Page 54 of Split Decision

"You don't have to talk," he says.

"I know." I wrap my hands around the mug. "How are you before the show tomorrow?"

"Good." He leans back, one arm on the seat back. "Ready. St. Louis crowds are different from Chicago—they feel more skeptical at the top. You have to earn them."

"You always earn them."

"Yeah, but the working-for-it part is half the fun." He tilts his head. "When's the last time you called him?"

"Three nights ago."

He doesn't respond to that. He just lets it sit, which is the correct thing to do with it.

"He's busy," I say.

"You're both busy."

"Right."

"Andi." His voice is careful. "Busy is a reason. It's not the only reason."

I look at him across the table. Travis doesn't push as a general rule. He offers and waits. So when he's being direct, it's worth paying attention to.

"What are you trying to say?" I ask.

"I'm saying that I've watched you for two months talk about him in a way that gets more careful every week. Like you're editing yourself." He keeps his voice level. "I'm saying I notice that."

"He's the person I'm going to marry," I say.

"I know he is."

"Nothing about this changes that."

"I know that too." He picks up his coffee. "I'm just telling you what I see. I'm not trying to make it into something it isn't."

"I know you're not."

We sit in the quiet for a moment. The bus is moving now, the St. Louis highway unfolding outside the window. Kale is somewhere in the back of the bus having what sounds like a philosophical argument with Drew about thestructural integrity of stadium stages, which is a very Kale-and-Drew kind of Tuesday night.

"Can I ask you something?" I watch his reaction.

"Yeah."

"What do you do when you can feel something changing, but you can't tell yet if it's changing into something better or something worse?"

He thinks about this seriously, the way he takes questions seriously when they're real ones.

"I try to figure out what I'm actually afraid of," he says finally. "Because usually when I can't tell which direction something's going, it's because I'm spending too much energy hoping for one outcome instead of looking clearly at what's happening."

"And when you figure out what you're afraid of?"

"I either do something about it, or I accept it." He sets down the coffee. "There's not a third option that's actually useful."

I let his answer permeate my thoughts, consider it from every angle, and decide how I can apply it to my situation.

What I'm afraid of isn't what most people assume. I'm not afraid that Luke will stop loving me. I'm not afraid that distance will erode what we’ve built. I've lived throughharder things than distance, and I know what erodes under pressure and what holds.

What I'm afraid of is more specific.