Misadventures of a College Girl (Misadventures #9)(56)



“It’s yet another instance of our elephant wearing his elephant T-shirt, don’t you think?” He winks at me and zips up his fleece again. “Seriously, I’m a genius with this T-shirt thing. Just watch. It’s gonna be huge.”

“No doubt.” I kiss him. “Text me when you land so I know you’re safe.”

“I will.” He touches my hair. Pulls on a strand and watches it spring back. “God, I’m gonna miss this beautiful hair.”

I take a deep, steadying breath. My only job today is to keep our farewell light and bright so he can walk onto that airplane feeling nothing but excitement about this new chapter of his life. “I’ll miss this superhero chin,” I say, touching his steel chin with my fingertip. “But I’ll be happy knowing you’re doing what you were born to do. No matter what happens, one day we’ll look back on the twists and turns of our lives and say, ‘I wouldn’t change a thing because it got me to where I am right now, and right now is fucking awesome.’ You’ll see. Everything happens for a reason. I firmly believe that.”

Tyler bites his cheek.

“So get on that plane and kick some ass and enjoy every minute of this crazy ride. You’ve worked too hard not to enjoy the fruits of your labor.”

For a split second, Tyler looks like he’s stuffing down tears. But he takes a deep breath and regains control. “I’ll text you when I land.” With that, he kisses my cheek, picks up his suitcase, and strides with purpose into the security line.

For the next few minutes, I stand frozen watching him, even though all he’s doing is standing in a security line with his back to me. I know it’s stupid, but I need to see his face one last time before I can leave, even if it’s just in profile.

Finally, Tyler reaches the front of the line. He shows his ID and boarding pass to the TSA officer and, thank God, as he does, I get a glimpse of his handsome profile. The officer waves Tyler through and he walks toward the screening area. But just before Tyler gets to the entryway to the screening area, he surprises me by turning completely around and searching the crowd.

Our eyes lock.

Tyler flashes me a crooked smile, and I touch my heart. He makes a face like, Can you believe this? and I laugh and nod. Yes, I can. A nearby TSA agent says something to Tyler, and he nods at the woman. But his gaze immediately returns to me. He graces me with one last, heartbreaking smile and a palm pressed against his heart. And then he turns around, walks through the entryway to the screening area, and disappears.

I stand rooted to my spot for a long time, irrationally thinking he might pop through the entryway again. But, of course, he doesn’t. He’s gone.

“O, I am Fortune’s fool,” I whisper softly.

My shoulders drooping, I turn on my heel and begin walking through swarms of travelers, feeling like I’m trudging through molasses. After about ten steps, I stop short, my breathing too ragged and my vision too blurred by tears to continue. I stumble to a nearby bench and plop myself down, a deer in headlights. One more glance at the entryway where Tyler disappeared only moments ago and the bottomless sorrow I’ve been stuffing down for three solid days lurches out of my mouth and pours out of me in the form of racking, wretched sobs.





Chapter Thirty-Six





“Can I borrow some of your rouge, Zo?” one of my fellow cast members asks, pointing to a palette of stage makeup on the table in front of me.

“Sure thing, baby.” I slide it over to her.

It’s Sunday. About an hour and a half before the start of our matinee performance in…Where are we again? Oh, yeah. Appleton, Wisconsin. And I’m sitting next to one of my best friends in the Wicked cast in the communal dressing room assigned to us lowly chorus members. All around me, fellow chorus members are getting ready for the show, totally invading each other’s personal space as they do. But that’s just the way it is with a traveling production; everyone has to be willing to kiss their personal space goodbye because you never know how big or small the dressing rooms might be in any particular theater. And, frankly, the surprise of each new city is half the fun. Even some of the suckiest things about the grind of performing in a touring show—the stuff the veterans in the cast seem to gripe about the most—seem like a grand adventure to me.

I’m just starting to apply my eyeliner when a reminder goes off on my phone, telling me it’s time to text Tyler before his one o’clock game. I grab my phone and tap out a text.

Good luck in your game, Mr. God’s Gift to Womankind. Rip their heads off, you savage beast!

I add a football, dolphin, and aqua and orange hearts to my message and press Send. It’s more or less the same pregame text I’ve been sending to Tyler since my very first text to him well over two years ago, back when I was nothing but Tyler’s five-week miseducation project. Minus the dolphin and aqua and orange hearts, of course. Back in the day, I used to send Tyler a little bear, a football, and blue and gold hearts with whatever message. But, otherwise, it’s essentially the same text.

And my text isn’t the only thing that’s remained constant when it comes to Tyler. Since I first plastered a smile on my face and said goodbye to Tyler at the airport over a year and a half ago, my heart has never stopped being his. In fact, I can honestly say I love Tyler now more than ever. Unfortunately, though, I’ve come to realize in all this time he was right all along. Loving him doesn’t change our fate.

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