Check, Please (Book #2)

Thirty-Five.

The fourth of January came sooner than I'd expected, and yet somehow not soon enough. Michael had flown out the previous afternoon to deal with a client emergency, though he'd made sure to stop by my room before he left to grab the money I owed him. We'd reached an awkward truce after New Year's Eve — something like an unspoken promise to cool our tempers around our parents even when we wanted to kill each other. It made the house more peaceful, though constantly biting my tongue had left my mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood.

The morning that I left, my parents took me to breakfast after insisting that I let them drive me to the airport. I told them that I could take a taxi, that it'd be easier — but, to be honest, my protests were halfhearted at best, in large part because my mom's face had taken on the same mournful expression that she always wore at the end of one of my visits home.

Seated in a booth at my family's favorite local diner, we ate our way through separate stacks of pancakes while exchanging small talk and nervous laughter. In a break from his usual demeanor, Dad even made a few jokes, and for once I didn't roll my eyes in spite of the fact I'd heard the same punchlines a dozen times before. He was clearly trying to make sure that we left each other on a positive note, and God knows that I would've chewed off my left leg before spoiling that.

After paying the bill and climbing into my dad's car, the three of us let out simultaneous complaints about having eaten too much, and I even laid down in the backseat while I let my stomach settle. The movement of the car was soothing, especially when I closed my eyes and listened to my mom quietly singing along to the country song on the radio. The morning had left me feeling like a kid again, and that nostalgia was the one thing that made me sad about leaving for L.A. Still, when my phone buzzed against my leg and I pulled it from my pocket to see that Melanie had messaged me, the fragile connection I felt with my hometown gave way to excitement about returning to California.

It was time to go home — sure, it was a different home than where I'd grown up, but Los Angeles was home all the same.    

Thanks to my dad's military-inspired need to always be punctual, we reached the airport with an extra ninety minutes to spare before the recommended arrival time. My parents offered to wait with me, though this time they seemed relieved when I told them to head home instead. I hugged my mom goodbye and gave my dad an awkward one-armed pat on the back before taking my bags and heading towards the security gate. I sighed as I placed my things on the conveyor belt to be scanned, mentally penning a response to Melanie's text.

She'd wished me a safe flight and let me know that she'd be driving up from Orange County to get me from L.A.X. She was also making a playlist, and did I have any song requests for her to add? I smiled as I stepped into the body scanner, hardly noticing when a burly TSA agent motioned for me to wait while he scanned me with a metal detecting wand. He dismissed me when he didn't find anything suspicious, and I grabbed my things where they waited for me at the end of the conveyor belt before moving to the side where I wiggled my feet back into my shoes.

How do you feel about... I paused, realizing I really didn't know what kind of music Melanie liked. She'd mentioned a few artists in passing, but even when I'd quizzed her about her interests at my date dash, her answers had been noncommittal at best. I decided to tease her with my response, typing out the question, How do you feel about Metallica?

For some reason, Melanie didn't strike me as a heavy metal fan, and I chuckled to myself as I imagined her reaction. To my surprise, however, she replied in less than a minute with a true zinger: I prefer Iron Maiden, but sure, whatever you want.

I shook my head, wondering why I'd thought our exchange would go any differently than it had before admitting, I was joking, I don't care what we listen to.