21. Rora

21

RORA

DECEMBER 31

A s much as I hate Christmas in Wintermore, there’s one thing that almost makes coming home at this time of year worth it: snow. Getting bundled up and sitting by the window to watch thick flakes drifting by in the wind? The best feeling. Getting an unexpected overnight snowfall so all flights out of Jackson are delayed by at least twelve hours? Somehow better.

But this is Wyoming; snow doesn’t keep us down for long, and New Year’s Eve finds Henry and me sitting in the airport parking lot, delaying the inevitable. We’re not even talking. We’re just enjoying our last few minutes alone as best we can. I try to memorize the shape of him behind the wheel, the comforting wall of his body shielding me from the winter sun, and the weight of his hand clutching my knee for dear life.

“What time is it?” I ask, and he grips me harder as he glances at the clock on the dash.

“11:56.”

“Oh.”

Henry’s flight is at 1 p.m. Jackson Hole Airport is small enough that checking your bags and getting through security doesn’t take long, but we’re pushing it.

And if we don’t want to be rushing through our goodbyes… “We should probably head in,” I say, and Henry nods tightly .

He squeezes my knee one last time before letting go and opening the car door.

I barely feel the freezing chill in the air as I step outside, pulling my jacket tighter around myself, purely out of habit. Henry gets his bags from the trunk and closes it with a soft thud. He shrugs his backpack on and shoulders his duffle, holding his arm out for me to snuggle into his side. I loop my arm around his waist. Our height difference makes the walk into the airport clumsy, but I’m not letting go of him until I have to.

How is it possible for this to hurt so much so soon? We’ve known each other for less than a month. This isn’t me. I don’t fall like this. It’s illogical and terrifying, like something out of the Christmas movies that make me roll my eyes whenever I’m forced to watch them. But those movies always have happy endings, and that brings me a little comfort.

Everything happens too quickly. It only takes a few minutes for them to check his bags in, and we both pretend not to notice how choked up Henry sounds when the person at the desk asks, “Is it just you traveling today, sir?”

And just like that, we’re standing outside security. I’ve stood in this spot a hundred times, on both sides of goodbye, waving off my mom and dad before their photography trips or promising Noelle, Felix, Charlie, and Kate that I’d come home more often, that I’d call more often. I’m used to goodbyes. But this fucking sucks.

Henry takes one look at the entrance to security and turns his back on it, his jaw tight.

“Do you have everything you need?” I ask, toying with the lapel of his rain jacket.

“Everything I can take with me.”

I drop my hands and my head, tears springing to my eyes. “Henry.” It sounds like a plea. For what, I’m not sure.

He wraps his arms around me, squeezing me tight. “Shit. I’m sorry, sugar. I just… God, I’m going to miss you. ”

“Is it too late to change my mind?” I ask, tears streaking down my face. “Let’s just stay. We’ll figure it out.” I’m only half joking, desperation taking over.

Henry peers down at me, catching my tears with his thumb. “I don’t want something that burns like hell just to fizzle out, Rora. I want this to last. And you were right—we don’t know each other enough to jump in heart-first yet. We just have to survive it hurting for a while. It’ll be worth it.”

“It will,” I agree with a shaky breath. Henry runs his fingers through my hair like he’s trying to memorize the feel. “And we have a plan.”

“We have a plan.”

After his class finishes in India, Henry will most likely travel somewhere new every six to eight weeks. We’re going to try not to go longer than eight weeks without seeing each other, even if it means we both have to get on a plane from wherever we are and meet halfway for a day or two.

Everything hinges on how quickly things pick up for me once I start my freelance photography. I’m due to leave for my first job in Turin in a couple of weeks, which means two whole weeks of missing Henry in Wintermore.

I’m torn between wanting this new path to take off quickly, because I love my job and I know I can do this, and wanting everything to go nice and slow, so I can work my schedule around seeing Henry. It’s stupid and I would never sabotage my career for anyone, but that doesn’t stop the heartbroken little devil on my shoulder from telling me there’s no point in focusing on my career when, if everything works out between Henry and me, one of us is going to have to compromise, and it really shouldn’t be the world-class scientist who’s trying to save our planet.

But I owe it to myself to build my reputation up, to make a name for myself outside of corporate journalism. I can’t use Henry as an excuse for not trying because I’m scared to get back out there. Photography is in my blood, and no matter what happens between Henry and me, that’s one thing that’ll never change.

I look over Henry’s shoulder, the time on the screen creeping too close to his departure time. We can do this.

“You’ll call me when you land in Atlanta?”

Henry cups my face, his fingers trembling. “Of course. And if you’re still awake when I land in London?—”

“Wake me up if you have to. I’m not acknowledging the new year until I get to do it with you.” Henry will be somewhere over the Atlantic when the clock strikes midnight in Wyoming.

“I’ll call,” he promises. He looks over his shoulder, and when he looks back, his eyes are glassy. “I know you hate goodbyes, so we’re not doing that, okay? This is ‘see you later’. And you’re going to be sick of me by the time we next see each other because I’m going to call you every day and send you pictures of everything, even though you’ll probably judge how shitty they are and?—”

“I could never be sick of you.” I wrap him in a tight hug, leaning my head on his chest, feeling his heart race through so many layers of winter clothing. “I’m going to miss you so much. But I’ll see you later.”

Henry ducks his head to press one last perfect kiss to my lips. “I’m going to miss you, too. So fucking much. I’ll see you later, sugar.”

He squeezes me then lets go, and I feel like I’ve been doused in ice when he steps back. One last sad smile crosses his face before he heads into security, and I turn away because I don’t think I can handle him looking back. I swear I feel every step he takes further from me tugging on my heart like elastic, ready to snap.

My lip quivers as I walk through the airport in a daze, heading for a quiet spot near baggage claim that my dad showed me the first time we dropped my mom off at the airport together. It’s tucked away in a corner, right beside a floor-to-ceiling window with a panoramic view of the runway and mountains beyond.

I sit on the floor, hugging my knees to my chest, and watch the runway through my tears until Henry’s plane speeds down the tarmac and flies off. Then, I dry my tears on my scarf and force myself to walk back to the car.

The sun is fiery orange and low on the horizon by the time I pull into the driveway. It’s too early for the timer to have switched on the Christmas lights, and I can’t bear the thought of going into such a dark, empty house when I feel so fucking empty inside.

I climb out of the car and slam the door behind me, hurrying across the street and up the Whittens’ driveway.

The front door opens as I’m stamping my boots on the Welcome Ho Ho Home! doormat.

Noelle searches my expression, her face falling at what I’m sure is a tear-stained mess. “You okay?”

I try. I swear I try to keep it together. But she opens her arms, inviting me in for a hug, and I crumble. “Nope,” I sob, accepting the hug.

She pulls me into the warm kitchen, pushing the door closed behind us, and pats me gingerly on the back. When we break apart, she somehow already has a tissue in her hand waiting for me.

I dab at my face and blow my nose before exhaling. “Noelle?”

“Yeah?”

“I know it’s too early to be sure, but I think I’m falling in love with your uncle.”

She wraps an arm around my shoulders, chuckling as she guides me into the living room. “Pretty sure you’re the last one to figure that out.”