The fourth of January came sooner than I'd expected, and yet somehow not soon enough. Michael had flown out the previous afternoon to deal with a client emergency, though he'd made sure to stop by my room before he left to grab the money I owed him. We'd reached an awkward truce after New Year's Eve — something like an unspoken promise to cool our tempers around our parents even when we wanted to kill each other. It made the house more peaceful, though constantly biting my tongue had left my mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood.

The morning that I left, my parents took me to breakfast after insisting that I let them drive me to the airport. I told them that I could take a taxi, that it'd be easier — but, to be honest, my protests were halfhearted at best, in large part because my mom's face had taken on the same mournful expression that she always wore at the end of one of my visits home.

Seated in a booth at my family's favorite local diner, we ate our way through separate stacks of pancakes while exchanging small talk and nervous laughter. In a break from his usual demeanor, Dad even made a few jokes, and for once I didn't roll my eyes in spite of the fact I'd heard the same punchlines a dozen times before. He was clearly trying to make sure that we left each other on a positive note, and God knows that I would've chewed off my left leg before spoiling that.

After paying the bill and climbing into my dad's car, the three of us let out simultaneous complaints about having eaten too much, and I even laid down in the backseat while I let my stomach settle. The movement of the car was soothing, especially when I closed my eyes and listened to my mom quietly singing along to the country song on the radio. The morning had left me feeling like a kid again, and that nostalgia was the one thing that made me sad about leaving for L.A. Still, when my phone buzzed against my leg and I pulled it from my pocket to see that Melanie had messaged me, the fragile connection I felt with my hometown gave way to excitement about returning to California.

It was time to go home — sure, it was a different home than where I'd grown up, but Los Angeles was home all the same.    

Thanks to my dad's military-inspired need to always be punctual, we reached the airport with an extra ninety minutes to spare before the recommended arrival time. My parents offered to wait with me, though this time they seemed relieved when I told them to head home instead. I hugged my mom goodbye and gave my dad an awkward one-armed pat on the back before taking my bags and heading towards the security gate. I sighed as I placed my things on the conveyor belt to be scanned, mentally penning a response to Melanie's text.

She'd wished me a safe flight and let me know that she'd be driving up from Orange County to get me from L.A.X. She was also making a playlist, and did I have any song requests for her to add? I smiled as I stepped into the body scanner, hardly noticing when a burly TSA agent motioned for me to wait while he scanned me with a metal detecting wand. He dismissed me when he didn't find anything suspicious, and I grabbed my things where they waited for me at the end of the conveyor belt before moving to the side where I wiggled my feet back into my shoes.

How do you feel about... I paused, realizing I really didn't know what kind of music Melanie liked. She'd mentioned a few artists in passing, but even when I'd quizzed her about her interests at my date dash, her answers had been noncommittal at best. I decided to tease her with my response, typing out the question, How do you feel about Metallica?

For some reason, Melanie didn't strike me as a heavy metal fan, and I chuckled to myself as I imagined her reaction. To my surprise, however, she replied in less than a minute with a true zinger: I prefer Iron Maiden, but sure, whatever you want.

I shook my head, wondering why I'd thought our exchange would go any differently than it had before admitting, I was joking, I don't care what we listen to.

Haha, she wrote back, I'm holding you to that.

We continued to text back and forth until I boarded the plane and switched my phone off. I'd never been a huge fan of flying, which meant that I could've kicked myself after realizing I'd forgotten to grab one of my mom's sleeping tablets before leaving the house that morning. The woman next to me looked like she was pushing eighty, so I doubted she'd appreciate me attempting to solicit her for a Benadryl or anything else that might knock me out.
Sighing as the engines roared, I closed my eyes and said a half-assed prayer that I'd make it to the other side: Dear God, please don't let this plane crash. I don't want to die, and especially not in a fly-over state. I paused when I heard the telltale sound of a mother cooing to her infant, and then continued, And if you're feeling generous, make sure the baby behind me doesn't cry either. Amen.

Despite my general lack of conviction, both of my requests seemed to have been granted and I drifted to sleep shortly after a member of the flight crew's voice came over the intercom to let us know it was safe to move about the cabin. I slept through both the drink and in-flight meal services, though a patch of turbulence jolted me awake five hours later. Instinctively, I grabbed for the armrest, embarrassed when I realized the elderly woman's hand was already there. She gave me a funny look, though her expression softened when she saw my face.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

"That's alright, sweetie," she replied. "I can't say that I like flying either."

We were still thirty minutes from Los Angeles and there was a crick in my neck that I desperately wanted to straighten out. Sweat had pooled around the collar of my wool sweater, and I wiped it away before reaching up to fiddle with the air vent above my seat. I scowled when I realized that no cold air was coming out before yanking my sweater over my head. Still too warm, I stretched in my seat and continued to sweat as if I'd run a marathon. I started to get up, planning to go to the restroom and splash some water on my face, but the fasten seatbelt sign came on just as I got to my feet.

