March 2, 2013 at 9 AM, Montreal, Quebec: Rob

"Did you get your textbooks?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"What about the map? Did you print it out?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"Where is your passport? Did you remember-"

"Rob."

"Did you bring it?"

"Rob. Seriously, chillax. I got everything. I'm the one flying halfway across the world for four months and you're the one freaking the hell out. Tell this guy to chill." Mat looks over at Mitch and points at me, but Mitch won't even put his cup of frozen yogurt down long enough to answer. He just looks between us with the pink plastic spoon sticking out of his mouth, waiting for us to continue talking so he can get back to chowing down.

'I'm only seven years older than them, but it feels like I am decades ahead. Why do I always have to be the adult?'

'Most people would call it being a drag. Be careful what you wish for.' I run my fingers through my too-long hair again and Mat just snorts, shaking his head as he hoists his bulging, overstuffed backpack higher on his shoulder.

"I just don't want you to call me from Shibuya, crying about how you forgot your meal voucher or some other stupid shit. Unlike some people, I'm not made of money." Mat turns to smirk at Mitch and his twelve dollar mountain of faux ice cream and sugary confections, receiving a half-hearted glare and a threat of getting a spoonful of melting, chunky, spitty chocolate goo to the face. We pass another long, silver hallway, looking for the sign to Gate A9.

'If I hadn't nagged them to get here early, he would have missed his plane. I am surrounded by absolute children.'

"Okay, wait... If that's E and we just passed C... Let's go, boyos! Onward!" Mat does an abrupt about-face and heads back between me and Mitch, quickening his leisurely pace only a bit. Even with only fifteen minutes left, he still pretends not to give a shit. Mitch just canters along, probably asking himself why he agreed to help me escort a hyperactive Nooch to his plane; I can see the regret in his tired eyes. The airport food just isn't worth it to him. We track Mat's wild, Tangela-esque hair over the top of the crowd, watching him pause to stare at the map I pointed out to him five minutes ago. Someday, someone is going to take my advice the first time and stop questioning what color my shoes were when I walked around the same block when I was their age.

"Mat, it's down there past the bathrooms. I told you to go that way after the Mitch Machine fueled up."

"What bathrooms?" I sigh and walk over next to him to look at the map, trying to hold back my frustration. I have been riding his ass for almost three weeks to get all of his paperwork finished and turned in so he could even do the study abroad program, and he can't even manage to find his way in the Montreal airport he has been in at least twenty times. What is he going to do when he touches down in Japan all by himself?

"God fucking damn it, Mat. What are you-"

"Rob, eat a fucking cookie and shut up. Please." Mitch gently slaps me on the back and shoves a squishy, Play-Doh-like cookie in my mouth. I wipe the trail of melted chocolate mystery off of the side of my mouth and resentfully mash my way through a bite of the giant soggy mess. "Thank you."

"So it's down in the dark, dank tunnel of love? Sweet." We wander our way down the long, dimly lit corridor that looks suspiciously like something from Hogwarts. Mat's unruly ponytail bobs as he walks, almost skipping his merry way down the hallway. Beyond getting the chance of a lifetime to study business in Japan for the last term of the school year, he scored a whopping scholarship package that was big enough to meet his expenses and mostly cover his ass while he was gone. They actually paid him to go. He made more off of this deal than he would have if he had just stayed home and pulled videos out of his ass. I don't think the shock of it all has set in for him yet, but he deserves it. Nobody should have to work that hard for that long and get so little in return, even if the legality of half of his 'jobs' is questionable. For Mat, rules, norms, and morality mean nothing if there's no food on the table at dinnertime, and who can fault him for that? A rush of relief floods through my veins as we see him slow down in front of us and throw his arms up in the air in victory, turning to show us the skull-splitting grin on his face.

"Thank fuck," Mitch mutters into his spoon of light brown mystery milk, raising his eyebrow as Mat pulls out his phone and strolls back over to us, pulling the pair of sunglasses off of the front of his shirt and sliding them on. He darts between Mitch and me and snatches Mitch back toward him by the hem of his t-shirt when he tries to slip away. I cram the rest of the soggy peanut butter cookie in my mouth just as he takes the group selfie, knowing full well that I will regret it as soon as it goes live on Twitter.

'Who am I kidding? I have no respectability left, anyway. Darryl will get a laugh out of it, at least.' Mat pulls his sunglasses a few centimeters down his nose, looking up at the sign over the gate before he turns to look back at me, glancing Mitch's way as he walks over to throw his sugary mess away in the trash. His eyes settle back on the glowing terminal sign, a look of wonderment on his face.

"We finally made it. We made it. We're here... One day I'll stand with a crown on my head like a god; with every step, no, I won't second-guess what I want." He looks sentimental, almost sad as he tucks a stray strand of wild hair behind his ear, checking around him before looking up at the illuminated 9 over our heads.

"I didn't know you were a poet. Please tell me you don't regret this."

"Of course not. Who do you think I am? Pressy? I'm probably never going to get another chance to do something this amazing. Why would I pass up an opportunity like this? It's pure gold!" His maniacal grin softens and the Nooch Bot looks a little more like a real human. "I never said thanks. Means a whole lot to me, you helping me out with all this. I'm gonna miss your sorry, skinny ass."

