Our Unlucky Stars

01

But I'm back now, and things are different. The most dramatic change is that my dad is sober now, and even managed to get remarried a couple years ago. I remember the day he told me the news and even offered to fly me out for the wedding, but I lied and said I had midterms, when in reality I just didn't want to be there to see my dad be married off to another woman.

It's not like I hate Marissa or anything. She seems okay from the few conversations we've had together. Hopefully she stays that way. Hopefully everything stays the way it is for now, but knowing my luck it won't, because for some strange reason everything always seem to change whenever I come around.

Exhaling a heavy sigh, I focused my attention on the passing scenery through the airplane window. Goodbye London, goodbye sneaking out of my dorm at midnight to go hang with friends, goodbye ditching class to go smoke under the bridge, and goodbye late nights living life on the scene.

If I were the sentimental type, I would cry.

The eight hour flight was mostly me asleep with my AirPods in my ear playing whatever I could stream on Netflix with the airplane's shitty WiFi. You would think that first class would have internet with a strong connection, but it felt like I was outside the plane trying to get the damn movie to play without buffering every two seconds. Other than that, the flight was okay to say the least. I almost smacked a kid across the face for kicking and screaming in the seat beside me while his mother did nothing but drown out his cries with her headphones. I didn't smack the kids, however I took his stuffed animal while his mother wasn't looking and tossed it a couple seats over.

I'm not all bad.

I arrived in Washington exhausted and stiff. I gathered my luggage and made my way inside the transit center. It felt like I'd haven't eaten in days, which was sorta true. I hadn't eaten much since the day I bought my ticket, maybe a couple of snacks here and there, but nothing to really settle my wants, I really wanted a home cooked meal. I love London, but the beans on toast weren't really doing it for me.

My dad had texted me in advance that he would be sending my cousin Andre to pick me up from the airport since he'd be too busy with work to leave, and Marissa would be at her scheduled Pilates class. I didn't mind, because if I'm being honest, I'd rather Andre pick me up any day than having to deal with the awkwardness that comes when we're all together.

Nonchalantly as possible, I scanned the crowded airport. I saw him before he saw me . He was standing by the exit, smart guy. Held stood awkwardly fumbling with the poster in his hands. The poster read, "Party for Asher Montgomery" A badly drawn smiley face at the end.

I shook my head at his silliness before making my way over him.

Andre was taller now. His lanky build now replaced with something more muscled and defined. If it weren't for his medium Nubian nose that seemed to run in the Montgomery family, I doubt I would've recognized it was him.

When Andre finally spotted me making my way over to him, he sent an enthusiastic wave, and I tried to mirror with one of my own, but I doubt it had the same enthusiasm as his. "Asher, my boy, how you been man?" We dapped each other up, before Andre wrapped me in a warm embrace.

Usually, when people ask how I'm doing, the real answer is I'm doing shitty, but I can't say I'm doing shitty because I don't have a good reason to be doing shitty. So if I say, "I'm doing shitty," then they say, "why? What's wrong?" and I have to be like "I don't know, all of it?" So instead when people ask how I'm doing, I usually say—