Resigned to melting, I sank back into my seat and tried to think about something else. I was looking forward to seeing Melanie again, and that was especially true because classes didn't start for another ten days. It would depend on her schedule, of course, but I hoped that we'd be able to spend time together before things got hectic again. Even though we'd only hooked up once — well, technically twice— I felt no shame in admitting that I could think of a hundred things that would be worse than having a girlfriend again, especially if the girl I wound up dating happened to be Melanie.

I stared out the window as the plane descended over the urban sprawl below, curious as to how many people had seen the same view as they came to the City of Angeles to go to school or chase a dream. Thousands? Millions? Loads, I decided, and then I wondered how many of them had found what they were looking for. What had I wanted from Los Angeles? Space from my parents, exciting stories to tell the few friends I still had back home... I'd gotten both, so I'd be a liar if I said that the city hadn't been good to me over the years.

True to her word, Melanie was waiting for me in the arrival hall when I landed. I spotted her immediately, her hair standing out like a beacon in the middle of the crowd. She didn't see me at first, though, so I watched her for a few moments while she studied a giant arrival board in search of my flight information. Instead of a winter coat, she wore sandals and a turquoise dress, her hair pulled back in a braid. Eyebrows furrowed, her lips moved slightly while she read the words on the screen, and I carefully crept up behind her, grinning as I placed my hands on her waist.

"What the hell?" She spun around the moment I touched her, glaring until she realized it was me. "Scott!"

Her expression gave way to a giant smile as she reached up and wrapped her arms around my neck. Pulling me close, her breath was warm against my ear as she whispered, "I almost punched you in the face."

I laughed, believing her, and gave her a firm squeeze before letting go. "In hindsight," I said, "I can't say that I would've been surprised."

Her fingers fluttered to her hair as soon as we pulled apart, and I gave her a quick once over before instinctively adding, "You look pretty."

Seemingly pleased with herself, Melanie bit her bottom lip before murmuring, "Thank you."

I shifted my suitcase's handle to my left hand so I could lace my fingers through hers with my right. "Where are you parked?" I asked, and she motioned towards an automatic glass door a few yards away.

"Just in the short-term lot across the street... and I think I'm still within the fifteen minute grace period, so if we hurry, I won't have to pay," she said, patting her purse.

"Well, then, let's go," I said, and Melanie steered me through the concourse at a tempo that resembled a light jog.

When we reached Melanie's car, I hoisted my bags into her trunk while she slid into the driver's seat, flipping down the visor so she could check her reflection in the mirror. I slid into the passenger's seat after securing the trunk's lid with a thunk, and switched my phone to silent mode while Melanie fiddled with the bobby pins that kept her bangs pulled away from her face. When she was done, I waited until she'd buckled her seatbelt before reaching for her hand again.

"Hey," I said, and she turned to look at me.

"What?"

I didn't answer her, instead leaning over and kissing her on the mouth. At first, she didn't react, so I was relieved when she finally kissed me back. I twisted in my seat so that I could draw her closer. She smelled nice, and I could taste a hint of strawberry in her chapstick. Or, maybe it was raspberry, but either way, the artificial flavor seemed strangely delicious.

A few minutes passed before Melanie put a hand to my chest and pushed me away, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Scott, this parking lot charges a ton—"

"I'll pay for it," I replied, pulling her back into my arms.

She let out a gentle sigh as she leaned into me again. "Are you sure?"

"Definitely."

When Melanie eventually started her car, the clock on the dashboard showed that nearly twenty minutes had disappeared in what felt like the blink of an eye. She cleared her throat before looking in her rearview mirror. "So, am I right in thinking that you missed me?" she teased, and I laughed.

"Guess so."

"You guess," Melanie repeated, shaking her head. "Whatever."

"Do you want to get lunch?" I asked, reaching for my wallet as we approached the parking lot's gatehouse attendant. I pulled out a five dollar bill while Melanie rolled down her window.

"Sure." She handed the cashier the ticket she'd taken when she'd driven her car into the gated area. "Where?"

"That'll be fifteen dollars," the cashier announced, and I stared down at the five in my hand feeling slightly aghast.

"Jesus," I muttered, pocketing the bill again before passing Melanie my credit card. "That's extortion."

"I told you," she said, and all I could do was shake my head at the realization that I was definitely back in Los Angeles now.

When Melanie handed me my credit card along with a receipt to sign, however, I decided to let it go. What was fifteen dollars going to get me in the grand scheme of things? A burrito and a cup of coffee at the campus center, if that. "Well, it was worth it," I said, scribbling my signature with a flourish, and when I handed the slip of paper to her, I noted that Melanie's face had gone redder than her hair.

We sped away from L.A.X. as soon as the parking gate went up, and Melanie quickly made it clear that she'd only let go of the steering wheel to change the song on her playlist. I settled for squeezing her thigh while we drove along the 405, wondering if there was supposed to be a theme to her music choices. The speakers alternated between classic rock and jazz, but not before Melanie played a few rap songs from decades past. It wasn't until her playlist shuffled to a dubstep song that I could no longer hold back the question I'd desperately been wanting to ask.

I motioned at the dial for the volume. "What is this?"

