She adds, “You’ve carried the team for a long time now, even before your dad retired. How about you let someone else run the plays for a while?”
“How so?”
“Leave Seattle, Andrew. Get out of there and go where your heart is happy. You always said it was LA, but I think that might have changed.”
“I never thought I’d like New York . . .” I leave that there to lie between us.
“You sure it’s the city you’re liking?” I knew she’d pick it up and run with it. And maybe I wanted her to. “I don’t know what it is with that city, and the women making the Christiansen men give it all up for them, but your heart knows its way home.”
That’s a big statement coming from her. My mom always wanted us near, even setting us up to always have a place to come back to—Nick got the beach bungalow when he got married, and the Beverly Hills home, the place where I grew up and where they live now, is in the will for me.
But she’s right about cities, and women, and the place we call home. She knows if I get on a flight tonight, I’m going to the East Coast.
“Mom, I have another confession.”
“Do I need to sit down?”
“I think you’ll be okay. You know your list? I didn’t complete it.”
Gentle laughter reaches my ears. “Oh honey, that list isn’t mine. It’s yours. Whether you complete it or not is up to you. What I wanted the most was for you to open your eyes to more possibilities around you. Maybe you only needed to mark off the items that were most important for your life to change trajectory.”
Two for two. Juni was a part of both of them. Juni’s entry into my life has done exactly that. I just made a wrong turn. It doesn’t mean I can’t turn that back around, though.
It wasn’t just Rascal who knocked the breath out of me when he landed on my stomach; Juni stole it altogether.
Lying next to me after making sure everyone was back in their apartments safely after the fire. Sitting with Mrs. Hendricks telling me that Juni needs to spread her wings. They didn’t know, but she’d been doing that all along with me. From our friendship to a budding romance, she didn’t crack the door. She flung it wide open and invited me into her world.
I won’t discount that she took the job and made it look easy. She committed herself in so many ways that she doesn’t even see it. Is she living on the edge? No, but for someone who’s experienced so much pain, she still took the first steps and raised her wings.
“Mom?”
“Yes?” she replies, leading me to give more.
Pushing off the bed, I say, “I need to go.”
“Oh, okay.”
I grab my suitcase and open it on the bed. “No, I mean, I need to get to the airport.”
“Ah. Yes. I think you do. Have a safe trip, and I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“I already have if it’s not too late.”
“It’s never too late to make amends. Love you.”
“Love you, too, Mom.” I toss the phone on the bed and open the wardrobe to grab my suits to pack. But then stop and look at them. They’re suits. I’m not going on a business trip. I’m going to get a life back. Everything I need is already in New York City.
When I was a kid working in this company's mailroom, I remember a quote that hung above the door. Setbacks don’t determine your fate. If you overcome them does.
I always thought it would make more sense if it said how you overcome them does.
But now I get it. Some people will hit an obstacle, and that’s where their story ends. Others won’t let anything stand in their way.
“I’m sorry, sir. There are no available seats on any flights to JFK or LaGuardia tonight. Not in coach, business, or first class. And the standby list is ten people long. We can usually only accommodate three or four. I’m happy to book you on the first available flight in the morning.” Her eyes lower to the screen, and her fingers furiously tap on the keyboard. “I have first class on a six fifteen flight to JFK?”
Setting my card down, I say, “I’ll take it.” Fuck. I need to get to New York. I need to get to her. I need . . . Maybe I need this time.
I stop and think. Why couldn’t I get the flight I wanted?
Maybe it’s time I need right now.
I spend that time putting a new plan in place and attaching an ultimatum of my own. At three forty-seven in the morning, I push send to the advisory board, my parents, and Nick.
At three forty-nine, my phone rings. I know who it is before I see the name on the screen. Makes sense because he’s three hours ahead. “Hello?”