“I’m thirty-seven years old. Aren’t I a little old for this talk?”
“Guess not,” she quipped back. “You’re still running around the globe like your ass is on fire.”
“I like to travel. Lo
ts of adults do.”
“I said running.”
“Don’t,” I warned. “It was always my plan.”
“Fine, I’ll give you that. But how many times have you been to the Himalayas?”
I leaned forward as my temper flared. “Twice, this will be the third.”
“How about Australia?”
“Four.”
“Africa?”
“Six.”
“Greenland, Iceland, fucking Loch Ness?”
“Fine, point taken. My turn. Do you all get together on some conspiratorial level and decide what hard questions you want to ask?”
“Yes,” she said with her no bullshit tone.
“And they send you because, what, you’re the meanest?”
“Ouch,” she said in mock hurt. “Yes.”
“That only worked until I caught on,” I said, biting into the flavored ice in my drink. “I was seven.”
“Jack—” she started.
“Shit,” I muttered, giving her my full attention.
I looked at my aunt and gave her the ear she was asking for.
“You’re like a son to me.”
“I am your son,” I assured her.
I saw her eyes soften before she laid into me. “Your diet is lacking substance and it’s my job to point that out to you.”
“I get it.”
Her voice was a whisper as she looked at me with glassy eyes. “I don’t think you do.”
I paused at my aunt’s emotion. She had been a pillar of strength for me my whole life. She’d been there for me on my darkest days, the days before, and every day after. I’d never known life without her, never wanted to. I swallowed hard.
“You all feel this way?”
She nodded.
I looked out the window at the bustling streets of New Orleans, thinking of Rose and the look in her eyes when I’d almost kissed her. That look alone was worth skipping my trip.