Sandra laughed. "Abbi, I'm at the mechanic."
I snatched up my cell phone. "What?"
"You were so worried about me being able to get Zara to school for you that I scheduled an oil change for my old clunker. Just to be extra sure."
I squeezed my eyes shut. "And they're finishing up right now?" I asked, already anticipating the answer.
Sandra hesitated. "Um, they just started."
My head fell to my chest. Somehow I'd managed in my tireless efforts to be responsible for creating a situation where I was irresponsible, both for my job and for my daughter.
"Okay, okay," I said, sighing. "I'll have to bring Zara. I'll drop her off after taking the new boss to the office."
"Sorry, Abbi," Sandra said.
I shook my head. "My fault."
I hung up and allowed myself three steadying breaths with my hands planted on my knees. Then I pushed myself to my feet and grabbed my purse.
"Z? Z, we've got to go."
My ride to the Denver International Airport consisted of me speeding while checking the mirrors for red and blue lights, applying makeup at red lights and the occasional green light, and assuring Zara I'd explain to her teachers why she was late.
"I had perfect attendance!" she wailed from the back seat.
I saw signs for the airport exit and applied more pressure to the gas pedal, nervously checking the dashboard clock. M's flight landed fifteen minutes ago.
"Zara, it's going to be fine."
"It's not going to be fine," she protested, stomping her feet. "I could have waited at home for Sandra!"
I frowned at her in the rearview mirror, eyes wide with incredulity.
"What? What? Absolutely not. Absolutely not. How could you even sugg— I mean, what?"
"I can take care of myself!" Zara shouted.
I found myself growing angry as the terminal signs flew by faster and faster. It was my job, taking care of Zara. It was my life, taking care of Zara. It was my identity, the one who was there for Zara, always there for Zara.
I shook my head as I whipped into the next lane.
"No, young lady," I said, laughing darkly. "Absolutely not."
Zara pouted and huffed, dramatically crossing her arms over her chest in the back seat.
"I can take care of myself," she said again. "Just like you."
My eyes darted back toward her. "What does that mean?" I asked, willing the car in front of me to hurry up, to speed recklessly like me.
"You always say you don't need anyone," Zara explained grumpily. "Well, I don't need anyone either."
"What?" I said.
I followed the signs for arrivals before turning my attention back to my daughter.
"No, Zara," I tried to explain while simultaneously checking the clock again. "I'm here so that you don't ever need to not need anyone. That's why, I mean, I—"
"I don't want to need anyone," Zara insisted. "Just like you."
"No." I shook my head. "Listen, Zara, I don't have time for this."
"Then leave me at home!"
I swung the car into the pickup lane outside of the signs for the airline the new boss had taken from New York. There was one man standing with a briefcase and small suitcase that I barely saw as I whipped around, frustrated at my daughter.
"That is not happening," I hissed. "End of discussion."
Zara opened her mouth as I shoved open the door.
"End of discussion."
I climbed out and was ready with an apology about being late, about missing his email till this morning, about bringing my pig-headed daughter along on the first day, but even the smallest, simplest words died on my lips as I laid eyes on my new boss.
At first I almost didn't recognise him. I didn't know the dark furl of eyebrows, the harsh scowl of lips, the stiff, cold posture of shoulders. I didn't know the air of domination that seemed to swirl around him like the storm clouds at the peaks of the Rockies that struck without warning. I didn't know the cruel, brutal, ruthless glare in his eyes.
But I knew that colour.
Green like lush mountains in the morning sunlight. Green like a dance floor of wild, knee-high grasses. Green like a plaid skirt slipping from my hips, pooling on the floor at my feet.
Green like the 100 euro notes he left when he left my life forever.
Or so I had hoped.
But there he was.
Standing in front of me.
Staring at me.
M.
Michael.
Abbi
Michael stared at me and I didn't move, like a deer frozen on a mountain road in the glare of yellow headlights.
"Abbi?" he said, and I didn't move.
He took a hesitant step toward me and I did not move.
His eyes slid from me toward the car. That’s when I was able to move; when his gaze, which had kept me frozen, released me. I jumped back inside my car, slammed the gas, and sped away without even yet fully closing my door. Michael waved his arms and ran after me and I drove faster.
I didn't know which was more difficult: keeping my racing heart steady in my chest or keeping my sweaty palms steady on the steering wheel. The smell of burning rubber and an overheating engine wafted in through the open windows as I sped away from the airport, sped away from him.
"Mom?" Zara asked from the back seat. "Mom, what are you doing?"
From the rearview mirror, I caught her straining against her seat belt to turn around and spy through the back window.
"Zara," I snapped. "Zara, turn around right now."
My eyes flicked out of control between the speedometer, the side mirrors, my shaking fingers, my cell phone vibrating on the passenger side seat with his number, the rearview mirror. I couldn't focus on any of
