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The eighteen-hour trip between London and Albuquerque is no more fun the second time. Actually, it’s about a thousand times

less fun, because at least last time, I had the delusion of getting back together with Travis to distract me. Now, all I have

to look forward to is three and a half awkward days with my parents. My mom is still mad that I’m not staying longer, but

I wasn’t about to risk missing my meeting with Crosswire.

I spend the whole trip studying. I’ve been intentionally avoiding F1 since my crash, and now I’ve only got eight days to get

up-to-date. Not that I’m expecting them to suddenly pitch questions at me during the meeting, but I’m determined to go into

this as well-informed as possible. I need to know all the new regulations and tech developments, I need to know which teams

failed or succeeded last season and why.

I start from the beginning of the season and watch every race, one by one. I jot notes down in the notebook Kelsie gave me

(it has this creepy drawing of an evil unicorn on the front, and I don’t know if I love it or hate it), making notes about

technical developments and regulation changes and track updates. It’s actually sort of fun.

Or it would be, if it didn’t mean thinking about Travis all the time.

It’s impossible to avoid. From the very first race, it’s clear the championship battle is between Crosswire and Harper. At

first, Matty holds on with Travis and the two Crosswire drivers, Mahoney and Clayton, but then he has a string of bad luck

with engine failures and crashes, and then it’s just Travis, fighting alone against the best team in F1.

The first half of the season is the hardest to watch, because I was with him then. I wasn’t actually at every race, but I

watched them all. I remember everything that happened. I remember talking to Travis about all of them. I know more than the

commentators do. I know he had brake issues the whole Melbourne race, and that he almost had to retire in Monaco because he

had a really bad flu and his vision was starting to go spotty. He was so annoyed afterward, it was kind of cute. Like he couldn’t

believe a fever of 104 could actually affect him.

I make it to the French GP while I’m waiting for my last connection. I feel strangely disconnected and numb, watching it.

The commentators are subdued, and the whole pre-race show is about the crash. My crash. They do a tribute to Ellis Parrot,

and a moment of silence before the race where everyone stands around his helmet. The camera mostly focuses on Ellis’ team

and his family, but they show the F1 drivers a few times. I swipe at my eyes impatiently and click back in the video to stare

at Travis’ face.

He looks tired. Really, really tired.

I must be feeling masochistic, because I end up watching all the press conferences and interviews and everything. I listen

to Travis say he didn’t know any of the drivers in the crash that well. I watch his face while the others answer questions.

I hear my own awful voice in my head.

I know you think this is so fucking serious, but that’s just because you’ve never dated anyone before.

This isn’t that big a deal, alright?

God, I was such a piece of shit.

I spend the last flight going over every shitty thing I ever did to him, and arrive in Albuquerque in a bleak mood. Paul and

his fiancée, Candace, pick me up at the airport, and for once I’m glad for Paul’s complete self-absorption. It’s sort of distracting,

listening to him ramble on about his business and his new car and how well everything’s going for him. He tells all the same

stories at dinner, which is also helpful, since it leaves no time for my parents to fuss at me about moving to London.

Paul and Candace decide to stay over, after they both polish off their fourth glass of wine, which is also surprisingly helpful.

Candace doesn’t really have a personality, which means my mother adores her, and the two of them are still chatting happily

when I escape to my room. I’m exhausted, but I stay up till three a.m. watching races. Even though I know Travis ends up winning

the championship, I still curse at the ceiling when that dumbass Cole Milton turns in on him and ruins his race in Hungary,

and I freak out when Travis passes Clayton on the second to last lap at Monza.

God, I’m so fucking proud of him.

He really earned this championship. He had way worse luck than Mahoney and Clayton, and an objectively slower car, and he

still ended up winning.

I’m too tired to make it past Monza, but over the next three days, sneaking hours here and there between awkward family dinners

and obligations, I finish the season. I don’t know if it’s because it’s five a.m. when I watch it, but I actually cry when

Travis wins. I’m so proud of him, and happy for him. And I’m so, so sorry I wasn’t there.

On impulse—and because I realize it’s an amazing excuse to get out of the house for a few hours—I call Amanda and book an appointment.

My mother tells me to make sure I get Amanda’s professional opinion on my London move and the idea of going back to racing.

