✧ Baggage✧

𝑇ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑠 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑦, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐿𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑠 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑝𝑠. — 𝑃𝑟𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑏𝑠 16:9

🌿❁🌿❁🌿❁🌿❁🌿❁🌿

The plane ride to Alabama was fairly long especially with the layover I had to take from Atlanta. By the time the wheels finally slammed onto the tarmac, my entire body felt completely drained, aching from hours of sitting in cramped, upright positions while breathing in recycled, stale cabin air. The low, continuous hum of the jet engines had drilled a persistent headache right behind my eyes, making the very idea of navigating a new environment feel like an impossible mountain to climb. I leaned my forehead against the scratched acrylic of the small oval window, staring out at the blindingly bright afternoon sky, wishing I could just stay in my seat and fly back to the gray, familiar streets of my old life.

Stepping out of the terminal I felt a bit overwhelmed with how everyone was bumping into each other trying to head to baggage claim which most of them didn't even bother to say excuse me. The airport was filled with the frantic energy of hundreds of travelers all moving with one single-minded purpose. Families were shouting to each other over the din of rolling suitcase wheels, others were power walking while barking into their headsets, and the humidity of the South was already seeping through the sliding doors, thickening the air. Every few seconds, someone's shoulder would aggressively clip mine, jarring my balance. My personal space, the tiny bubble I fiercely protected, was being invaded repeatedly by strangers who didn't even have the basic decency to offer a passing apology.

Annoyed I pushed past them to grab my own bag that peeked through the pile of yet to be claimed luggage then quickly made my escape before another horde of people came running through. The baggage carousel squealed loudly as it rotated, dumping an endless stream of generic black suitcases down the metal chute. The moment I spotted my bag wedged between a massive hardshell trunk and a set of golf clubs, I didn't hesitate. I threw my elbows out, ignoring the indignant sighs of the people standing too close to the belt, and yanked the heavy canvas strap free. Hauling the weight onto my shoulder, I practically sprinted away from the moving belt, desperate to put as much distance as possible between myself and the overbearing crush of humanity.

I retreated toward the quieter edges of the arrivals hall, pulling my phone from the pocket of my pants. Marie had sent me a photo of what my supposedly grandma looks like and I gotta say she wasn't what I expected. I unlocked the screen and stared at the image, letting my mind dissect the woman staring back at me. When you hear the word 'grandmother', especially one living in the Deep South, your mind automatically conjures up a certain type of aesthetic. You picture pastel floral aprons, comfortable rocking chairs on a porch, maybe a tin of homemade cookies, and soft, welcoming eyes. The woman in the photograph however shattered every single one of those preconceived notions into dust. She was the absolute embodiment of refined, intimidating elegance. Her silver hair was immaculately styled, a sleek crown of volume that framed high, aristocratic cheekbones. She wore a tailored, charcoal colored blazer that draped flawlessly over her shoulders, paired with a silk scarf that looked like it cost more than a month's rent in my old apartment. Her posture was rigid, demanding respect, and her dark eyes held a sharp, calculating intelligence. She didn't look like someone who baked cookies; she looked like someone who owned the bakery and fired people for being late.

With that in mind when I got near the airport exit, I scanned the crowed looking for the familiar face but came up short. I walked the length of the pickup zone twice, my duffel bag growing heavier with every step. I peered over the heads of chauffeurs holding up digital tablets, checked the seating areas filled with weary travelers, and even walked over to a nearby smoothie stand just to be absolutely thorough.

I checked the time. Three in the afternoon.

Marie had said she'd be here to get me, but there was still no sign of her. The mild irritation that had been bubbling beneath the surface began to rise again. My jaw clenched tightly as I stared at the digital numbers on my lock screen. She was the one who had supposedly agreed to this. She was the one who wanted to pull me out of New Jersey and drag me all the way down here to play family. And yet, on the very first day, at the very first major hurdle, she couldn't even be bothered to show up on time to collect her estranged granddaughter.

Great I thought to myself now I'm going to be stuck in the airport in an unfamiliar place with no help, flipping fantastic. The idea of being abandoned again stung, reopening the raw, massive wound of grief I had been carrying around since the funeral. It was just another harsh reminder that I was an obligation, a heavy burden handed off to people who had better things to do. I dragged my bag over to a secluded, shadowy corner near the sliding exit doors, letting it drop to the floor. Taking a seat near the exit, I slumped down further into myself wallowing in my own self-pity contemplating if I should contact my social worker and tell her to get me out of here. My thumb hovered over Marie's contact name on my phone screen. All I had to do was press call. I could tell her it was a terrible mistake. I could tell her I'd rather take my chances in a loud, crowded group home back in my own city than sit abandoned at a baggage claim in a state where I knew absolutely no one.

I closed my eyes tightly, letting out a long, trembling breath as the overlapping noise of the terminal washed over me. I was consumed by the heavy, spiraling panic in my chest, tuning out my immediate surroundings to focus purely on holding myself together.

Not long after I felt a firm tap on my back; I jumped slightly in shock confused on why someone would Sneak up behind me like that. My heart hammered wildly against my ribs, the sudden physical contact triggering my immediate flight-or-fight response. I whipped my head around, my mind instantly racing to construct the perfect, biting, sarcastic retort to hurl at whoever possessed the audacity to interrupt my misery.

The snarky remark I had planned died before it could leave my mouth.

Now I had a highly active imagination, but my brain could have never organically conjured up the person currently standing over me. I don't think I've ever seen a guy that could be handsome yet pretty at the same time. Nevertheless, here he stood right Infront of me, practically towering over my seated form at what had to be six-foot-two. He had a mess of thick, black curly hair that looked perfectly tousled, framing a face that was entirely too symmetrical to be fair. His eyes were this striking shade of hazel green, bright and observant, looking down at me with genuine curiosity.

