Something I Don't Know

epilogue

Some places are just too loud. Not in the literal sense, not like all the noises are thunderous or like being there makes my ears bleed. Just that there's too much going on—too much to look at, too much to do, too many things to experience.

The airport is one of those places.

Hartsfield-freaking-Jackson, especially.

I'm currently sitting on an old bench between a Cinnabon and a pizza place (it's a weird combination of smells here, tell you that) in one of the international terminals, plucking at a hole in my sweatshirt and watching people go by. A little kid chases after her mother, bite-sized Dora the Explorer suitcase rattling on behind her. A rowdy group of teenagers all wearing the same fluorescent blue 2018 New York Trip T-shirt crowd the coffee shop. A woman in a pencil skirt and kitten heels clacks by with a briefcase in hand. And I just sit here beside a trash can, feet tapping against the linoleum, trying to think of what to say.

It's not goodbye; he said so himself. Two weeks ago, he said so. But it still feels like it.

Midge might be moving in to the loft with me. River and I may have been promoted at work (him, to store manager, me, to chief of customer service). Mom might be sticking around for the next year.

But it still feels like goodbye. Not just to Jamie and Violet. But to life pretty much as I've known it these past six months.

I glance again into the brown paper bag beside me on the bench. Wonder if he'll think it's stupid. Pray that he doesn't.

I should be ready for this. Why am I not ready for this?

"They're boarding in seven minutes," says a voice, and I look up to see Midge standing beside the bench. She's peering down at me with a soft, sympathetic grin, her eyes warm and welcoming, like always. She seems ready for this. In fact, everyone seems ready for this, except me. "Aren't you gonna say goodbye?"

I shake my head.

Something in her expression darkens. "Grey—"

"I mean, I'm going to say something," I say, still not moving from my perch against the bench. "I'm just not going to say goodbye. It isn't goodbye. He's coming back. They're coming back."

"He never said they weren't coming back, Grey," says Midge, cocking her head to the side a bit, so her hair falls over her shoulder. It's much longer than it was once. When I met her, it was at her shoulders, and now it falls down to her mid back, every inch of it still bubblegum pink. "And even so, you'll still be able to call him. And send him stuff."

"Theoretically," I say, "but he'll be bouncing around from place to place. And he's still halfway across the world."

Midge frowns at me, placing her hand on my cheek. I'm not sure what she's doing, but then her fingers curve around my ear, raking a few strands of my hair back. I shiver a little underneath her touch. "I know you're upset, Grey. I know you're gonna miss him; we all will. But he—he has to do this."

I close my eyes, leaning into her palm. For a moment, the hubbub of the airport around us silences, and it's just me, and it's just her, and it's just the pounding of my own overexcited heart. "I know he does, and I want him to. I just wish I could go with him."

"You'll be with him in spirit."

"I am not Levi. That is not how this works."

My eyes are still closed, but I can almost hear her roll her eyes. "Six minutes, now," she says. "We'd better get back."

I open my eyes.

She holds out her hand to me.

I take the brown paper bag, fold my fingers in hers, and follow her back to the gate.