Page 21 of Kiss Me Like You Mean It

‘You had surgery.’ I try to keep my voice level. ‘You can’t just keep pretending it didn’t happen.’

‘The doctor says I’m perfectly fine and I’m sick of you using me as an excuse not to live your life, for turning into some sort of robot!’

She sounds angry now, properly angry, and my stomach dips; my heart is hammering in my chest. Every fibre of my being wants to get out of here.

‘It’s been a long day,’ I say, getting to my feet. ‘I’m tired. I think I’m going to go and lie down.’

‘Lee, I’m trying to have an important conversation with you,’ she snaps, nettled. ‘Stop running away from me. You’re being ridiculous.’

‘I’m not running away. I told you. I’m tired.’

With that I leave the room, hoping she won’t notice the way my hands are shaking. I go back upstairs and get ready for bed. It’s not even that late, but all I want to do is pull my duvet over my head and forget this day even happened.

As I’m about to turn out the light, my phone buzzes.

I have a new email. And it’s from Nico. I steel myself for whatever he has to say about our situation, but when I finally open the email nothing has prepared me for his response.

Hi Lee!

Wow, that is a shock! I’m in the States right now. Why don’t you come out here so that we can talk about all of this in person? I’d love to see you. As soon as possible.

Lol

Nico x

#YOLO

Attached to this email is a plane ticket. To Portland, Maine. Leaving London tomorrow.

I blink at the screen, read the words again. He’s just found out we’re married and he’d love to see me? As soon as possible? We haven’t spoken for a year and he’s sent me a plane ticket? What does that mean? Doesn’t he realise I can’t drop everything and fly to Maine? That would be reckless, impulsive.

That would be nothing like me.

My breath catches. The argument with Gran is too close to the surface, my heart is still tender from her words. She doesn’t need me here. She said as much. She thinks I’m not living my own life and I’m obsessing over hers instead.

She thinks I’m cold and closed off. A robot.

Is she right?

I get out of bed, my legs shaking as I pull out my suitcase and start throwing clothes inside. (By which I mean carefully folding them and packing them into my well-labelled packing cubes.)

When that is done I stand, still flooded with adrenaline. There’s something else I need to do. Something I can’t put off. Gran might have been wrong about a lot of things, but she was right about this.

I pull out my phone.

‘Hi, Adrian. We need to talk.’

Chapter Eight

Lee

Less than twenty-four hours later I’m in Maine, and no one is more surprised about that than I am.

The scenery that rolls along outside the window is gorgeous. Slender-trunked trees line the wide road, the foliage is changing, amber and gold fire licking at the touch-paper edges of their leaves. It’s after 6 p.m. local time, and the sun is starting to set, the light growing heavy. I try very hard to convince myself that this was a good idea as I settle back in the seat of the cab.

Although perhaps cab is the wrong word. The battered, sunshine yellow VW Beetle does have the words BUD’S TAXI painted on the side of it in peeling red paint, but on the other side of the car, BUD’S FUNERAL SERVICES is written in a more sombre black, and while I’m a great supporter of the side hustle, I have to admit it doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence.

Bud himself is an enormous bear of a man with a rough red beard, who was waiting at the airport for me, holding a sign with my name on. The sign was on pink cardboard and the individual letters of my name had been cut out of magazines and surrounded with a border of purple glitter. I think it was supposed to be festive but it looked like something Barbie might create, if Barbie was a serial killer.