out, I promised Jeff another date.”

“Ughhhh. I told you I wouldn’t do this anymore.”

“I know. But Justin and I will be there, and Jeff will cover for you again, and that’s good, right?”

“You promised.”

“I know, but the kid is lovesick, dude. Just once more? It’s the perfect cover. And Claire is buying it and everything.”

“Ughhhh. Okay. Good-bye!”

“Make Dee come with us next week!” she says before I hang up.

It’s official.

I am about to make two worlds collide.

Dee is on the phone when I park and walk up to her driver’s side window with the picnic blanket draped over my arm. She gives me the wait finger, and I lean up against the back of the car until she’s done. She looks angry when she hangs up.

“Whoa. Who was that?” I ask.

“Jessie,” she says. Ellis’s teammate and running partner, and Dee’s old friend from hockey camp.

“What’d she say that made you look like that?”