Chapter 11: The Last Morning of the Visit
The airline app put a countdown in Jason’s hand before the sun had cleared the roofs.
His flight left tomorrow at 2:40 p.m. He had booked the return when he still thought this was a short trip to confront his mother and straighten out a misunderstanding. Now the confirmation glowed on his phone beside the portrait card Maya had given him, her eleven-year-old face smiling up from the paper.
He could cancel the flight. He could also lose the job that paid for those monthly transfers. He didn’t know what his employer would say about an extended absence, or whether asking would make him sound as reckless as he felt.
He knew what he couldn’t do: make Maya responsible for deciding whether he stayed.
At the school, Mrs. Ortega listened without interrupting. Through the office window, students drifted across the courtyard under a flat white sky, backpacks bumping against their shoulders.
“She asked me not to come to the house,” Jason said. “I won’t. But could you ask her if she wants to receive a note from me? If she says no, don’t pass it along.”
Mrs. Ortega nodded. “I can ask. She gets to say no without explaining why.”
Jason wrote on a sheet of school stationery. He crossed out the first version, which had sounded like a speech, and the second, which had sounded like a bargain. The third fit in four lines.
My flight leaves tomorrow afternoon. I can ask work what staying would require. You don’t have to decide anything for me, and you don’t have to answer this. I want to see you if you want that, on your terms.
He signed his name, folded the paper once, and handed it over.
Mrs. Ortega didn’t promise she would return with an answer. Jason was grateful for that. Even a promise made kindly could become another thing Maya had to carry.
He waited in the public courtyard, where the benches were warm from the sun. A vending machine hummed inside the hallway. Someone’s lunch smelled of tomato sauce and melted cheese. Jason kept checking his phone, then made himself stop.
After twenty minutes, Mrs. Ortega stepped outside alone.
“She agreed to receive it,” she said. “She’s reading it in my office. I’ll give her privacy.”
Jason nodded. His throat felt too tight for anything else.
A few minutes later, Mrs. Ortega returned with the folded note. It had been opened and closed again. No message had been added. No answer, no mark, not even a question written in the margin.
Jason took it carefully.
“Did she say anything?”
“She said she wanted to leave it with me.”
He slid the note into his pocket. “All right.”
Mrs. Ortega’s gaze softened, but she didn’t offer him comfort he hadn’t earned. “She knows where you are. That’s all I can tell you.”
It was enough. It was not enough.
Jason was crossing the courtyard when he saw Evelyn beside the curb. She stood near the passenger door of her car, her purse clutched against her side. Maya was a few feet away, backpack hanging from one shoulder.
Evelyn spotted Jason first. Her mouth tightened. She said something to Maya, too low for him to hear.
Maya looked toward him, then down at the pavement.
Jason stopped where he was.
Evelyn lowered her voice, though not enough to keep him from catching the edge of it. “He leaves tomorrow. You know that, right? He can care for three days. Anyone can.”
Maya’s shoulders went rigid.
“Don’t,” she said.
It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.
Evelyn’s face shifted, hurt hardening quickly into impatience. “I’m telling you the truth.”
“You’re telling me what it means.”
The words landed between them. Evelyn glanced at Jason, as if expecting him to step in and prove her right. He stayed where he was.
For a moment Maya seemed to consider getting into the car. Then she turned away from Evelyn and walked back toward the school doors.
Jason didn’t follow until Maya looked over her shoulder and saw him. She kept moving, and he matched her pace at a distance that left room between them.
They stopped by the brick planter outside Mrs. Ortega’s office. Maya’s hands were empty. The note was still with him.
“You read it?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I didn’t know what to write.”
“That’s okay.”
Her eyes sharpened. “You keep saying that like it makes this easier.”
“It doesn’t.” He let the silence remain instead of rushing to fill it. “You don’t owe me a response.”
Maya looked toward the parking lot. Evelyn remained beside the car, watching through the windshield now. Jason could see the pale blur of her face behind the glass.
“She says you’re leaving tomorrow,” Maya said.
“That’s when the ticket is for.”
“So it’s true.”
“Yes.”
“Then why write that you want to stay?”
“I didn’t say I’d figured out how. I said I could ask work what it would take.” He kept his voice low. “I don’t want to promise something I haven’t arranged.”
Maya’s mouth pulled tight. “You have a ticket. You have a job. You have all the things you planned before you got here.”
He had no answer that didn’t sound like an excuse. He looked down at the scuffed edge of the planter, then back at her.
“I made those plans before I understood what was happening.”
“You didn’t understand because you didn’t ask.”
The truth of it went through him cleanly. “You’re right.”
She seemed to hate that he didn’t argue. Her fingers twisted the strap of her backpack until the fabric creaked.
“You come in here with your flight and your note, and somehow I’m supposed to decide whether you leave.”
“No.” He took a breath. “That’s not what I want.”
“But that’s what happens.” Her voice wavered, then steadied. “If I say nothing, you can tell yourself I didn’t want you here. If I ask you to stay and you can’t, then I have to know I asked.”
Jason’s chest tightened. Beyond the school doors, a bell rang. The sound moved through the hallway and faded, while the two of them stood still.
“I won’t make your silence an answer,” he said. “And if you ask me something, I’ll tell you the truth. I won’t punish you for asking.”
Maya stared at him. “You don’t get to leave and call it my choice.”
May you like
There it was: not permission, not forgiveness, not even a request. The fear beneath the anger, exposed at last.
Jason didn’t defend the ticket. He didn’t tell her what he would do tomorrow. He listened, and let her words stand.
