The woman behind the counter at the Southwest Airlines desk takes my ID and credit card and clicks at her keyboard.
My phone buzzes in my hand.
Liz: What do you mean you’re GOING TO LA?
Some mornings, I wake up with new memories. Usually, they’re nothing important.
“I can get you on a one o’clock flight out,” the woman says, quoting me a dollar figure that would send my rational self running in the other direction. But I’m not feeling terribly rational today.
“Sounds perfect. Put it on the card.”
I went to sleep last night knowing I could forgive Max for his omission. I understood why it would have been hard to tell me about the baby. I could see that. And it hurt. But I closed my eyes, planning to talk to him today, to forgive him for his omission and make things right by telling him what I know about my relationship with Nate.
“Any bags to check?” she asks.
“Nope.”
I went to bed feeling spent and hurt but hopeful. We were going to get through this.
She returns my cards and hands me a boarding pass. “Have a nice flight.”
“Thank you.”
I head for security and my phone buzzes again.
Liz: Max just called me wanting to know if I know where you are. He was really upset. What the hell is going on?
Some mornings, I wake up with new memories. Once, I woke up with the memory of Max flirting with me at Brady’s, my cheeks burning as I realized maybe he was sincere in his attraction to me.
The Indianapolis airport is quiet this morning, and the blue-shirted guy at security checks my boarding pass and ID. “Los Angeles, huh? Business or pleasure?”
“A little of both, I guess.” I force a smile. Because that’s what I do. I smile to make people comfortable. I smile when my heart hurts, and I act like everything’s okay when I’ve been betrayed.
“Think you’ll see any stars while you’re there?” the next guy asks while I take off my shoes.
“I’m almost sure of it.” I plop my carry-on, purse, and cell onto the conveyor belt next to my shoes and inch through the metal detector.
Some mornings, I wake up with new memories. A couple of days ago, I went to bed without a single memory of my opening day at the bakery, and when my alarm went off the next morning, I could recall the terror of my first day with a new business like it was yesterday.
“Thanks, ma’am,” calls the lady behind the metal detector screen. “Have a nice flight.”
Nodding, I grab my shoes and bag. I’m reaching for my phone when it starts to ring. Lizzy’s face flashes on the screen, though I didn’t need to see her picture to know it was her.
I put it to my ear. “Hello.”
“Talk to me.”
“I’m going to LA.”
“And you told your fiancé you couldn’t marry him. What the hell did I miss?”
I scan the signs and turn right to head toward my terminal. “I need to see him.”
“Did you have a new memory? Hanna, come on.”
“I can’t talk about it right now. I understand if you need to close the bakery while I’m gone. You’ve already done more than I should ever have asked.”
“I’ll run the bakery. That’s not a problem.” The line goes quiet, and I know she’s picking up on how serious I am about being unable to talk. We’re twins, after all. We have that connection. And now, more than ever, I’m glad it’s back. Because I really can’t do this. I can’t talk right now. I’ll lose it. “If you want me to come out there with you, you just say the word.”
“Thank you.” My voice glitches over the words like a scratch on a record. “I’ll text you when I land.”
“I love you.”
“Love you too,” I whisper. And I end the call, loneliness tearing at my chest.
Some mornings, I wake up with new memories. Usually, they’re nothing. This morning when I woke up, I remembered the night three months ago when I ended my relationship with Max because he had broken my heart.