“They’re calling boarding,” he snapped. “I have to go. Love you. Mean it.”
He disconnected before I could answer.
Except he did not disconnect all the way.
His thumb missed the end-call button, or the universe finally grew tired of the humiliation and decided I had earned one clean, unfiltered truth.
The screen tilted down toward the airport floor. I watched his shoes cross polished tile. I heard his breath, lighter now, eager rather than burdened. Then a voice slid through the speaker that I would have recognized through fire.
“Is she off?” my mother asked.
Linda Miller’s voice had always carried a particular note when she spoke about me, even when I was a child and did not have words for cruelty yet. It was impatience dressed as concern. The sound of someone handling a burden she thought she should never have been given.
“Yeah,” Brett said, no trace of strain left in him now. “God, she’s so needy. It’s exhausting.”
“Well, you handled it perfectly, sweetie,” my mother said. “Now put that phone away. Tiffany’s waiting by the gate with the mai tais. Hawaii, here we come.”
Brett laughed.