"It's only four months, Mat. You won't have time to miss us. Knowing you, they'll have to tranquilize you and manhandle you on the plane to get you to come back. Just... Please don't get expelled. Or shipped back home in a body bag."

"Or tentacled." His face breaks into another wicked grin and he takes a couple of steps backward before he stops. "I'll see you on the server on Friday?"

"Absolutely. I'll see you Friday."

"Nooch, get on the fucking plane before you give this sucker a heart attack. We'll be around, don't sweat it," Mitch groans as he jabs his finger toward the steward guarding the entrance to the plane terminal. Mat nods solemnly for a few seconds before he makes a mad dash toward me and nearly tackles me to the ground in a surprising moment of genuine affection. I expect him to start breaking down, but he jerks himself away and darts over to the doorway leading to the loading platform.

"Au revoir, mon salope!" he yells, to the chagrin of an older couple walking past me and to the glee of the snickering Mitch. We watch him disappear into the winding tunnel, waving sarcastically without turning to look back at us. I get the feeling that his eyes are more than a little glassy right now.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all." We stand in silence, watching the behemoth of a plane slowly roll away from the retracting loading dock, and it swings around and heads toward the runway. There's no doubt in my mind that he will have plenty of stories to tell us over Skype, but life will never be the same for him after something as extraordinary as this.

'This changes everything, doesn't it?'

-----

March 7, 2013 at 3 PM, Sumas, Washington: Preston

"And you make sure you call us tomorrow when you get all settled in. You hear me?" Dad's doing his famous Dad Squint and I fight the eyeroll with every last cell in my body. He really thinks I can't take care of myself, huh? This's like the fifteenth time we've had this conversation just since we hit the city limits. And that's not counting the twenty-hour drive to get here.

"I already promised Mom I'd call you guys. I got it."

"Get it, got it, good."

"You sure you don't want me to go with you? I could keep ya company at the airport while you wait."

"Nah, I'll be fine. No point in you havin' to pay for a cab to come all the way back up here. Why in the world you had to move here of all places... Don't even have an airport here. Or a KFC."

"It's not that far to drive back to the city."

"Keep tellin' yourself that. You're gonna die from boredom in a week up here by yourself, and that's when there's no ice and snow on the roads."

"I'm not by myself! My friends live like, maybe half an hour away? At most? I'm not gonna get bored enough to die."

"Bet me, kid. No, no need to name the bet now. You can just pay me in Chick and Filets when we drive you back home." This guy, though. The facepalm is so strong but I don't want him to flick me in the forehead like he did when I was a kid.

"First of all, I'm gonna be fine and I'm not comin' home anytime soon. Second thing... it's called 'Chick-Fil-A.' Not 'Chick and Filets.' "

"Now don't go being a smart-alec. Go get started treasure huntin' in there before it all caves in on you and I miss my plane tryin' to dig you out."

"F-ine. Thanks again for helping me move. I owe ya one. Or ten. Or something."

"You don't owe me anything. That's what I'm here for."

"Love you, Dad."

"I love you, too, son. Now get goin' before your mom starts sending you real estate listings again." He steps out on the landing in front of my new apartment and waves in a slow, dramatic, and kinda sad way. It's like he doesn't wanna leave. Why's he gotta make this so much harder than it needs to be?

"Have a safe flight. And don't jump outta the plane this time! You're retired!" He guffaws and looks back at me one last time before he climbs back down the stairs and heads to the cab waiting for him down at the curb. I stand there for a little while after he's gone and I don't know what I'm waiting for but it just feels right. I slowly go back inside and lock the door behind me, leaning against it so my head and back are pressed against the smooth, white wood.

It's so quiet here. There's no Sasquatch living above me now who's gonna start stompin' around at four in the morning when I finally go to sleep. And there's no old lady with a yippy chihuahua next door to grate like cheddar on my nerves, just the building's air conditioners and the parking lot. And it's a lot nicer in here than my first apartment was and it's bigger and cleaner-looking. But that might just be because I haven't unpacked anything but a case of sugar-free Red Bulls. Everything else is still stacked up in the mountains of boxes and black trash sacks in the hallway and the bedrooms. I turn my head just enough to peer down the dark hall at the soon-to-be cardboard avalanche of doom, hoping against all odds I can see my computer boxes from here so I can dig 'em out, unpack 'em, and get the Wi-Fi set up, at least. It'd be nice to Spotify this ish and make it less sad and gloomy and scary quiet in here.

I'm not lonely. I'm just not used to this level of peace and quiet and solitude yet. I'll get used to it. It'll be great. No one around to drop in without calling, no one around to nag me to the grave about laundry or groceries or bringing dinner over on Sunday, no one around to beg me to drive 'em around to all five corners of existence because they can't drive. I'm un-united and it feels so good!

"You finally made it, Preston. You're finally here. You did it. It's done. And now you get to see Hannah whenever you want. She's just a trip to the gas station and forty-five minutes away. That's it. This's what you've been waiting for."

Then why does it feel so cold and empty?