Like, why?
And I know why. I know how guys are. I know sex.
I know what it feels like being pressured into something that you don’t want to do. I mean, it’s never happened to me with sex, but yeah…I know pressure.
idk maybe I’d do it. Thinking about it makes me nervous…
Shit.
Been arrested: in a nightmare
I actually laugh, my lips rising.
I glance at the storage room door to see if anyone heard, but it’s just me here. No heavy footsteps or knocking yet.
Turned someone down: for what? Like dating?
Yeah, I didn’t fucking get that question either.
Fallen for a friend: no. I don’t like the guys at my school like that (you wouldn’t either if you were me)
What the hell does that mean? I shift my weight on the ground, uncomfortable all of a sudden. And it takes me a moment to realize that I’m uncomfortable for her. Were they pricks? Were they aggressive? I’m just picturing assholes running around her school like uncaged gorillas.
More questions…
Do you have any pets: my dad hates pets, but when he moved out a year ago, my mom let Ellie get a hamster. It smells really bad
Hamsters are gross.
What did you do for your last birthday party: ate out at the Noodle House with just my mom, sister and Maggie. I don’t like big parties, especially not ones about me
This one rips at me a little bit. Last time I had a small party—with only three people attending—was, well, never. I’d usually invite most everyone in my grade. Even when I was three and four and five, it’d be huge. I didn’t want to be alone on that day—though I’d always sneak out early midway through.
Name something you cannot wait for: A REBOOT OF NEW X-MEN (PLEASE HAPPEN!!! I’LL TAKE ANYTHING!!!) Also, for Maggie to meet Scarlet Witch (aka Elizabeth Olsen) one day.
Again, she really likes comics.
What irritates you: being forced to speak up in large crowds
Yeah, that’s not fun.
Nickname(s): none (I’m not that cool)
I shake my head. She doesn’t even know how cool she really is.
Relationship status: single
I’m smiling, a full-blown smile that I haven’t felt in years, honestly. I shake my head at myself. You’re in way too fucking deep, Abbey.
I know.
Favorite TV show: tie between Gravity Falls & X-Men: Evolution. I love them
Never heard of either of them. I actually pop up the notepad on my phone and write down Wallflower, Gravity Falls, X-Men: Evolution so this all makes more sense.
High School: ready for it to expire
College: wish I could go. I’m working on it
Hair Color + Length: light brown, straight, and about to my chest?
Height: 5’5’’
Your crush: TOM HIDDLESTON!!! (aka Loki)
Loki? Really, with the long black hair? I touch my forehead. My hair is a medium-whatever. I mess my hand through the strands as I continue reading.
Tattoos: my dad says no
Strict Dad? Why’d he let her move here then? She’s not even out of high school.
Right or left-handed: Right
Any surgeries: nothing that serious
Any piercings: double lobe piercings on both ears, just four little studs, two bats and two stars
Yeah, I saw those.
Favorite sport: sports? *runs and hides*
Sometimes I feel like that too. At least with lacrosse.
First vacation: never left Maine before, but when I was really little, we used to go to the coast, about 4+ hours from Caribou, and we went sailing one time. I can’t really remember it, but my mom has pictures. Everyone seems happy
What…
My knees fall, and my foot knocks over a cardboard cutout of Hawkeye. I pause for a second, but nothing else stirs, no one coming in here. I glance back at Tumblr.
She had never left Maine before.
Without having ever really traveled, she moved here. Away from her parents and sister.
These thoughts just crash into me, trying to process. Trying to understand. Because I see myself trying to do the same fucking thing, and I’m not sure I’d have the courage to step one foot out the door.
I stare at the wall, for about three minutes total. Just staring and imagining that giant leap into the unknown.
I don’t know how…I can only feel fear.
Currently…
What are you eating: vanilla birthday cake that I made for my sister. I snuck downstairs for a slice & brought it back up
What the fuck. Why is she sneaking downstairs in her own house? Did they lock her up there? You know what, I don’t like her family. It’s a declaration I make in my head with limited facts from a Tumblr questionnaire. I get that. But I don’t give two shits. I’m sticking by it.
What are you drinking: a flat can of Fizz Life
What are you waiting for: this birthday party to end
Seriously. What happened?
Do you want kids: idk I don’t think about that
Marriage: I don’t mind either way
Career: too soon to tell
What do you like…
Hugs or kisses: hugs for now
Has a guy ever even hugged her? It’s my only thought. One that I’m sure will be plaguing me all night.
Shorter or taller: taller than me. Even if it’s only a little taller. That works too.
Older or younger: older but not too old—I couldn’t do what Daisy Calloway does with her boyfriend, who’s like seven or eight years older (I can’t remember).
And that concludes the questionnaire. She meant it when she said it was personal. I pull my knees up and rest my elbows on them, staring off at the ground.
