Chapter Text
They were playing Joni Mitchell in the coffee shop by Terminal 3 at O’Hare. Sydney sipped her cup of black tea, and tried very hard not to listen. In vain. Even through the tinny airport speakers, Joni’s voice rang clear.
Turn this crazy bird around
Should not have got on this flight tonight
This is ridiculous, Sydney thought to herself, surely there was some sort of rule against playing songs like this at the airport of all places. She very determinedly took a large gulp of tea, bouncing her leg to keep herself sitting.
Can't numb you, can't drum you out of my mind.
The Christmas after she’d packed up Sheridan Sydney’s dad had gotten her a voucher to a meditation class. She had gone just once, but even now sometimes she could picture the instructor, resplendent in a green kaftan telling the class to simply manifest . What a load of bullshit, Sydney had thought to herself then, and then all the times she had recalled the memory of sitting with twenty others in the basement somewhere in the West Loop. But she was at the end of her tether now. Sydney, in a valiant effort to stop thinking about how suddenly nauseous she felt tried to conjure up Luca’s face. Placid,good naturedly handsome, blonde. He would be holding flowers, like he often did when he picked her up at Copenhagen. To mark that this was not just another trip, she was sure he would try to do something a little goofy; he’d probably be wearing a cap, pretending to be her chauffeur, he’d bring along a sign, saying something like ‘Chef Adamu - Noma’. Sydney focused on trying to imagine the sign, her name next to those famous four letters, except in her mind’s eye, the focus kept shifting. Everytime she tried to picture Luca’s hands, another pair took their place, the dark ink on the knuckles, the familiar pattern of veins criss-crossing under tattoos. She rubbed her eyes.
Starbright, starbright, you've got the lovin' that I like Joni was singing.
This was just tiredness, Sydney told her herself as her stomach tied herself in knots. She was sure that was it. Tiredness, anticipatory homesickness, cold feet before a big move. Nothing more.
She checked the time on her phone, 12.30, two hours before the gates opened.
As she was about to slip her phone back into her pocket, a text came through from Marcus; a photo of an empty chair next to him at what Sydney presumed to be family at Noma, captioned “saving u a spot”. She looked at the picture for a long while, trying to imagine herself there, having lunch with the crew, building a new life for herself with whole set of new people. Unbidden she pictured that first day at The Beef, how nervous she had felt setting out the plastic tubs of stew and plantain and the fennel salad, how it had felt to watch Tina and Richie, Marcus, Sweeps, Angel and Manny, strangers then, so beloved now, sit around her, eating food she had made. Even in her memory she could feel Carmy’s eyes on her and how it had made her skin feel like livewire to be appraised.
When Sydney refocused, she saw that without realising she had opened up her chat with Carmy. There in grey and blue was their brief conversation from yesterday agreeing to meet at a coffee spot by Lincoln Park. “Here. I’ll get your regular” he had written, she hadn’t replied because the moment the message had come through she had looked up and seen him through the glass of the cafe window.
It had rained earlier, but when she had gotten to the cafe, sunshine was streaming in through the windows, pooling like butter on the bare wooden tables. Carmy was sitting a few tables over from the door, and the light tangled in his hair, casting him in gold. Sydney had waited a moment before she went in just to watch him. He looked strangely boyish, his knee bouncing under the table, eyes scanning the clot of people by the counter. When he’d glanced at the street and saw her at the door, a smile had broken across his face like the clouds parting.
Sydney swiped down, refreshing the tab, no new messages appeared. That had been goodbye she told herself sternly, what are you even hoping he’d write today. A bubble popped up at the top of the screen; Luca. “Mish and I …” his text began. Without opening it, Sydney locked her phone, feeling guilty without quite knowing why.
Joni was still singing.
Shouldn’t have got on this flight tonight
Shouldn’t have got on this flight tonight