Thoughts about my impending trip to California swirled in my head from the moment Taylor presented the offer to the second my plane landed in Pasadena. Not even twenty-four hours after we had dinner at the cute little restaurant that served chicken tenders, I got a serious case of cold feet. I sent a text message to Taylor which sparked a conversation that made me smile, blush, snicker, and scoff; pretty much all the effects he has on me when I see him in-person.

Me: Are you still sure this is a good idea? Have you checked with your parents yet?

Taylor: Yes. Not yet, but it'll be fine.

Me: Check with them, please. I can wait patiently.

Taylor: You can? That's a shock.

Me: Just ask them.

Taylor: I don't like your tone right now!

Me: Please, Taylor, ask your parents, please.

Me: Better?

Taylor: Much.

Taylor: They said it's okay.

Me: Really? You responded in two seconds. I didn't realize they were visiting you in Winnipeg right now. *eye roll*

Taylor: Fine. Give me a few minutes, then.

Twenty minutes later:

Taylor: Camille, I talked to my mom. For real, this time. They're happy you're coming.

Me: Okay. I believe you now.

Taylor: Great. Now I'll be able to sleep tonight.

Me: Hah hah. What did you tell your family about your guest? Do they know I'm a girl?

Taylor: I told them I'm bringing a dog.

Me: ...

Me: Are you... are you calling me a bitch?

Taylor: What?

Me: Female dog???!!!

Taylor: Oh, god, I swear I didn't mean that!

Me: Yeah, yeah, neither does my brother when he calls me that.

Taylor: I told them I'm bringing a friend, and that I met her in Winnipeg.

Me: Okay. Thanks for the glowing endorsement.

Taylor: Any time. You deserve it.

And I continued thinking about it as I attended my last classes before the exam period began. When I was submitting my final papers and should have been paying careful attention so that I uploaded the right assignment on the portal, I thought about what clothes I'd pack. As I flipped through my pages of notes for my exams, my mind wandered to the type of house Taylor grew up in. Was it big? Was it one of those modern, square designs, or was it old; the original house that was built, practically untouched? I was pretty much clueless when it came to the architecture that was signature to Pasadena.

Mostly, though, at every chance I got, I thought about Taylor and his family. If they would like me. If I would fit in among the sun and palm trees, or if I'd somehow seem less special, duller there. Would I suddenly become less interesting to Taylor? Winnipeg could be pretty bland. It was dark and cold. Maybe Taylor liked having me around here because I made him feel less lonely. But maybe back in his hometown, I wouldn't be needed anymore?

I know those thoughts were far fetched and stupid. I mean, he did invite me, after all. But if there's one thing that's stood out to me from all my psych courses is that people are generally bad predictors of how they'd feel in different situations. Nothing could really prepare us for being in that exact moment.

Of course, there was an exception: studying did a pretty darn good job of preparing us for the moments during the exam. I studied hard for my two exams, more than I typically did. The material served as a welcomed distraction to my Pasadena-centred thoughts.

As I was going through my notes for Social Cognition, I got a text from Taylor, confirming the timeline for my visit. Four days, three nights, starting on December 30th. It was after Christmas, like we discussed, but for some reason, I hadn't thought that I might be there over New Year's. It was going to be the first New Year's Eve that I spent away from my parents. Angela typically spent hers with her mother – it was one of their only traditions. I wasn't sure what we were going to do that night, but surely it would beat sitting on the couch watching the countdown and bursting in to tears when midnight struck.

Not an exaggeration, sadly.

Thinking of my parents made my heart hurt just a little bit. And it had been, what, ten hours since I last saw them? They drove me to the airport early this morning. They had offered to come on the flight with me, and then take a flight back home. Um, no thank you. That wasn't unnecessary. I could manage the eight-hour flight on my own, and if I couldn't, well... I didn't want to know what that said about me.

I had tried to spend the flight sleeping, and I had some success. My eyes managed to stay closed for two hours, although it was a light, interruption-filled slumber. There was quite a bit of turbulence, which gave me motion sickness. That was bad enough. Couple it with the tension I felt in my chest and the knots in my stomach from my anxiety and it was just a disaster.

When I finally landed at the airport, my head felt empty. I don't think I thought one coherent thought, and that was saying something, considering that my inner voice was a champion debater. I got my luggage, feeling like an anxious zombie, and went to stand at the gate that Taylor instructed me to wait at.

