The next hour is torture. I anxiously wait for a metallic blue BMW. That's what my dad told me to look for. A metallic blue BMW. I peek out the window, check the clock, wait a bit, and peek back out the window again. It's weird. I feel a sense or a feeling of when I was a kid looking out the window waiting for my mom to come back home. Only this time it's different. Before there was hope, but it was a hope that was wrapped in dread. Now, it's a different kind of hope. Excited hope. A hope that I know will turn into something real.

One thing I've learned through all this, is hope isn't meant to be a forever kind of thing. There has to be an end, a light at the end of the tunnel, something on the other side of the mountain. You can only hope for so long. Because hope without an ending is just hopelessness.

There are a few moments, a couple pangs here and there as I wait that fear that she won't show up. But this time I know it's real. I feel it in my bones. That and the fact that Drew texts me her updated ETA about every 5 minutes.

Finally, I see her pull up. I don't think much before grabbing my bag and rushing downstairs. I don't bother to tell my mom I'm leaving. It's not like she ever did.

I run out the door, but stop dead in my tracks when I see her. I don't know what it is, but I kind of get blown away. I don't know what I expected, but she's like..I don't know. She's something else.

"Hi, you must be Matt," she says with a warm, but somewhat nervous and self-conscious smile. "I'm Chloe."

"Yeah, uh," I say, my words getting caught in my throat. "Nice to meet you."

After all that time anxiously waiting for this woman to arrive, now that she's here I suddenly kind of get weirded out by the whole situation. I'm a complete stranger to her. Why is she doing this? And oh man, I'm really gonna be in the car with her for the next 6 hours. What the hell are we gonna talk about?

I can tell she's kind of weirded out by it too, but she's a trooper and stays as polite and kind as possible. I do my best to return the favor. "Nice to meet you, too. I've heard a lot about you."

"Uh," I say. "You too, I guess."

There's a slight awkward silence between the two of us. She's quick to jump in and break it.

"Do you want to put your stuff in the back?"

I nod my head and move to the trunk. It's then that I realize how freaking nice her car is. All she had to do was press a button and the thing opened by itself. Definitely a hell of a lot different than the solid five minutes it takes to rip open Teddy's rusty truck bed.

But, that's not even the craziest part. The trunk glides open, and wouldn't you know it, there's a shiny new driver, solid matte black with the tiniest sliver of metallic maroon lining the edges, sitting there with a ribbon tied around it. I know it's not hers. It's short. Too short for an adult. I squint my eyes closer to get a better look. Holy shit, it's engraved with my brother's name.

"What's that?"

"Oh," she says, suddenly getting self-conscious again. "That's for Drew. I got it for his birthday."

I knew exactly what it was, obviously, but again, I'm left completely stunned by this woman.

"Looks expensive."

I know I shouldn't have said it out loud, but I couldn't help myself. Her face contorts with worry and she clenches her teeth.

"You think it's too much?"

"No, no," I say, quickly correcting myself. "He's, uh..he's gonna love it."

"I hope so. He's a good kid. He deserves it."

"Yeah," I say. My eyes drift to my mom's office. She's so completely lost in herself.  She doesn't have a clue in the world. "He does."

My voice trails off and I get lost in my own head thinking about it all. I bet she's not even gonna notice I'm gone.

"Anyway, you ready to go?"

I know she didn't mean it philosophically, but my mind goes there anyway. Was I ready to go and leave this whole experiment behind? Was I ready to let go of everything that I hoped and wished for, for that dream of having my family back the way it was? Was I ready to move forward?

I look back at my mom's office one last time. I take a deep breath and a sense of calm and peace washing over me. I let go of the rope I'd been holding onto for far too long. My hands are no longer sore and the blisters I had from gripping it so tightly vanish.

Goodbye, Mom.

💚

For the first ten minutes or so, Miss Chloe goes through all the motions. What kind of music do you listen to? Are you too warm? I can turn the AC up, just let me know if you get too warm.

I kind of nod along, tell it's cool, I'm good and then she gets to that. You know what I'm talking about.

"You must get this all the time," she says. "But, you look exactly like your father."

"Oh, yeah," I say and give her a courtesy laugh. I mean, yeah, I do hear it all the time, but she's just trying to make polite conversation. "I do."

"I don't know why, but I expected you to look more like your brother."

"Nah, he's a dead ringer for my mom. It's the hair, mostly."

She laughs, but it's not the polite courtesy laugh I gave her. It's genuine.

"He can hardly keep it out of his face. Tough to tell a kid to keep his eyes on the ball when his hair keeps flopping over them every five seconds."

I laugh again, but this time I'm being genuine too. Believe me, I know the struggle.

"Listen, that's been a lifelong battle, okay."

"It suits him, though."

"Yeah, he wouldn't be Drew without it."

The conversation dies for a second. I could just let it drop, but I feel a sense of obligation to keep it going.

"Uh, how long have you been coaching?"

"About 10 years. I started when I was around your age."

I do some quick math in my head. So, she's about 26. A little young, but hey whatever.

"Oh, cool."

There's another dip in conversation. I let the silence settle in a bit and my mind wanders off a bit again. That awkward feeling returns and the question comes back to me. What's in it for her?

I shouldn't ask and I do manage to bite my tongue. But I don't know, the inner Logan comes out in me and I just kind of go for it.

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

She seems a bit taken aback, but quickly turns agreeable.

"Totally."

"Why are you doing this?"

She looks at me, knowing this is about to get deep. I can't tell if she's quite comfortable with it, but hey, we're both stuck in this together, so we better start getting comfortable.

"I don't have a family like yours. They're old money. It's all work, business dealings, money, status. When it comes to wealth, it's always all for show. It's like, you don't really exist, you know? You're not you, you're another life achievement to add to their resume, a milestone to be shown off to the world. The birthday parties I had growing up, they weren't for me. Half the time I'd be up in my room and no one even noticed.
The party kept on going, the drinks kept being served, the appetizers kept being passed. It didn't matter that the birthday girl wasn't there, because it was never really about me, it was about appearances. But listening to Drew talk about his party, it was different. His friends were going to be there, they were going to play all his favorite games and eat his favorite snacks. He was so excited. I don't think I've ever been as excited about anything as he was about his birthday party, especially not anything that had to do with my family. And you know what he was most excited about? He was going to FaceTime his big brother, right when the cake came out, right at the most important part. When he called me and told me what happened, my heart broke for the little guy, because I've been that kid who's been let down. And I don't know, I wanted to be there for him."

"Wow."

I'll hand it to her, it was quite the answer. One I wasn't really expecting. But I get it, I understand. Hell, I've been that kid too. But there is a part of me that is still curious..

"Can I ask you something else?"

"Of course," she says, openly and warmly.

"Is there a part of you that's doing this for my dad?"

She takes a second to think how she wants to answer. I swear I see her sweat a little and gulp down embarrassment. I know I totally put her on the spot, but I gotta know.

After what seems like many weighted seconds, she answers as diplomatically and non-committed as possible.

"He's a very nice man."

Hmmm, gotcha.