I turn to him. “What makes you think I’ll want pictures of this trip?”
“You will.”
He winks at me and pulls me over to the sign, pushing me next to it and ordering me to smile. Once he snaps the picture, he comes over to me and tosses his arm around my shoulder again, holding the camera out in front of us, but at the last second before he clicks the shutter, he turns his head, kissing me on the cheek.
“That’s going to be my new lock screen picture.”
“There’s no way that’s a good picture! You surprised me. I probably look insane.”
He swipes through the pictures before attaching them to a text message and hitting send. “See for yourself.”
My phone vibrates in my bag, and I pull it out, unlocking the screen and looking though the pictures Asher sent me and…well, shit. The one of us isn’t just a good picture, it’s a fucking great picture. My hair is a little windblown and my cheeks red either from the cold or from Asher pressing his lips to them. But I look happy in a way I’m not used to seeing on myself. Not that I’m never happy, but my happy always seems to be a little muted by whatever it is that makes me need to plan and schedule and control everything.
As we reach the conservatory, I open my text thread with my mom and attach the picture Asher took just of me. I’m keeping the one of the two of us close to the vest until I figure out a way to explain to all the people in my life what the fuck I’m doing on this road trip.
Me
Proof of life.
Mom
The Franklin Park Conservatory? I’ve always wanted to go there! That football player of yours has good taste in road trip stops.
Also, hi my baby, I’m glad you’re alive, and I’m also very confused about why you are on a road trip with a professional football player. Please advise.
Well, Rachel Parker is nothing if not predictable.
Don’t worry about it, it’s just something I’m doing.
You should know better than that. I’m your mom, and I will worry about you until the end of time. It’s part of the job.
Sorry, I must have forgotten.
Lucky you have me to remind you. Be safe, Jules. Text me every day. And when you get home, we’re having a talk and you are going to tell me everything I want to know.
“Don’t hold your breath,” I mutter.
“What’s that?” Asher asks.
“Nothing, just my mom being my mom.”
He puts his arm back around me. “Let me guess. She’s happy you’re alive, but she’s wondering what the hell you’re doing on a road trip with me?”
“In a nutshell. I haven’t told her, or anyone else, the real reason why I’m here, and there’s nothing Rachel Parker hates more than when she’s out of the loop on something that has to do with her children.” What I don’t say is that my mom is out of the loop on all kinds of things that she doesn’t even know about.
“I think Rachel Parker and Susan Hansley would get along. But let me ask you something.” He drops his arms from my shoulders and turns me to face him.
“How do you feel?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, how do you feel? Right now. Right this minute, standing in this parking lot with me, with work miles away and two weeks of adventure ahead of you. How does that make you feel?”
I think about his question. My immediate reaction is to say that I feel like I should be working, or I wish I was back in my office. But something about the way he asks the question makes me want to give it serious consideration. So, I think about the last week. The mistake and the panic attack and how Asher brought me out of it. How he made me come on this trip instead of taking what would probably have been the easier path and calling my brother because I asked him not to. Asher getting me my favorite snacks and planning an entire road trip itinerary and asking nothing of me but that I show up.
I look at him then, his face wide open, waiting patiently for me to respond to his question. My answer hits me then, and it doesn’t even occur to me to hold it in.
“Relieved. I feel relieved.”
