Behind the Scenes

twenty-nine | three shot

{ three shot }
- three people in the frame

There's something about the Pittsburgh sunshine that churns my stomach like a pot of cream. The post-Winter chill leaves the crisp air dry, the wind biting onto my nose as I carry my suitcase through the parking lot.

Apparently, everyone's arrived back early from break, snatching all the good parking spots before I even left the state of California.

I step through the front door of my building, the heat enveloping me like a warm blanket as I drag my feet toward the stairs. My feet work on autopilot as they carry me to my door, and I fumble with my keys, wishing that Cora wasn't too paranoid about leaving the door unlocked---even for a few minutes from when I texted her from the parking lot.

As soon as I'm inside, I toss my suitcase to the side and shut the door, pressing my back against the hardwood. Closing my eyes, I inhale the hints of vanilla swirling in the air from Cora's wax melter. It smells like home---and it is home---but it doesn't feel like home.

Which is absolutely crazy.

I've known Lennon for two weeks. Fourteen days. And now there's a three hour time difference and three-thousand miles between us. And all I can think about is when I'll see him again. All I want is to be lounging in his bed, surrounded by his scent, listening as he strums random chords on his guitar while I watch, fascinated by the passion he still has for something he does everyday. And knowing I want that for myself one day.

Things were ... tense when I left for the airport. Graham nodded at me, telling me that it was nice meeting me and to have safe travels home because, apparently, there was a huge snow storm back East. I'm not sure where he got that information, as all the snow had melted where I lived, but it was nice to know I cracked through his hard interior a little bit that he didn't want my plane to crash on my flight home.

Presley gave me a quick hug, promising to stay in touch and that she can't wait to see the final product of the interview we did.

Milo hugged me tight, whispering promises to continue to stay in touch and that he hopes to stop by when they perform in Pittsburgh.

Logan demanded I venmo the money for his lamp, before breaking into a huge grin and sucking me into his arms. I can still feel his hot breath as he whispered into my ear, "Don't hurt our boy."

Maia cried, but I knew we were in a much better place than when I arrived in Los Angeles. And I knew if we hadn't had our girls night, our goodbyes would've looked a lot differently. We might have hugged, but barely long enough for it to even count. I can still clearly see Milo's raised eyebrows over his sister's shoulder, a soft smile tugging at his lips at our reconciliation.

Maia and I came to a mutual understanding last night, and we both grasped onto a concept we thought was impossible. We can still be close friends—despite the distance and despite not communicating with each other every day, and it doesn't have to change our camaraderie. We might not be each other's number one, or that one that'll stand directly by our side when we get married one day; we might be a little ways down the line—and that's okay.

It's okay to be scared of change, but holding onto something that needs letting go will only cause more pain in the long run.

Saying goodbye to Lennon ... he tried his best to not let that little anger he still held toward me show while wishing me a safe flight. I messaged him when I landed, and I knew he was rehearsing with Logan so I didn't expect a response anytime soon. But just seconds after it was delivered, a message from him rang through.