"V3," Melanie replied, calmly checking her blind spot before changing lanes. "The DJ that Sophie always hangs out with? Vinny, I guess. Parker sent me the guy's latest EP, and I don't know, I kind of like it. It's weird."

I listened to the bass as it reverberated throughout the sedan. I hated to admit it, but over the years, Parker's favorite DJ had grown on me, too. My heart sped up while the beat swelled to the drop, and I caught myself tapping my finger against my knee like a metronome. "He always listens to the catchiest shit."

"Who?" Melanie sounded amused. "Parker?"

"Yeah," I said, "and it sucks because I end up with these songs stuck in my head, but they don't even have words. I mean, what am I supposed to do? Hum robot noises to sing along?"

"Depends on how good you are at making robot noises."

"Not great," I replied, too shy to offer her an example. "But, anyway, what I meant was what's going on with this playlist? I swear we were listening to Sinatra five minutes ago."

"Close, but that was actually Dean Martin." I rolled my eyes as Melanie began signaling for the exit ramp that led towards our school. "I get what you mean, though. I guess I like variety. I'd rather listen to a dozen good songs from just as many artists than ten mediocre ones from the same CD."

"Makes sense."

"Besides, you're not allowed to complain."

"I'm not."

"Good, because I did tell you that I was accepting requests earlier. It's not my fault you didn't take me seriously." Melanie paused as the chorus of a nineties pop song replaced V3's hyperactive electronic melody. "Anyway, in case you haven't noticed, my life's pretty structured, so I like to add some unpredictability where I can."

"Oh, yeah, I can see you're going wild with these tunes." Melanie good-naturedly swatted my hand away from her leg, and I let go so that I could tug softly on the end of her braid. "Did we decide where we're going for lunch?"

She shook her head. "No, but tell you what, I have plenty of groceries at home. It might take longer than grabbing something at a restaurant, but I wouldn't mind cooking for us."

Considering how limited my culinary skills were, the casual way she floated the offer somehow made it seem even more impressive. "Really?"

"Of course. Unless you wanted me to drop you off right away," she added quickly. "I don't know if you have something you need to do—"

"No, I'm good. My schedule is completely clear." I paused, realizing that made me sound like a loser. "I mean, there's really no one else who's back in town yet, so..."

"Okay, then. Cool."

"Cool," I echoed, stroking my chin. "What's on the menu?"

"Good question," Melanie said, speeding up in order to clear a yellow light. "Fish tacos?"

"Holy shit," I blurted, "you really are perfect."

I brought my fist to my mouth as soon as the words left my mouth, and then stared out the window while I contemplated jumping out of the car and into the path of oncoming traffic. Even if she knew I didn't mean it the way it sounded, it didn't change the fact that saying it at all was so damn embarrassing.

To her credit, Melanie took my comment in stride. "Don't say that yet," she warned, turning onto her apartment's street. "You've never eaten my cooking."

I laughed to show her that I appreciated her willingness to ignore my word vomit, but that still didn't stop my ears from burning. Why was it so hard for me to simply make it through a conversation without sounding like an idiot?

We arrived at her apartment a few minutes later, and I left my bags in the trunk of Melanie's car, expecting to leave again soon. I watched her climb the stairs before following after her, the muscles in her legs contracting with each step. Inside, I noticed a small Christmas tree in the living room, though most of its decorations had already been removed and safely tucked into a box next to the tree's stand. Melanie motioned for me to follow her to her room, and I did, kicking my shoes off by the foot of her neatly made bed before tackling her into the folds of her freshly scented down comforter. She laughed and I smiled, and things felt easy. The momentary embarrassment I'd felt in the car had disappeared, and now I was left with the same weightless feeling that throwing away my sweater on New Year's Day had brought me.

As planned, I stayed for lunch, which was just as delicious as I'd anticipated it would be. Whether she was naturally talented in the kitchen or trying to impress me, I could honestly say her meal rivaled that served in any restaurant I'd been to. I also stayed for dinner, and then I spent the night, bringing my bag up from the car so that I'd have my toothbrush and clean clothes to wear in the morning. In fact, each time I tried to leave, we both found excuses for me to stay — just until the movie on TV ended or the Chinese take-out arrived. Eventually, I stopped pretending that I wanted to head back to my empty frat house, and Melanie never showed signs of tiring of my company. Maybe I was doing exactly what my mom had warned me not to — throwing myself headfirst into a relationship, or whatever this was — but I didn't have anywhere else I needed to be, nothing else to do.

I hadn't meant to stay as long as I did, but I didn't go back to my own house until the evening before the first day of school.

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A/N: Wow, I'm sorry for the super delayed update. It's been a busy semester — I went to New York twice, flew to Guantanamo for a military hearing, I'm working at the public defender's office, and my course load is just appallingly heavy. Sorry if this chapter is a bit rough; I haven't edited it as much as I'd like to. Still, I figured it's better to get something published at this point, and the next chapter will pick up the pace of the story again. Thanks to everyone for reading and the friendly reminders I received asking for an update.