Chapter 2
For a few different reasons, she calls Emily first.
They both knew this was coming, and Spencer can hear that in Emily’s voice when she says hi. After Spencer tells her, they both cry: a soft, snuffly cry from Emily and a deep, rattling one from Spencer—the kind that indicates she’s been sobbing on and off for days. Emily talks a little about her dad and Spencer listens, unable to form many words at the moment. And then after a bit Emily says, “So should I meet you at the airport on Tuesday?”
“What?” Spencer says blearily.
“You’re still keeping your same ticket, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, so I could pick the car up,” Emily suggests, voice still a little soggy. “Or if you’d prefer to be the first one to drive it, we can take a cab back to your folks’ apartment. I’m guessing you’ll want to get on the road right away, so we could leave the next morning.”
Spencer sighs. “Em, it’ll be days of driving. You don’t have to sign on for that.”
“Of course I do,” Emily replies. “It’s not a question of if, it’s a question of when. I’m coming with you.”
Spencer bites down on a small smile, her first of the day. “You sound like me,” she remarks.
“I’ll choose to interpret that as a compliment,” Emily replies.
“You absolutely should,” Spencer quips.
Emily forces a chuckle, dry and without much humor. “So,” she says. “I'll meet you at baggage claim?”
Spencer can see there’s no use arguing here, and she doesn’t want to anyway. If Emily is offering to be there for her, she’d be a fool to reject her. “I’ll see you soon.”
Peter bought her a first class ticket a few weeks ago, and Spencer is immensely grateful for it now. She leans back in her cushy seat, drinks two-and-a-half vodka tonics, and falls asleep with her noise-canceling headphones on. When she wakes up, the plane is descending and Spencer is disoriented and drunk. Which is weird, because Spencer gets lovey and happy when she’s drunk, and this situation is anything but that.
She somehow navigates her way to baggage claim and spends about five minutes wandering around before she hears a voice sharply call out, “Spencer!” She whips around and there’s Emily, in jeans and a flannel, looking pretty and concerned, and a lot like home.
Spencer clumsily lurches forward into Emily’s arms and is hugged back automatically. There’s a choked noise that sounds like something between a sob and a bark of laughter, and it takes Spencer a second to realize that she’s the one making it. “Hey,” Emily murmurs, petting her hair. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” Spencer burrows her head further into Emily’s shoulder. She’s sure she’s getting snot on Emily’s shirt, but if Emily notices she doesn’t say anything.
“Let’s get your bags, okay?” Emily suggests after a moment. Spencer slowly draws back, sorry to lose the familiar, toasty scent of Emily’s perfume. It’s the same one she’s used since senior year, a fact which Spencer finds deeply comforting.
They don’t say much as they get Spencer’s bags and leave the airport, but once they’re settled in the cab Emily takes her hand and asks, “So, how are you doing, really?”
Spencer tilts her head to the side. She’s sure she looks a little ghoulish, with tears welling in her eyes and a small, sloppy smile plastered to her face. “I have no clue,” she answers honestly. “I just—I can’t get over the fact that I wasn’t there.”
Emily nods. “I know,” she says softly. “I totally get that. But she wasn’t alone. She had your dad.”
Spencer chuckles mirthlessly. “I don’t know if she ever really had my dad,” she replies. “Not in the way she should have.”
“They loved each other,” Emily says, though it sounds like a bit of a question.
“They did,” Spencer confirms. “But it was far from a perfect marriage.”
Emily shrugs. “There’s no such thing, really.”
Spencer tips her head back against the seat, thankful for the cushion, thankful for the warmth of Emily’s hand against her own. “You’re not wrong,” she replies. She turns to look out the window at the city, sprawling and bright, too filled with places and cars. She can’t imagine her mother in this place.
Quickly, Spencer shifts her gaze back at Emily. She’s a much better sight.
The apartment feels much more Veronica than the city itself. It’s small, but very tasteful, all marble countertops and hardwood floors. Part of Spencer wishes her dad had waited a day to return to Rosewood so they could have a few minutes together in this space, but she’s not sure what comfort they’d be able to provide one another. And Melissa…she has no idea how she and Melissa would do here. They talked briefly on the phone, right before Melissa boarded her plane back from England to Pennsylvania, and neither knew what to say.
(And there’s a very small, dark part of Spencer that’s grateful Melissa wasn’t here either, that for once the two of them are on an even playing field. And that thought makes her feel like a monster, and was part of the reason for her third vodka tonic on the airplane.)
“This place is nice,” Emily comments as she gets the bags inside, Spencer’s two alongside her one. “I mean, I wouldn’t expect anything else from your parents, but still.”
Spencer nods, stepping further into the apartment. “You’d never know someone was actively dying here,” she remarks. “My dad must have paid extra for the quick cleaning crew.”
Emily raises an eyebrow and looks like she wants to say something, but doesn’t. “She didn’t actually die here,” Spencer tells her. “That happened at the hospital.” Spencer’s voice sounds foreign to her own ears. She walks over to the plush cream couch and plops down. “It’s like The Radley, y’know? With enough money and disinfectant, any place can seem shiny and new.”
“And free of ghosts,” Emily adds, coming to sit beside her with a handbag over her shoulder. “Not that your mom is a ghost.”
Spencer shrugs. “Eh, I’ve been haunted by worse.” She gestures to the bag Emily’s clutching close. “What’cha got in there?”
“Lots of stuff,” Emily replies, reaching into the bag. “But I wanted to show you this map.” She begins unfolding a large paper map of the United States, and Spencer can see she’s drawn out a route between L.A. and Rosewood.
“You have an actual physical map?” Spencer comments with mild amusement.
Emily raises one shoulder. “I don’t trust my GPS,” she says. Spencer lets out a little giggle at that. It almost sounds too loud in the quiet apartment. She looks down at the map, tracing her finger over the red ink and humming in approval.
“We can’t leave tomorrow,” Spencer remembers. “The ashes won’t be ready until Thursday morning.”
Emily nods, unfazed. “Okay. Do you want to leave Thursday afternoon, then?”
“Sure,” Spencer says. The dozens of different highways on the page start to get dizzying, and she drops her forehead into her hands, rubbing her temples with her thumbs. She’ll probably have a headache in the morning. “Are you sure about this?” she asks.
“Yes,” Emily answers immediately. Spencer can’t see her, but she’s sure there’s a look of determination on Emily’s face. “One hundred percent.” Her voice softens as she adds, “I even made you a playlist.”
Spencer glances up at her. “You did?”
“Mmm hmm,” Emily says. She reaches back into her bag and pulls out her phone, unlocking it to show Spencer. In her Music app, there’s a playlist with the title For Spencer Hastings When She Needs a Pick-Me-Up (Road Trip to Rosewood).
Spencer smiles. “That’s really sweet, Em,” she says.
“It’s kinda silly,” Emily says, embarrassed.
Spencer shakes her head. “No,” she insists. “It’s not. Can I see what's on it?”
“Nope,” Emily replies. “There’s a system to it. You’re going to have to let me call the shots here.”
Spencer narrows her eyes. “I’ve never been good at that.”
Emily puts her phone down and scoots closer, and Spencer takes that as an invitation to lean her head against her shoulder. “Do you trust me?” Emily asks.
Spencer lets her eyes drift shut. Emily’s shoulder is soft and warm, and Spencer doesn’t feel cold for the first time in days.
“Always.”