Page 31 of Mashed Hearts
Kait’s flight leaves at midnight, and I’m at the airport with her, Ryan snoring in the backseat of his truck. The terminal’s a ghost town, all fluorescent lights and bad coffee. She’s in my hoodie, eyes red from lack of sleep, clutching a to-go mug like it’s a lifeline. I pull her into me, her face buried in my chest, and try not to let her feel how hard my heart’s hammering.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she says, voice muffled.
“I know.” I kiss her hair, her forehead, her lips—soft, desperate, like I can memorize her in thirty seconds. “Go kick this test’s ass. Then come home to me.”
She nods, tears spilling, and I wipe them away with my thumbs. The gate agent calls her group, and she’s gone, disappearing through security with one last wave. I stand there until she’s out of sight, then drive back to the Jamison’s in silence, Ryan snoring the whole way.
The next few days are torture. I’m back in California, my apartment a sad bachelor pad with a dead cactus and a roommate who thinks “clean” means hiding dishes in the oven. Kait’s in New York, retaking her test, then stuck—flights booked solid, weather delays, the universe conspiring to keep us apart. We text constantly, FaceTime every night, but it’s not enough. I miss her laugh in the same room, the way she steals my fries, the way she fits against me like we were built for it.
Test done. Aced it. But every flight’s delayed or canceled. Earliest is Jan 2. I’m dying.
You’re killing me, Jamison. I had a whole beach picnic planned. Tacos. Tequila. You in my hoodie. In my arms.
I’m about ready to drive there. I’m living on vending machine Cheetos and rage. And I miss you.
I send a selfie in my kitchen, holding a Cali Burrito and pouting.
This burrito is lonely without you. I miss you.
I hate everything.
Internally, I’m a wreck. I’m interning at the firm starting next week, and the New York office is an option—a real option. I’ve got the paperwork, the recruiter’s number, a pros-and-cons list that’s 90%Kait. California might not be a suitable option,what if this is our life? Her stuck in academic hell in New York, me in California, both of us drowning in missed connections? I can’t lose her again. Iwon’t. I’m halfway through an email to the NYC office—Interested in discussing relocation—when my phone buzzes.
FLIGHT BOOKED. Found something earlier! Dec. 30, 6 p.m. LAX. I’m coming. New Year’s is OURS.
Relief hits like a tidal wave. I’m grinning like an idiot, texting her back before I can stop myself.
I fist pump to the sky! I’m picking you up with a sign that says something sappy, I don’t know what yet, but it will be good.
LAX is a zoo—horns, luggage, people in sequins still hungover from the eggnog on Christmas. I’m at arrivals, holding a cardboard sign I scrawled withKait Jamison: My Favorite Humanin Sharpie, a bag of tacos from my favorite truck balanced on my knee. My heart’s doing backflips, and I’m sweating through my flannel like a rookie on prom night.
Then I see her. She’s in my UCLA sweatshirt, backpack slung low, dragging her suitcase like it’s holding her back. Her eyes scan the crowd, and when they land on me, she drops everything andruns. I catch her as she launches into my arms, legs around my waist, tacos miraculously surviving.
“Josh!” she squeals, kissing me like we’re in a rom-com with a $200 million budget.
“Kait!” I spin her, kissing her back—lips, cheeks, nose, anywhere I can reach. “God, you have no idea, how much I missed you.”
She’s crying and laughing, her face buried in my neck. “I’m here. I’m here. I’m finally fucking here!”
I set her down, but don’t let go, my hands on her waist like she’ll vanish if I blink. The panic, the spiral, thewhat ifs—gone. She’s here, warm and real and mine.
Wiping her tears with my thumbs. “I have been a mess. Full-on spiral. Thought this was gonna be our life—canceled flights, missed holidays, me crying into tacos alone.”
She laughs, watery but real. “I’ve been freaking out too. Thought you’d get sick of waiting, find someone else with a trust fund.”
“Never,” I say, kissing her again. “I wasthis closeto emailing the New York office. Like,Hi, please take me, I’m in love with a girl in Brooklyn.”
Her eyes widen. “You were gonna move, even before your internship started?”
“If it meant keeping you? In a heartbeat.” I pull her close, forehead to forehead. “I’m so fucking happy you’re here. You took care of business, kicked that test’s ass, and now we’ve got a week. Tacos, beaches, my bed. You’re not leaving till I’ve made you forget vending machine Cheetos exist and that I’m the only man for you.”
She grins, stealing a taco from the bag. “Deal. But first, kiss me like you mean it.”
I do—slow, deep, pouring every ounce ofI missed youinto it. The airport fades, the horns, the luggage, the sequined hangovers. It’s just us, tacos, and a new year that’s ours.
“Welcome home, Jamison,” I murmur against her lips.
“Home’s wherever you are,” she says, and kisses me until the tacos get cold.