Shit.
I thought the point of reading that was to get answers, but now I have a thousand more questions. My heart pounds harder, my pulse fast. My body has responded like I chugged a Lightning Bolt!
The door to the break room opens, and I immediately freeze, only now realizing that my legs have been jostling.
“Garrison? Are you in here?”
Lily Calloway.
Great. I’m about to get fired. I rub my temple and run my hands up to my hair, aggressively pulling at it for a second before taking a breath. And then, I slowly stand.
“Yeah?”
She keeps the door propped open, not edging further towards me. “The Avengers vs. X-Men issues need restocking, and they need more hands behind the counter.”
She’s not firing me?
I stare at her blankly for a second before nodding. “Yeah, fine.”
She squints a little. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” I motion towards the door. “You going?”
She opens her mouth like she might say something, but then someone calls her from the break room. She turns back to me quickly. “Forget about the comics. Just go help up front.” Her words drift as she rushes out to take care of something else.
I let out a breath of relief.
I still have this job.
And that has to count for something.
21 PRESENT DAY – December
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
WILLOW HALE
Age 20
As soon as my plane lands on the tarmac, a text from Garrison pings my phone. Nervous, giddy butterflies invade my belly. Countdown to seeing my boyfriend: minutes away. It somehow doesn’t even feel real.
I click into my cell, the plane rumbling to a halt and the other passengers grabbing suitcases from overhead.
Garrison: Waiting at baggage for you.
He’s waiting for me. I take a deep breath, excitement trouncing nerves.
And then my phone rings.
But it’s not Garrison.
“Hey?” I answer quietly, crammed in a window seat and hugging my backpack on my lap.
“Did you land yet?” Ryke asks.
In the background, I hear L
o retort, “She already did. I’m telling you the flight tracker says so.”
Ryke growls back to him, “Let me ask our fucking sister, Lo.”
Our sister.
It still rings through me like a soft padded hammer to a bell, even after two years of knowing Ryke is also my brother.
I can feel a smile on my lips. Palm sweaty, I adjust my grip on my phone and stare out at the tarmac. “Yep, I’ve landed.”
I’m back.
“We’re waiting in the car,” Ryke tells me.
Lo chimes in, “Paparazzi won’t hound you that way. Garrison should be at baggage.”
“Yeah, he texted already.”
“Great,” Lo says. “Can’t wait to see you.” He mumbles something to Ryke about a honking asshole nearby, and after a few see you soons, we hang up.
I’m thankful there’ll be less chaos when I reach baggage claim. Lo and Ryke would definitely bring a stampede of adoring fans.
They wanted me to fly on the family private jet, but I chose commercial, wedged in the back near the growling engines.
I still have a difficult time accepting the perks of being a Hale. Garrison says it’s because I only learned that Jonathan Hale is my birth father two years ago—when I was eighteen.
It means that Lo is my full sibling. Same mom and same dad. And Ryke is my half-brother.
But my relationship with Jonathan Hale is new. Fresh. And it comes with a load of baggage.
Ryke hates Jonathan.
Lo loves Jonathan.
I’m caught in the middle. Not knowing how I should feel about a man who was rumored to have molested Loren. A rumor that was false and caused Lo to relapse years ago. What I do know: Jonathan isn’t all good, even if that rumor was wrong.
But Jonathan is kind to me. He makes an effort to get to know me and my interests. We talk on the phone sometimes about comics, and he asks how my school is going. Rob Moore, the man I grew up thinking was my birth father, never even pretended to care about me. And he was right all along—I was never his daughter.
Not really.
So maybe he had a right to hate my existence.
It’d be so easy just to put all my hate into Rob, while putting all my love and trust into Jonathan. But Ryke says our dad is manipulative.
He says to not trust him.
To not fully love him.
I don’t know what to think.
I’m paying for my first semester of college on my own, but I’m also taking some of Jonathan’s money for the rest of the tuition. That’s all I want to take.
So I don’t fly private. I budget. I’m not going to pretend that I’m wealthy because it’s not my money, and I don’t want to be so far indebted to him that I can’t find my way out.
“Thank you for flying with us,” a flight attendant tells me as I exit the plane. I shake off all thoughts of my dad, each step towards baggage claim reminding me of the man on the other side.
Garrison.
Do I even remember what he smells like? I wonder if he changed shampoos while I’ve been gone. If he will look more tired and gaunt in person, or if that was just the trick of the cellphone screen.
Maybe the circles under his eyes aren’t as dark. Maybe he’s better…I hope so.
I follow the signs and descend two different escalators. My palms sweat and my heartbeat thumps wildly with each passing second. But then the baggage carousels come into view.
Whipping my head around, I try to find him in the crowds.
And then I freeze.
People move around me, passing to the nearest carousel, but my eyes are on him.