I wait till she looks away to roll my eyes, imagining Kelsie’s “Reasonable” Post-it note in my mind.

It’s strange, coming back to Amanda’s office. I know it’s only been a couple of weeks, but it looks different, somehow. It

sort of feels like walking through an old school building. It’s nostalgic, and I’m not unhappy to be here, but it’s not like

I actually want to go back to high school. I think I’m ready to move on.

“I think you are, too,” Amanda says, smiling at me. “I’m so happy for you.”

I can tell she really means it. Her eyes lit up when I told her about the meeting with Crosswire. I think she’s gotten her

hopes up just as much as I have.

“It’s going to be weird, not talking to you about things.”

Her eyes crinkle. “That’s what your friends are for. And you can always find a therapist in London, if you feel you’re starting

to struggle again.”

“If the Crosswire meeting goes badly, I probably will,” I joke.

Really, though, I don’t think I’ll need to. I want to race again so badly, but I also know I’ll survive if I can’t. Like Kelsie

says, I’ll just find another job that I can love. It’s weird, how she can say the same things my parents do, but I don’t hate

her for it. Maybe it’s because I know she wants what’s best for me, whereas my parents... I’m no longer sure.

Amanda is quiet for a moment when I tell her this.

I can tell she’s weighing her words carefully.

“Relationships between parents and adult children can be incredibly complex. And I do believe that we have to acknowledge all the hard work our parents did in raising us, and be grateful for it. But as an adult, you have to make your own decisions, and live the life you want to lead. All you can do is try to be as kind and understanding as you can, without giving up too much of yourself.”

“My friend Kelsie says it isn’t our job to make them happy, but it is our job to ‘acknowledge and respect their reasonable

concerns.’?”

“Ooh, I love that.” Amanda’s pen dances across her notebook. “I’m definitely going to steal it.”

I laugh. “Go ahead.”

“She sounds like a good friend, this Kelsie.”

“Yeah, she’s the best. And I told her... you know.” I lick my lips. “That I’m bi.”

The corners of her mouth turn up. “That’s good.”

“Yeah.” A beat of silence falls. I clear my throat. “It’s weird how easy it is to be around her. Like, we hadn’t seen each

other in ages, but we just fell right back into step.”

“Just as friends, you think? Or something more?”

“Just friends. I’m still... not over Travis.”

“Have you tried to see him again, since the parking garage?”

I shake my head. “No. I mean, it wouldn’t be fair, right? If I show up it’d just mess with his head. He’s moved on.”

Amanda makes a little “hm” noise that I know means I’ve said something wrong.

“What?” I ask.

“Well, are you really thinking about what’s fair?”

I snort. “Clearly I’m not, or you wouldn’t be asking.”

She laughs. “If Travis doesn’t want to date you again, he won’t. But he deserves to know all his options. At the very least,

he deserves an apology.”

I shift in my seat. “But don’t you think he would’ve reached out, if he wanted to talk to me?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “I’ve never met him. Does that seem like something he would do?”

My cheeks color. It definitely doesn’t. Travis was never the one to make the first move. Even after we’d been together for

months, he was rarely the first one to text, and almost never the one to initiate any plans.

Probably because every time he made a gesture, like buying me that sim, I brushed him off.

“I guess I could try again.” My palms prickle at the thought of it. What if I show up at his house and that guy answers the

door?

“I think you should,” she says firmly.

She usually never tells me what to do, which means she feels strongly about it. I nod.

“I will,” I say. “I promise.”

“And you should think carefully about what you want to say,” she adds.

I raise an eyebrow. “Are you going to go make yourself tea while I do?”

She grins. “You read my mind.”

Somehow, I make it to the end of the trip without exploding at my parents, but it’s a very near thing. My mother tries at

least six times to convince me to stay, and my father makes about a thousand passive-aggressive comments about racing and

“realistic expectations.” I force myself to stay calm and speak politely, which seems to be working. On my mother, especially.

It’s like she doesn’t know what to do when I don’t rise to her tears and pleas.

I pack up the stuff I want to take to London into two suitcases, and the day of my flight finally arrives.

My mother has been twisting her hands together and pacing all morning, like she’s trying to find a last-minute reason for me to stay.

It’s easier to be patient with her today, knowing I only have twenty-two minutes to go.

Scratch that—it’s twenty-one minutes, now.