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Brioche French toast, with a lemon curd drizzle.Our favorite.
“Good morning, sleepy head,” I whisper, tapping her softly on the nose with my finger. She doesn’t budge. Her snoring only buzzes louder, and my smile stretches wider. “Addy,” I try again. “It’s time to wake up.”
She comes to with a small jolt. Her eyelids part, caramel apple eyes meeting mine. “New York, baby,” she says into a yawn, and a smile immediately takes over her face. It’s like watching sunlight crest over the horizon, her smile as equally essential to the start of our day. Eyes sparkling with excitement, she starts to dance beneath her sheets and blanket, her body shaking and swaying, not following a single beat or rhythm whatsoever.
I snort before falling into a bout of laughter, smooshing my face into one of her pillows to keep from being too loud at this ungodly time of morning.
Lifting my head, I glance over at her alarm clock—5:43 a.m.
Way too early.
But we’re trying to be out of here and on our way by eight, which should put us in Indianapolis, our halfway point, by seven tonight, depending on how many stops we make. All we have to do is get ready this morning, carry our stuff downstairs, and eat breakfast with the Masons before we’re on our way.
My eyes stray to our packed bags stacked neatly by Addy’s bedroom door—my one small suitcase to her thirteen bags and boxes—and I can’t help but laugh again at the sight of them.
“Hey, Addy. Serious question,” I say.
She pulls her plush blanket up to her chin, her gaze meeting mine. “Shoot.” She yawns.
“Do you think we should pack up some more boxes for you? I’m honestly not sure you’re bringing enough stuff. Our dorm is probably going to be depressingly bare now that I think about it.”
“Shh.” She smooshes my face with a palm. “Don’t tempt me.” She glances around her nearly empty bedroom, mischief written all over her face. “There’s still plenty more I could take.”
I shake my head with a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”
“But you still love me.” She shrugs. “And you wouldn’t have me any other way.”
“No.” I laugh. “I definitely wouldn’t.”
“That’s right,” she sasses, but her tone is all warmth and excitement. “And I wouldn’t take you any other way, either. Ah! We’re going to have so much freaking fun this year!” she squeals. “I cannot wait.”
“New York, baby,” I quietly repeat her earlier statement.
“New York.” She sighs wistfully, and her lips curl into a sleepy smile.
We linger in bed for a little while longer, talking about our new home and all our hopes for this year—the places we want to go and the sights we want to see, all the food we want to try. But eventually, we drag ourselves out of the comfort of her sheets and get ready, heading downstairs for our last breakfast of the summer with Cal and Stacy.
______
“You two being adults in this giant world—” Cal clears his throat with a swift shake of his head, his eyes glossy with a reservoir of tears threatening to spill free. Setting his fork down on his plate, he folds his hands together. “It scares the goddamn shit out of me if you want the truth. So, you two have to promise me something—you look out for each other, okay?”
“Always,” Addy immediately replies, her tone tinged with emotion.
“Always, Cal,” I repeat, and my own emotions grow thick in my throat.
“And you don’t let anyone make you feel anything less than comfortable,” he continues, staring us down. “Or they’ll have me to answer to. Understood?”
We both answer him with a nod.
I can already picture him driving onto campus with his truck and his shotgun, reigning hell on anyone who tries. The image forces a smile to my lips, and I catch Addy smiling through her sheen of tears, too.
Silverware scrapes softly against plates as we continue to eat our breakfasts.
I wish I could say I was enjoying the hell out of my favorite meal, but I can barely taste it as I swallow each bite down, my thoughts and emotions all over the place. Today feels like thismomentous day in a sea of smaller ones that have made up my life. Like each ebb and flow was always meant to bring me right here. To the Masons, to these past eight weeks, to the next four years at NYU, and hopefully, to the me that waits on the other side of it all.
I wonder if Addy feels the same way.
The lump in my throat stays firmly rooted in place. No matter how many bites of French toast I take, no matter how many times I try to swallow past it.