THAT KIND OF LOVE

CHAPTER 5B: THE JOURNEY

MAYA

After an intense argument and back and forth between us he pulled out of the lot anyway.

Tires crunching over wet leaves.

Sky turned charcoal.

Streetlights flickered on early because of clouds.

We argued the whole drive.

“You always think I’m going to leave,” Alex said.

Gripping the steering wheel.

Knuckles white.

“I’m not going anywhere, Maya.

Six years.

You think I’d walk out over a text?”

“I don’t think you’ll leave me,” I said.

Staring out the passenger window.

“I think you’ll leave the room.

Every time.

And I’m tired of chasing you down hallways.”

Subaru roared to life.

Then we started again.

Red light on Huron.

He threw the car in park.

Got out.

Walked three steps.

Punched the air.

Got back in.

Slammed the door.

Drove.

“Do you know how that looks?” I said, mortified.

“People are staring.”

“Let them stare!” he yelled.

“I’m not a robot, Maya.

I get angry. I get scared.

I’d rather punch air than punch a wall.

Or punch you with my words.”

“You already punch me with your words,” I whispered.

He heard it anyway.

Car went silent except for GPS.

Then rain started.

Steady drizzle.

Wipers on low.

Brake lights ahead stretched into red ribbons.

“You’re going to make us late,” I said.

“I’m driving as fast as I can without getting us killed,” he snapped.

Neither of us spoke for a while.

Just rain.

Engine.

GPS counting down miles.

Stuck in traffic near Starbucks.

Alex reached over.

Took my hand.

Didn’t look at me.

Just laced our fingers together.

Squeezed once.

I squeezed back.

That was how a two-hour drive became three hours plus.

Exhausting.

Phone buzzed nonstop.

Mom: Where are you? Your dad is not pleased. Be here soon.

Alex glanced at it.

“They’re probably pissed.”

“They’re probably worried,” I corrected.

“Maybe pissed at the same time.”

Three hours later, we were at my parents’ house.

Alex parked.

Killed the engine.

We both sat there.

Not moving.

“You don’t have to come in,” I said quietly.

“They know we fight.

But I don’t want them to see us like this.”

“I’m not leaving you to do apologies alone,” he said.

Unbuckled. Got out.

Walked around and opened my door.

Like he always does.

Even when we’re furious.

Rain had stopped.

Air smelled like jet fuel and wet pavement and relief.

Mr. Ken, our family steward, met us at the door.

Called a maid for my bag.

Gestured us toward the living room.

My parents hugged me tight.

Mom pinched my cheek.

“You’re late.”

“I know. Traffic. And Alex.”

They both looked at him.

He shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Sorry we’re late, Mr. and Mrs. Bennett.

I drove as safe as I could.”

Dad nodded slow.

“Good thing you’re both here.”

Mom’s voice was laced with humor.

“Maya, you didn’t tell me Alex was tagging along.”

Alex and I didn’t look at each other.