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Thankfully I only packed a carry on so as soon as I got off the plane I was practically racing out of the airport. I did pack the rest of my things from Miles’s apartment, but I loaded them into Taylor’s car and she brought them home for me after she dropped me off.

As soon as I get outside I’m met with that Miami humidity. My face couldn’t be more grateful as it instantly absorbs the moisture. I quickly spot my dad’s Range Rover in the sea of cars at the arrival terminal and weave my way through them. My mom jumps out of the front seat smiling ear to ear. “Mija!” she beams. “Tu eres tan hermosa!” She pulls me into a warm familiar hug in the middle of the street. “Te extraño.”

“I missed you too, Mom. But can we get out of traffic please?” I say, hugging her back.

“Elena, cariño, please get in the car,” my dad reasons and she lets me go, grabbing my bag and putting it in the back.

Once I’m settled in the back seat, my dad takes off and my mom is turned around in the front, facing me. “So how was your flight?” she asks.

“It was…long,” I admit. “I sat next to a very…chatty woman.”

My mom makes theeekkface. “You seem tired.” Her eyebrows bunch together in concern.

Since it’s only been five minutes and I don’t feel like divulging every dirty detail just yet, I settle on a safe response. “I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, and with my new best friend on the plane, I didn’t get a nap either.”

My mom reaches back putting her hand on my knee and gives it a little shake. “We’ll be home soon, I just made fresh tortillas, so you can eat and then rest up.” Her smile has not let up since I arrived.

“Sounds perfect,” I say.

“I’m so glad you’re home, mija. We’ve really missed you,” she says, turning back around in her seat.

“Me too.”

I wakeup in my childhood bedroom, and the moonlight is brighter than a spotlight casting a dark shadow around the room. The only sound is a dull hum coming from the air conditioning unit. I sit up looking around the room. Not much, if anything, has changed. The matching island tropical wicker bedroom set has held up after all these years. The same pictures still hang in the frames of the gallery wall I made above my desk when I was in high school. The rust-covered duvet with the sandy toupe sheets complements the room in warm earth tones. And I’m reminded of all the late nights Taylor and I spent up in this room, making plans and dreaming till the sun rose.

I pick up my phone, to check the time and find it’s 1 a.m. I guess my post-lunch nap turned into a post-lunch sleep. I don’t dwell on it, it’s 10 p.m. in California, and I’m about to text Taylor when I remember my Do Not Disturb is on. When I open my messages, I’m hit with three texts from Miles and even though I can’t get a grip on my own feelings and thoughts, I’m certain the one persistent feeling I have is that I miss him. I don’t hesitate to open the message, just to read his words to feel close to him again.

Miles

I know you asked for space, but I just wanted to know that you made it okay.

I talked to Taylor, she said you arrived safely. I know you said you needed time, and I’m trying to respect that. But I didn’t get to say it before you left and I need you to know I’m so proud of you. I know you’re nervous to talk to your parents, but you deserve everything good in this world and you deserve everything you want.

I miss you.

I use the inside of my sweatshirt sleeve to wipe away thetears sneaking down my cheek. I can feel the familiar tightness begin to wage a war inside my chest now. I pick up the phone and call Taylor, who answers on the first ring.

“Mila, my little angel baby, how's home?”

“It’s…dark,” I say looking around.

“Literally or...” she trails off.

I go to speak but I can’t stop the cry that falls from my mouth. I pull the phone away and bury my eyes into the neck of my sweater.

“Camila,” her understanding voice is so soft as she tries to help me but I just cry harder.

Finally, I put the phone on speaker in front of me, sitting cross-legged with my head in my hands and my elbows on my knees.

“I don’t know what to do,” I sob.

“I wish I was there to hold you,” she sighs. She knows better than to tell meit’s okayoryou’ll be okay.I know people mean well when they say things like that but, if one more person tried to tell me “You’re okay” when I’m clearly not, respectfully, get fucked.

“I wish you were here, too.”

We sit in silence for a while because I can’t bring myself to ask about Miles calling her.

Miles