Urban Climber 2

by Hunter, S. V.

  Me: I don’t know what to tell you, other than I’ve made a huge mistake.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m texting this guy,” I giggle, sliding into the back seat of my parents’ ancient wagon and heaving the door shut behind me.

  Dad exhales. “Is he the reason we’re losing you to that place?”

  I can’t help but smile. “Even without him, I love New York, Dad. I love the buzz of the place—the people, the chaos, the craziness, the diversity. Anything and everything is acceptable there because everything’s happening too fast to stop it. You’ve either got to surrender to the madness or get swept away with it, kicking and screaming.”

  “And what did you do?”

  I smile, sticking my head through the gap in between the front seats. “A bit of both, but in the end, I found it was better to just surrender to the moment and enjoy it all for what it is.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Awesomeness.” I smile, turning my attention back to the screen of my phone.

  “Awesomeness?” They laugh.

  “Yes,” I smirk. “Awesomeness. Now, shhh. I’m trying to hook up my destiny.”

  Me: Ash? Are you there?

  “Well?” Dad grins, watching me in the rear view mirror. “Is he texting you back? What is he saying?”

  “No,” I mumble, “not yet; give him a moment.”

  “Why should I give him a moment? Is he certifiable? Why wouldn’t he want to be with you?”

  “I hurt him, Dad. I told him to stay away from me.”

  “But I thought you said he was the bees’ knees.”

  “Bees’ knees?” I giggle. “Hardly. When did I say that? Is that what you told him I said, Mom?”

  “No,” she titters, turning back to look at me. “The word I used was ‘hot’.”

  “Oh. My mistake! Silly old me.” Dad laughs. “Well, if he’s so ‘hot’ then, why didn’t you get together with him sooner?”

  “Because I was trying to do the right thing, and Hugo made a very strong argument.”

  “Don’t mention that name in this car. I want to—”

  I giggle. “I know, Dad, but you can’t.”

  “I’m quite sure his body would fit in the trunk of his overpriced car, though.”

  “Dad!” I squeal. “Don’t go there.”

  “Why not?” He laughs. “We could chop off an arm or a foot if we needed to make extra room.”

  “Don’t forget his ego!” Mom hollers. “How are we supposed to fit that in?”

  I giggle, glancing back to my phone. Some questions can never be answered, especially ones to do with Hugo’s ego.

  Me: I’m going to send you a heap of texts now, and I’m sorry, but a tweet just won’t do it. I stuffed up. I really, really did.

  “Well? Has he texted back yet?”

  “No, okay? Please stop asking.”

  Me: I know we only spent a short amount of time together, but in the time I’ve been avoiding you, all I’ve done is think about you. Day after day after DAY.

  “Honey, did you get those extra socks that I left on top of your dresser?”

  Socks? Oh yeah, the socks. “Yup I got them.”

  “Why are you smiling to yourself like that?”

  I giggle. “I don’t know. It’s just funny—here I am about to throw my heart on the line and fly back to New York seconds before Christmas, and you’re worried about socks!”

  “I’m your mom, honey. That’s what moms do. We worry about socks. We worry about whether you’re cold. Whether you’re stressed. Whether you’re doing okay. We worry all the time. ”

  “But I’m not a child anymore.”

  “So?” She laughs. “Just because you’re not, that doesn’t mean I can just turn down the mom dial. You’ll always be in my heart, even when you’re married with your own kids. That’s just how it is.”

  “What’s it like?”

  “Exhausting.” She rolls her eyes. “But more than worth it. You find a whole new version of yourself when you become a mom for the first time. You’ll understand what I mean when you have your own kids.”

  It only feels like seconds, but when I next look up from my phone, we’re already at the airport. “Damn, that was fast. Were you speeding, Dad?”

  “Not as such,” Dad grins. “You kids are missing out on everything, what with all your texting. We could have dug a hole through to China, and you wouldn’t have noticed.”

  “But there’s a whole other world in our phones,” I whine. “We’ve got to stay connected.”

  “But honey, you’re losing the connection to life every time you bury your nose in the screen.”

  He’s got a point, I guess. But I can’t help it. It’s not like I’m addicted. Well. Not really. So I text, and I scroll through my phone. But what else am I supposed to do? Send Ash a telegram and hope he gets it in time? No. I have to text. It’s not a choice I have to make.

  Honk. Honk.

  “Who’s honking at us?”

  “We’re in the middle of the taxi lane, Mom. We shouldn’t even be sitting here.”

  “Well, find a parking spot, Daddy, because we’ve got to see our baby off.”

  “It’s okay; you don’t have to come in.”

  “But we want to say goodbye, darling.”

  “It’ll just make me cry.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  I poke my head through the empty space that divides their seats. “I’m really going to miss you both.” I exhale, kissing them on their cheeks.

  “We thought we’d at least have you for Christmas. Talk about a fast turnaround.”

  “I know,” I sigh, leaning against the heavy door as I stumble out of the wagon. “Me too.” I pause, turning back to look at them. “I could still stay if you want me to?”

