Chapter 22

Mick is halfway through hefting my mother’s enormous Louis Vuitton suitcase onto a luggage cart when Mags lets out a theatrical gasp that stops all of us in our tracks.

“No,” she says, taking off her sunglasses to get a better look at the departures monitor. “Our flight’s been rescheduled.”

My mother exhales through her nose, a controlled show of frustration. She’s wearing a wide-brimmed sun hat, salmon-colored with a white ribbon, and black circular sunglasses. If you didn’t already know who she was, you wouldn’t guess. Mags gave me a UT Austin baseball cap to wear at the airport—just in case—because that Taos paparazzi photo was only the beginning, and people have been noticing us everywhere. It’s disorienting.

Camilla steps up next to Magnolia. “To when?”

“A full twenty-four hours,” Mags says, sucking her teeth. “Tomorrow morning.”

“When would we get in?” Sadie asks, moving closer to them. Mick sits down on my mother’s suitcase, then quickly stands back up when she casts a sideways glance at him.

“Just after noon.” Mags points up at the board. “Same as we would’ve today.”

“Damn it,” Sadie murmurs, pulling out her phone. “Audrey and I are supposed to be at our next appointment at nine tomorrow morning. It was the only time Dr. Bautista could meet with us in Chicago, I’ll have to—”

“What’s going on?” Cleo asks, sidling up beside me and hiking a tote bag higher onto her shoulder. Silas trails behind her with Puddles’s carrier in one hand.

“Flight’s pushed to tomorrow,” I say, dread swallowing up the air in my lungs. A whole week in Chicago without a single doctor’s visit, nothing to focus on but Camilla and my secondhand echo of the Penn program.

“Can you get us back into the hotel for another night?” my mother asks Magnolia, who immediately pulls out her phone.

“Sadie,” I say, and she looks at me. “There’s no way we can reschedule?”

“I’m so sorry, Audrey, he was really clear that his week was busy and I could only—”

“What if we drove?”

We all turn to Silas, who lowers Puddles to the floor and holds his phone out to Sadie. It’s open to a map with a big blue line running north across it. 16 hours, 48 minutes, it says.

“Si,” Sadie says, “we’d get there at, like, three o’clock in the morning—”

“Surprise road trip!” Cleo shouts, and a few people standing in the terminal turn to look at her.

“I’ll go rent a car?” Mick offers, grinning, his whole face lit with excitement.

“I’ll rent the car.” Sadie places a hand on his shoulder. “It’s cheaper if you’re over twenty-five. Audrey, are you in?”

I look at each of them in turn. This is happening too fast for me to process. “Guys, it’s so far, and, I mean, this wasn’t the plan—”

“This is the only way to keep the plan,” Cleo says, quirking an eyebrow at me. I bite my lip, press my thumb to my pinky finger. Okay. Okay, okay.

“Okay,” I make myself say, and all four of them look at me. “I’m in.”

Camilla and Mags stay in Austin to take tomorrow’s flight. Traversing the country in a Honda Odyssey minivan with four teenagers, one biology professor, and a very slobbery dog is not, apparently, my mother’s speed. To be honest, I’m questioning whether it’s mine.

“Okay, you’re looking for I-35 north.” Silas is in the passenger seat, Sadie driving, Puddles peeking at me over Silas’s shoulder. Her tongue is hanging out, as usual, dripping saliva onto the collar of his T-shirt. “And we’ll be on that, basically, until Dallas.”

“What’s our ETA?” Cleo asks from beside me. Mick is in the third row of seats, already sprawled horizontal across them though we’re not even five minutes from the airport.

“Um.” Silas hesitates before turning back to look at her. “Three fifteen a.m. With no stops.”

Mick lets out a low whistle. “Hopefully no traffic.”

Silas hums his agreement, turning back to face forward. “It’ll be what it’ll be.”

Silence falls, and for some reason it takes a great effort to force the words from me, like the sincerity of them is catching in my throat. “Thank you,” I say. “For doing this for me. I, um.” Sadie’s eyes rise to mine in the rearview. “I really appreciate it.”

“You’ll never see me turn down a road trip,” Cleo says, sliding out of her sandals and pulling her bare feet under her. “So I, for one, did not do this for you.”

“Similarly,” Mick says, “I hate flying and much prefer land travel. Not for you.”

“And I’m in it for Puddles,” Silas says, rolling down his window. He holds on to her as her little paws grip the sill, her head poking out into the wind. “No thank-yous needed.”

“Okay,” I say, and Cleo reaches over to nudge me with a pack of Twizzlers. I take one out, stick it between my teeth, dig into my backpack for the Penn textbook. Feel a warmth that has absolutely nothing to do with Austin’s oppressive humidity. And then I settle in for the long haul in this car full of people who are, decisively, not doing this for me.