Garrison stands near carousel four, his gaze already pinned to me, a bundle of pink orchids in his hand. But he’s just as frozen and rooted to place. Unmoving.
We just stare at one another like we’re processing the fact that we’re here.
In the same room.
Almost in breathing distance.
“Hi,” I say, but he’s too far away to hear me. But he sees me.
He sees.
Hi, he mouths back. I read his lips.
Tears prick my eyes, and I walk.
I jog.
I run.
My backpack almost slips off my shoulder, but I catch it at my elbow. He meets me halfway. We practically collide into one another, but it’s like reuniting a missing puzzle piece. Arms fitting around bodies. Heads leaning to the correct side on instinct. His chest against my body, warmth blazes through me—a hug so powerful that I tremble from his touch.
Our lips meet like they can’t stand to be away for a second longer. And I forget where I am. In public. In an airport. The only thing that matters is him.
My fingers slide up the back of his neck, threading his soft hair. His hand cups my cheek strongly, protectively. My head is lighter than air. Urges pulse through me, hungry for so much more. Touch. Talking. I want everything all at once.
I break from his lips first, lightheaded.
“Garrison,” I say in slight disbelief.
He’s here. I’m here. We’re together.
He hugs me again, tighter this time. My forehead presses into his chest. His shirt smells like fresh laundry detergent and orchids. Different but the same.
Our chests are flush together. His heartbeat thumps and thumps, the embrace like a comforting return home.
But he feels thinner than I remember, yet still bigger than me.
“Willow,” Garrison says quietly and tenderly as if we’re the only people in the airport. We break apart a little, his eyes flitting around me like he doesn’t want to stop staring. “You still look twenty.” He tilts his head, longer pieces of his hair falling over his brows. He pushes it back. “I could have sworn that fifty years passed since you left.”
I laugh and brush tears from my eyes. “You don’t look twenty anymore,” I say.
He’s twenty-one now, and I wasn’t here for his November birthday. Guilt tries to crash against me.
He shrugs. “How does twenty-one look on me? Gray hair. Wrinkles. I’m practically Gandalf, right?” I missed hearing his dry wit out loud. In person.
My cheeks hurt from smiling. “Gandalf is two-thousand years old. Maybe dock some years on that one.”
He smiles. “Okay, yeah. Dumbledore, then.”
“One-hundred-and-fifty years old,” I say.
“Look at that.” He grins. “I’m already a hundred. I’m in my prime.”
“You’re too pretty to be anyone other than you,” I murmur.
But the dark circles weren’t a trick of the screen. And his hoodie looks baggier on his body. Has he even been eating? Worry infiltrates, but neither of us stops touching.
My hands are still hooked around his neck. His still on my waist. Like if we completely break apart, some magical force may rip us away again.
Garrison takes a deep breath. “You’re prettier than me,” he says. “But also…” His eyes sweep my body. “Have you been eating Willow?”
I almost laugh, we’re both worried about each other. I think it’s been that way since I left. “I could say the same about you.”
“I asked you first.”
“I’ve just been busy and stressed with school.” And being away. But I don’t add that part.
He opens his mouth to reply but a man with a professional-quality Canon camera skirts over to us. “Willow!” he yells. “Where are your brothers?!”
Garrison slides his hand into mine, and he exchanges a look with me like yeah, nothing has changed. “Welcome back to Philly.” Sarcasm drips from his voice.
Can’t say I missed this part.
Garrison reaches into his hoodie pocket and pulls out a balled up baseball cap. He passes it to me along with the bundle of orchids. I gratefully put the cap on and shield my eyes.
“Willow!” Paparazzi approaches as we start walking towards carousel six. “Look here!”
There’s only one person I want to look at.
One person I can’t take my eyes off of.
/> Garrison glances back at me, and then he squeezes my hand. I feel it. Palm against palm. That simple pressure lights up my world. It’s strange—how something so simple can mean so much.
His hand in mine.
I will never take that for granted again.
22 PRESENT DAY – December
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
GARRISON ABBEY
Age 21
After a long car ride, Willow and I are dropped off at my apartment. Alone again. Tomorrow we’ll be back surrounded by her family.
We’re spending the holidays at their lake house in the mountains, which will be filled with a lot of screaming babies and crazy antics. But I’m honest-to-God looking forward to it. Because Willow is here.
I’m not going to be the seventh-fucking-wheel in the core six anymore, and I won’t have to video-record anything. We can whisper to each other. We can laugh together.
Willow wheels her suitcase into my apartment as I flick on the lights. She never saw it in person. I moved in after she left, so she’s soaking up the surroundings.
“It’s strange,” she says. “I feel like I’ve been here before, even though…I haven’t. Obviously.”
I get it. I’ve never been to her dorm in London. But I can picture every piece of furniture there. Mostly because I watched the videos she sent me about a million times.
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