"Are you by chance maybe Bonnie-May?" he asked, his voice smooth and carrying a subtle, unhurried southern cadence.

My brain effectively flatlined. The ability to form coherent sentences completely abandoned me. Instead of answering like a normal person, I nodded my head in a up and down motion. I hated myself in that exact moment.

A bright dimpled smile lit up his tanned face as he sighed a breath of relief. It was the kind of smile that probably easily disarmed people, the kind that probably got him out of a massive amount of trouble on a daily basis. "I've been looking for you everywhere, you were pretty hard to spot you know".

The casual, overly familiar way he spoke snapped me back to reality. The initial shock of his looks faded away, and I immediately put up the wall I kept around strangers or people in general. I narrowed my eyes, aggressively crossing my arms over my chest, building up my emotional armor. I wasn't going to be charmed by some random local kid at an airport.

"Why would you be looking for me? I don't even know you," I snapped, my tone laced with all the venom and bitter suspicion I had been harboring for the past three hours.

He didn't flinch at my hostility. He just rubbed the back of his neck, looking mildly apologetic but entirely unfazed. "Your grandmother. uh Mrs. Shirley asked me to get you because she could make it".

Of course she did. She couldn't be bothered to pick up the granddaughter she had never met, so she sent the local delivery boy to handle the inconvenience.

I scoffed. "Figures," I said as I grabbed my stuff and walked ahead of the mystery guy toward the sliding glass doors, leaving him standing there with a bewildered look on his face.

The moment the doors parted the heat of the Alabama afternoon hit me right in the chest, stealing the breath from my lungs. I made it about ten paces onto the sidewalk before I realized I had absolutely no idea where I was going.

"You taking me outta here or what!?" I yelled over my shoulder as he shook his head and jogged up to catch me.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm parked just over this way," he replied, amusement clearly dancing in his hazel eyes. He took the lead, guiding me confidently through the rows of parked cars toward the lot.

As we navigated through the endless rows of sedans and compact cars, we eventually approached a massive, lifted vehicle that looked a bit out of place. It was huge, rugged, and entirely way too tall.

"Figured you'd drive a truck," I muttered under my breath.

"It gets me where I need to go," he replied easily, pressing a button on his key fob to unlock the doors. He walked around to the passenger side and pulled the heavy door open for me. The cab of the truck was too high off the ground, lacking a convenient running board to step onto. I stood there for a moment, staring at the seat, trying to calculate the amount of upper body strength it would take to heave myself inside without looking stupid.

Before I could attempt the awkward climb, I felt the sudden, alarming warmth of his presence right beside me before his hands reached out, attempting to grip my waist to hoist me up.

Panic spiked through my veins. The sudden physical proximity was too much. I immediately flinched away from his hands. "I've got it," I said quickly. "I don't need any help." I scrambled backward, my spine hitting the metal side of the truck bed, breathing hard.

He immediately took a massive step back, his hands raised high in the air in surrender. "Sorry, sorry," he said, keeping his voice calm and cool. "Most people have trouble getting in".

I glared at him, righting my posture and grabbing the interior handle with a white-knuckled grip. "I'm not like most people," I retorted. With a sudden burst of adrenaline, I yanked myself up into the cab, dragging my things onto the floorboards with a heavy, ungraceful thud.

He watched my ascent without saying a word. "Clearly not" he murmured with a faint smile on his lips as he walked around the front of the hood, got in the driver's side and peeled away from the airport.

crossing my arms tightly over my chest I inspected the inside of the truck surprised on how clean it looked.

"All set?" he asked as he adjusted himself in the seat.

I nodded and went back to staring out the truck window, refusing to acknowledge him as he expertly navigated the confusing network of airport exit ramps.

Unfortunately, mystery guy seemed completely immune to my brooding silence.

"So where'd you move from?" he asked.

"New Jersey."

"Jersey?"

I glanced at him. "That's what I said."

He laughed under his breath. "Didn't know Mrs. Shirley had any grandkids."

"Apparently, neither did I."

His eyebrows lifted, but he didn't push the subject.

I spent the next few minutes staring out at the passing pine trees, doing my best to ignore him, but he seemed determined to fill every second of silence.

"So, you like music?" he asked.

"Sometimes."

His gaze dropped to the battered paperback resting against my lap. "Let me guess," he said, a teasing edge creeping into his voice. "You're a big reader."

"Obviously."

He nodded, as if that somehow confirmed whatever theory he'd already formed about me. "Fair enough."

I lasted another few seconds before my patience finally snapped. I turned toward him, narrowing my eyes.

"Do you always talk this much?"

His smile, which I was quickly learning was a permanent, infuriating fixture on his face, grew even wider. He glanced over at me, his eyes crinkling deeply at the corners. "Not usually. But when I'm around pretty girls, I tend to get curious."

I rolled my eyes at that as I slid the car window down a few inches more, letting the sun beat down on my face and the wind brush through my curls.

"I can see you blushing, you know," he teased his voice carrying easily over the loud rush of the wind.

I snorted loudly, keeping my gaze glued to the blur of greenery passing by the window. "That's a lie because Black people don't blush," I stated firmly. It was my absolute go-to defense mechanism whenever someone tried to call me out on being flustered or embarrassed.

He let out a genuine, rumbling laugh that completely filled the small cab of the truck. "I must be crazy then because I can see the tips of your ears turning a warm blush red color".

My hands flew to my ears before I could stop them.

Heat radiated from the tips of them.

Great.

I'd just proven his point.

"Just keep your eyes on the road," I muttered, sinking lower into the seat.

"Yes, ma'am."

He gave me a quick salute, and I caught the edge of his grin.

I turned toward the window before he could see me smile.