Adult Content Warning
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Summary
"Travis we can’t just– ”Get on a plane. Run halfway across the world. See her. “Go looking for…fucking ghosts.”
“She’s not a ghost.” When he laughs, it’s the grown-up Travis– the man, with the beer gut and the truck keys and the gun without a safe. “We’ve got a hell of enough of those, Nat, you don’t gotta pad the stats.”
“She’s so much more than just a few nice words on a fucking postcard. She’s Lottie.”
It’s dangerously close to the truth. The one when they fuck to porno in the VHS and both come way too quickly for a kids on coke because if they close their eyes and ride they can pretend the other voice is– nope. No way. Too fucking close.
“She’s…our ghost.”
Newark, 1999. In the throes of a bitter winter in their broken down apartment, Natalie and Travis receive a shiny postcard from Cannes.