Page 30 of And Now, Back to You

I pull my luggage off the bed and set it to the side. “Maybe I should stay home,” I say. “This doesn’t feel like the right time to leave you guys.”

“Noooo,” Penelope whines, throwing her body dramatically across my bed. “Jackson. I love you, but please go on this trip. We have big plans for movie marathons and unhealthy dinners and braiding Aiden’s hair. We’re going to make popcorn and play Stardew Valley and talk about boys. It’s going to be great. We won’t think about Mom at all.”

That feels like a convenient excuse with suspicious timing, but I allow it. “Do you plan on going to school at any point?”

She waves her hand over her head. “If the storm really is as big as you say it is, then we won’t have school. The city of Baltimore has, like, two snowplows.” She lifts herself off the bed, grabs my suitcase, and tosses it into the hall. It skids across the floor before it tips over down the staircase, descending one dull thud at a time.

“Go on the trip, Jackie,” Penelope says. “Be nice to Delilah Stewart. Get your weather kicks in. Talk to someone who understands what you’re saying.”

“Are you sure?”

She nods. “Oh my god, yes. Consider it a favor to us at this point.” She grabs onto my arm with both hands and tries to shake me back and forth. “Fly the nest, big brother. Spread those wings and soar.”

I frown. “What have you been watching on TV?”

“I’ve been listening to inspirational podcasts. Very helpful.” She gives me one last shake, then skips toward my door. “Oh, and if you could become best friends with Delilah, that would be great. Adeline and I want to invite her to dinner.”

Friendship is the furthest thing from my mind when I pull up into the station’s parking lot the next afternoon, Delilah’s car parked in its usual spot.

Meaning it’s parked halfway in my usual spot, the pale pink Volkswagen Beetle so far over the line I can barely wedge my car door open.

A half-torn sandwich wrapper catches my attention as I attempt to untangle my messenger bag from the front bumper of my car. I squint at it, then realize it’s a note. Taped to the passenger-side window of her car.

Try parking somewhere else next time, it says.

She even drew a smiley face at the bottom.

“I don’t know why you do this to yourself.” Aiden appears at my bumper and claps a heavy hand over my shoulder, dragging me forward from between the two cars. “You could park in a different spot.”

“I’m aware.” I crumple the sandwich wrapper in my hand. There’s something vaguely sticky on it. “But this one is mine.”

It’s the principle of the matter. Or something.

“Were you hoping to get stuck between the cars so you didn’t have to come inside?”

I keep my face carefully blank. “Maybe.”

The embarrassment of being pinned to my Honda Accord by Herbie: Fully Loaded might pale in comparison to whatever is about to happen in that booth.

Today we’re introducing the partnership between 101.6 LITE FM and YBAL News on Heartstrings. I had my hesitations about Delilah and me appearing on the romance hotline for the announcement, but Maggie insisted. It’s our most popular show, Jackson. We’re more likely to get a higher reach, Jackson. Don’t be absurd, Jackson. It’s not open for debate, Jackson.

I stare at the entrance of the station like I’m approaching the guillotine.

“It’s just a little case of stage fright,” Aiden assures me. “Once you get started, you’ll settle right in. You’re going to be fine.”

“Better than fine,” another voice adds. Aiden’s better half pops up behind him, the three of us forming the most unenthusiastic conga line this parking lot has ever seen. Lucie grins at me. “You’re going to be amazing, Jackson. This is exactly what you need.”

I readjust my bag. “Public humiliation?”

She laughs and I watch as the sound makes its impact against Aiden. He leans toward her, his eyes going soft. Tiny bluebirds start to circle around his head. Hearts float out of his temples.

I try to turn around and head back to my car, but Aiden loops one arm around my midsection and starts forcibly dragging me toward the station.

“Time to rip off the Band-Aid, bud.”

“Are we ripping Band-Aids?” Delilah appears at the edge of the sidewalk, slightly out of breath, her monstrosity of a jacket wrapped over her shoulders. She looks even smaller than usual bundled up in the thick material, twin patches of pink on her cheeks. Her eyes land on me and her smile twists into something mischievous. “I call first dibs, if we're ripping stuff.”

Maybe a coffee spill does invalidate a Post-it note contract.