  “We want you to be happy. That’s all we’ve ever wanted.”

  Honk. Honk.

  Mom whips her head around and glares at the driver.

  “Be nice,” I giggle.

  “So you’re really leaving?”

  I nod. “Yes. I have to do this. I have to go back to see him, because if I don’t, I’ll never know.”

  Dad smiles at me. “Ah, young love. There’s nothing like it. Savor every moment.”

  “Bye.” I wave, watching as their car pulls out and into the darkness of the night.

  Me: Even though I left NY this morning, I left with the wrong guy. I should’ve left with you, Ash. I should be with you.

  Just as I enter the terminal, the final boarding call for my flight booms out from the speakers.

  Me: I’ve got to get on the flight now, it’s the last one into NY, and I know you’ve moved on and you’re probably scaling some building, but—

  I chuck my luggage at the baggage carrier and start running down the hallway.

  Me: I love you. I’m in love with you, and if the plane goes down, or I never see you again, I just wanted you to know that.

  “Hi,” I puff as I arrive at the gate. “I’m Laura Hemsworth. You were calling my name over the speakers. Here I am, this is me.”

  “You’re just in time.” The lady smiles. “Go on through.”

  Me: In case you’ve got no clue who this is from—it’s Laura. Laura Hemsworth. You insisted on calling me Ra, even though I didn’t like it at first. Okay, I’ll leave you alone now. Bye.

  THIRTEEN

  I’ve lost count how many text messages I’ve sent to Ash. I’m not even drunk, but I’m texting him like my frickin’ life depends on it. I’m so going to regret this when I’m out of the sky. I mean, it’s not like I can stay up here in limbo forever. Sooner or later, I’ll arrive back on land with no credit and a bright red face. Shit. I just sent another one. Somebody put a straightjacket on me! Then again, the way my monkey mind is encouraging me, even being restrained probably wouldn’t stop me. How tricky is it to text with your nose? Guess I’ll find out if need be.

  We’re getting closer now. The canopy of the concrete jungle is
just coming into view. To this day, New York still leaves me breathless. It’s just so magnificent, so vast, so different from everything I’ve ever known. It’s the sort of place that makes me feel like even if I started exploring it tonight and carried on every day for the rest of my life, I still wouldn’t see everything. There’s just too much to see. It’s no wonder so many songs have been written about it. I’m sure Ash could compose a whole opus if he wanted to.

  I wonder if he’s down there, sitting on the peak of one of those manmade mountains. Thinking, contemplating, watching the world scurry by, oblivious to what’s above them. He always said it was so peaceful up there, so beautiful, even if all he could see that day was thick smog. I lean forward in my seat, peering out the little window of the plane. I can’t see him. Only in my mind. In my mind, he’s there, like he always was. Fearless. Free. Sexy as all hell.

  What have I done? How could I have just walked away from him and everything that he represents? They say life begins on the other side of fear, on the other side of comfort … and yet, I went for the “easy” option. I went for something that I knew from the past, knowing deep down that it wasn’t the right thing to do but doing it anyway. Ignoring my gut. Ignoring my instinct. Ignoring him.

  The plane is dropping now. Not dropping from the sky but descending. Slowly but surely, I’m getting closer to the ground. Reality. Good or bad, I’m about to see it. I look around the cabin at all the different people—grandmothers, fathers, businessmen, women with rings bigger than mine. Some are smiling, some are reading, some look like they aren’t even aware of what’s around them, like all they can hear is their incessant thoughts. And me? I’m freaking. I don’t like flying. I don’t like the up part or the down part. Once I’m in the air part, I’m okay, I guess. I deal with that because, well, I hardly feel like I’m moving. But the up and down part … no thanks.

  I curl my fingers around the armrests and dig my nails into the plastic. The guy next to me chuckles as he studies me. He’s wearing a suit. A black one with a very fine pinstripe though it. I reckon he’s got tickets on himself because he looks expensive. Really expensive. Mom wouldn’t like him because of that, but deep down, I know no matter what her belief is, his suit is just material, and frankly, I’m thankful he’s not naked.

  He leans into my shoulder. “Don’t fly much, sweetheart?”

  For his information, I was on a private jet with golden taps in the bathroom less than twelve hours ago! But despite all that, it hasn’t made a difference. It’s not like the more I fly, the easier it gets. For me, it’s the more I do it, the more I think I shouldn’t.

  “We’ll be back on the ground soon; ease up,” he tells me.

  I look at him like he’s insane, but oh no, he’s far worse than insane. He’s hella creepy. He leans back into his chair with a huge, slimy smile spread across his clean-shaven face. “Do you wanna suck something to help keep your ears from popping?”

  My mouth drops, and I shut it promptly before he thinks I’m taking up his offer. Ew and gross. That’s got to be the worst line I’ve heard in my life. What a total perv. Have I got a sign on me saying “dickheads welcome”? I squirm in my seat. “Je ne parle pas anglais.”

