A Tangled Web We Weave (Completed)

40. The Terminal

Regan

Elena wasn't answering her phone and I was seriously on the edge of a mental breakdown. I didn't understand my government class and she knew more about government than our teacher. I slammed my book shut and started cleaning the clothes off my floor. Between being in the hospital and the breakup, my mental state was scrambled eggs.

My phone rang and without looking at the phone screen, I answered. "Elena, thank God, I can't find the answer for #12 and I'm going to break something-"

A low chuckle came over the line. "Hi, Regs."

I froze, the half-folded shirt I was carrying fluttering to the floor. Blink. Blink. Blink. "Tony?"

"That happy to hear from me?"

I fumbled, trying to compose myself and fluff my hair at the same time. "Oh, stop it, of course, I am. Though I am surprised."

"I know. I just called to let you know that my grandpa just passed away and I should be home on Saturday."

"Oh, my God, Tony, I'm so sorry. How are you doing?"

I could practically hear his shrug. "I'm alright. It wasn't sudden or anything, and I got to say goodbye like I wanted. You should see my dad. He keeps trying to act like he isn't just waiting for the reading of the will, but he keeps asking about when it's happening."

I cringed. "That blows, I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. But I was wondering if you could give me a ride home from the airport. I would usually just get an Uber, but I also miss you."

My heart almost jumped out of my throat. "Uhm, let me check my schedule. What time Saturday?"

He hesitated. "5 AM."

I internally groaned, but said, "Of course. I'll be there."

If you think I got any work done the rest of week, you're wrong. Since his call Tuesday morning, all I could do was think about seeing him again and what I'd say.

Wednesday I turned in a really crappy essay about the Nixon presidency and planned out yelling at him. "What in the hell does 100% mean? Why would you even say that? Was I that bad of a girlfriend? Was dealing with my parents that bad?" I shouted at the mirror while my parents were at dinner. My little sister, Ciara, heard me and peeked around the corner of the bathroom door. Once I had yelled myself out, she gave me hug and whispered that she loved me.

Thursday I went to musical practice and messed up all of my lines. Wade, my teacher/director, told me to get off the stage and practice in the dressing room. My understudy, a willowy bitch named Katie, stared holes into the back of my head the entire time, as if willing it to explode. I flipped her off (what? I was not in the mood) and smiled sweetly. I went home to my brother Daniel's birthday party and pretended to be interested in my great aunt Saorise's story about the "Mexican at the post office who definitely charged me for more than a stamp". I patted her mildly-racist hand and went to bed.

Friday I got my Nixon essay back and surprisingly got a 89. The kid next to me failed and didn't react well (he accidentally snapped his pen). I had to run to my locker and grab the shorts in there or the blue ink on the jeans would dye my skin. After school, I got my nails done, smiling what I hoped was a friendly grin at the nice lady doing them. When I got home, I tried to figure out what I was going to wear and ended up having a mental breakdown on a pile of sweatshirts.

Saturday morning, at 4 AM, my alarm went off. I put my hair in a bun, took it out, put it up again, did my makeup, and I was late. Speeding down the freeway meant that I didn't really get to think about seeing his face, but listening to H.E.R. was probably a mistake. On an impulse, I made a sign that said "TONY" in big red letters and I debated even bringing it, but there I was at 5 in the morning, holding a huge piece of cardstock in a practically empty airport. There was a cute family waiting in line and their little boy kicked his ball over to me. He struggled to run over, but his mother wasn't paying attention and had his hand in an iron grip (can't say that I blame her). I gently kicked it back and he rewarded me with a dimpled, mischievous grin.

Passengers started exiting and I hungrily searched the faces. Two minutes passed. Then ten. Had I missed him? Did he honestly miss my huge sign and bright red hair? I called him, but it went straight to voicemail. Was this an elaborate F U?

"Hey, Reg," came a voice from behind me and I jumped. And yelped. 

I whirled around, sign still in hand. And there he was. Tony. His eyes looked significantly sadder and the little lines by his eyes were a little deeper, but just as handsome.

He tugged the sign from my grip and set it down next to us. Turning back to me, he pulled me into a hug so tight I almost thought about stepping away, but I kept my face next to his thick hair and breathed him in. The people passing gave us either looks of disgust or envy. Finally, he released me and smiled. "You look good."

I smiled despite myself. "Thanks." There was an awkward silence and then I jumped into action. "Do you have another bag? Here, follow me, I parked me car this way. Yeah, the next right. Not left, turn right, turn right. You're a dork."

The ride home was practically silent, with only the radio filling the empty space. I pulled up to his apartment and we just stared at each other. He moved a little closer and my heart galloped. Was he going to kiss me? Nope, just unbuckling his seatbelt. I got out of the car, gave him another hug, and waved goodbye. As I pulled away from the corner, I shook my head. "What the hell was that, Regan? No 'how's your family?' No 'how are you?' What is wrong with you?"

I heard shouting and looked in my rearview mirror to see Tony running after my car. I slammed on the brakes and pulled over. 

He opened my car door for me, pulling me out, and looked into my eyes. "Now, I don't pretend to know exactly why we broke up, but I do know exactly why I need you back." Ignoring my gasp, he gulped and continued. "None of this is going how I thought it was going to, but I love you still, Regs, and I don't want some stupid fight about Italy or your parents to wreck a good thing. Our good thing."

I put my hand over his mouth and thought about how to answer. I thought about saying, "I miss you and I love you", but what came out of my lips was "what does 100% mean?"

His head flinched back a bit and his brows furrowed. "100%?"

"When we broke up, I said I thought we need a break and you said yeah, 100%, or something stupid like that."

He laughed. "I thought I was being chivalrous. Letting you go and all that shit." He pulled my face to his. "Do you forgive me?"

I nodded and he pressed his lips against mine.

He might've just returned from Italy, but I felt like I was the one coming home.