The Expansion of the Universe

Thirteen | "My Thomas the Train underwear."

Air was escaping Liza's chest in such a harsh manner that the sound of each breath was echoing off the walls and grating against her eardrums.

"You can do this," she scolded herself aloud. "You can." She glimpsed at Milo, who looked bewildered at her actions.

Not that she could blame him—after all, she'd been standing in front of the large oak door for at least thirty minutes but had made no move to exit the safety of her condo.

She could do it, though. She could.

Her movement was slow as she reached for the door handle, and when her fingers finally landed on the shiny gold knob, she paused.

Could she do it? Could she leave her haven and actually follow through with the crazy idea that had come to her while she'd been lying in bed the previous night?

Okay, maybe she couldn't actually do it, but she was at least going to try.

Pulling open the door, she took the steps one at a time, pausing between each one to count to five in order to control her breathing. Once she reached the walkway leading to her front porch, she halted, her eyes sliding up to the left, where she normally walked Milo.

And then, after far too long, her gaze shifted to the right, until she was staring with wide, hesitant eyes at the condo just beside her own.

She had to try.

"We can do it," she told Milo, even though the dog was certainly not the one who was going to cause problems or panic and run away at the last second. No, that was her—she was the flight risk.

Holding Milo's leash with both hands didn't stop her fingers from clenching and unclenching in spastic movements as she neared the dark navy Mercedes sitting in Elijah's driveway. She passed it an assessing glance, part of her wishing that it wasn't there.

If it hadn't been, then she could say, "Oh, well, I tried," and retreat back into the comfort of her condo without actually trying.

But no, the car was there, meaning Elijah was there, meaning she didn't have an excuse for not going through with the arguably horrible idea that had come to her after her latest video call with Whitney. The woman had mentioned that "taking new steps is always crucial, Liza. What will your next step be?" And then Liza, the idiot, the coward, the what the hell are you thinking, dum-dum?! blurted, "I should go see him. On the opposite side of his door."

Then damn Whitney had thought it was an impressive step, and although she reassured Liza that it would likely be overwhelming and there would be no shame in not successfully completing the self-given task, Liza was not of the same opinion. Elijah had been the one doing all the work recently; the least she could do to reassure herself that she was making progress of some kind was by sitting outside his door.

Would she last very long, especially if some of their neighbors drove by and saw her and began to judge her and oh, God, what if they stopped to ask what she was doing? What would she do?

No, this wasn't a bad idea—it was one of the worst ideas she'd ever had, second only to her decision to fly on the stupid, cursed plane.

But when she snapped out of her thoughts, Liza realized she was hovering just outside of Elijah's door, the dark oak that would have mimicked her own almost perfectly if not for the wreath hanging off the wood that was made of finely-wrapped twigs and decorated with a wooden plane painted silver and a sign that read, I'd Rather Be Flying.

Liza swallowed at the words.

It was easy to forget sometimes that Elijah was a pilot. He didn't speak about it much with her, what since he could tell that stories centered around planes didn't excite her, and Liza sure as hell didn't ask about the life of a pilot.