  He raises his brow, his slimy smile growing even wider. “I hear the French are very good kissers. Can I show you around New York? There are many great sites, even below the belt.”

  My skin just about crawls off my bones. “Je ne parle pas anglais!” I repeat, flicking my dark hair over my shoulder and turning back to the window. It’s lucky he doesn’t speak French. That’s seriously the only French I remember. Still, it’s obviously enough because he doesn’t bother me again.

  Finally, the whole plane shudders and creaks as it skids across the tarmac, and I breathe a massive sigh of relief. Another flight survived. Hopefully, that will be my last one for a while. Next time, I’m driving, and I don’t care how long it takes to get back.

  Everyone jumps to their feet in a rush to get off the plane. I’ll wait. I can’t be bothered to stand up with my neck cricked all out of joint just for the sake of standing. What’s the point in that? I can’t help but giggle as the mass of people unapologetically push and prod to get ahead of each other. Some of them are jammed so closely together they remind me of sardines in a can. I don’t know why they’re hurrying. We’re all going to the same place. I mean, really, what’s the big deal? Why the competition?

  An older man with snowy white hair is walking beside me—he’s taking his time too. I smile at him as I roll my eyes, pointing at the people scurrying in front of us. “Aren’t they silly?”

  He shrugs. “Pack mentality.”

  I giggle. “Yeah, they’re like angry sheep. I’m in no rush to get my baggage.”

  He gives me a wink. “Got a lot, huh?”

  “There’s only one case, but it weighs a ton.”

  He chuckles softly. “You have a lovely Christmas.”

  “Thanks.” I smile, watching as his wife gives him a little wave at the gate. That’s so adorable. She reminds me of my Nan. Every time she saw Pop, her eyes would light up just like that. They’d been married for sixty years, and the love she had for him never faded, even after he got Alzheimer’s.

  “Are you spending it with family?” The old man asks.

  “No,” I shake my head. “I could have, but I decided to come back here.”

  “Oh.” He nods gently. “Well, you must have had your reasons.”

  I shrug. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Do you know anyone here? No one should be alone on Christmas.”

  I nod. “A couple of people, yeah.”

  He gives his wife a squeeze, turning back to look at me. “So someone is picking you up, then?”

  I look around the airport. A sea of a million faces … but not his. “No, it doesn’t look like it. But don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” I plaster on my bravest smile. “Merry Christmas.”

  I watch as they slowly walk away, arm-in-arm. They look like they’ve been together for more than one life. Like somehow, in amongst all the chaos and crush of people, they found each other. Found love. Found the missing piece of themselves. I want that. I want that so badly it hurts. Maybe I’ll get it tonight, maybe I won’t. But I know deep down in my heart, that’s what I want—someone I can grow old with and not be frightened about what that means.

  The terminal’s heater blows across my face, and it’s only then that I notice wetness on my cheeks. I hadn’t even realized I’d been crying. Caught up in the moment of what they had, everything else faded into the distance. But now, I’m here. Back to reality with a big, heavy crash. I was stupid, thinking he’d turn up. Why would he? After the way I treated him? After pushing him away even though he told me he loved me? And what? I seriously thought he was just going to rock up and meet me at the gate? How stupid am I?

  My shoulders slump forward as I haul my luggage off the belt. Amidst a plethora of black cases, mine is really easy to spot. Even though it’s black, it’s got a big, yellow L spray-painted on it. Yup, it’s almost as classy as one of those designer brands. Oh, but wait … there’s more! Tied to the handle is a neon pink and black-spotted shoelace, actually, two of them. I don’t know why I still use this stupid case. I seriously hate it and the compulsory stares I always get when I use it. The thing is, Mom said she didn’t want me to ever go through the hassle of losing my luggage, and this was her way of protecting me. And so far, it’s never been stolen, so despite my grumbles, I know I should be thankful.

  I stand on the same spot of dark, flecked carpet, for at least another thirty minutes. Waiting. Watching. Hoping. “Would you like me call you a cab, ma’am?” one of the security guys calls out as I look left and then right for the zillionth time.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” I smile weakly as I shuffle over to the giant glass doors, stopping as they glide apart. I take two steps forward and poke my nose out the door of the terminal.

  Holy fudge! How’d it get so cold out? It’s freezin
g but remarkably still. There’s not one breath of air. Just blackness and the glowing lights of all the taxis lined up along the curb, ready to whisk people away to their destinations. I wish I knew what mine was. Tears fill my eyes, but I don’t let them escape. I’ve cried enough already.

  I wrap my arms around myself to try to keep warm. It’s no use. My top is far too thin, and my favorite red coat is stuffed at the very bottom of my suitcase. If I want to get it, I’m going to have to find the key, and to find the key, I’d have to delve into the bottom of my purse. And my purse is like the ocean floor. It takes forever to reach it, and once you get there, you’ve got no clue what you’re going to come across. So searching for one tiny key, at this hour of the night, is so not worth the hassle.