I realize I made all this sound easy. In reality, it was messy and time-consuming and disorienting. But like I said, my mind was so fuzzy that I wasn't even fully sure of my surroundings.

With my suitcase in hand, I waited for the automatic doors to slide open before I took my first step into the mild, California air. There was a two-hour time difference between Winnipeg and Pasadena, so it was early evening in the golden state. And it was still light outside. Imagine that.

I didn't expect Taylor for another twenty minutes, so I parked myself on a bench and tried to get comfortable. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, which I had powered up while waiting for my luggage, and sent a text to my family group chat.

Me: I'm here

Mom: Great, sweetie. Have a good time, okay?

Dad: Love you so much. Have fun.

Beth: Enjoy yourself, girlie!

Thomas: But don't have too much fun!

Dad: And make sure you watch your drinks

Dad, what the hell?

Shaking my head, I pulled up my conversation with Taylor and let him know I was at the gate. He responded quickly, saying that he was about half an hour away due to traffic.

Sighing, I tucked my phone back into my pocket. Great. Now I had thirty minutes to wait and nothing to pass them. That wasn't true, actually; I packed a novel, one that I had read several times and that I knew would comfort me, in anticipation of moments exactly like these ones.

Once I had the paperback out of my suitcase, I flipped to a random page and began to read. And yes, I knew exactly where I was in the story, because that's how often I had read it. When my eyes kept skimming over the same line and my mind didn't process any of it, I slapped the book shut, frustrated, and stuffed it back in my bag.

Remember when I said my mind was empty? Those were good times. Like a floodgate opened, a million thoughts filled my head, all at once.

What if I don't know what to say?

What if I don't feel well?

Or what if Taylor wants to introduce me to some friends and they think I'm lame?

What if his mom makes food and I don't like it and I offend her?

What if this feeling I'm feeling right now doesn't go away and I'm stuck feeling this way for four whole days?

It started as a little tightness in my chest, then my heart raced a bit. Butterflies swarmed around the obstacle course of knots in my stomach.

Shit.

I was feeling that anxious, panicky hell that didn't come often. That was how I knew that this trip was a big deal to me. I was always worried about something, but, thankfully, I didn't always feel like my insides wanted to come crashing out of my body.

Thinking it would help, I took a sip of water from the bottle I got at the airport. It didn't. I took a trip to the washroom to see if that would relieve a bit of the discomfort I was feeling in my stomach. It didn't. I popped an Imodium, hoping that it would prevent the runs I usually got when I was anxious.

By the time I got back outside, Taylor was probably about ten minutes away.

Goody.

This feeling wasn't going away. In fact, it was only intensifying.

Making myself sit on the bench was futile. My legs had a mind of their own and they wanted to pace. After a few seconds of that, my head began to swim and a thin layer of sweat covered my body. Oh god. Maybe I did need to sit after all.

And that was how I found myself sitting on a bench outside of a California airport having a full-on panic attack.

My hands shook violently, and if anyone was looking at me funnily, I couldn't tell, because my eyes were closed.

I'm having a panic attack.

I'm having a panic attack.

I'm having a panic attack.

I knew enough from the few I've had in the past that a) it won't last forever and b) it can't kill you.

As I tried my best to ride it out, the most I could hope for was for Taylor to not see me like this. With any luck, it'd pass and I'd feel infinitely better when he arrived.

But the universe had other plans. It was like I could hear it whisper, "Nah."

I was sitting there on the bench, trying to take a breath and convince my stomach to stop rebelling against me, when I saw Taylor approach.

He was wearing a white baseball cap and an easy smile; those were the only details I could take in from his appearance. Slowly, though, as he walked towards me, I saw his smile shift into an expression of concern. He increased his pace.

When Taylor reached me, he might as well have been back in Winnipeg for how far away he seemed.

"Camille? Camille!"

Even his voice seemed miles away.

"Fuck," he muttered. "Camille, please, look at me."

One of his hands went to my shoulders, but I could barely feel it. I did feel the hand that wiped the moisture away from underneath my eyes. When had I begun to cry?

"It's okay, Camille. You're okay. I'm here now. I'm not sure what's going on, but I can see that your breathing is all off. I'm going to need you to take a deep breath, okay? Can you inhale, nice and slow, for me?"

Taylor's eyes bore deep into mine and I tried my best to communicate with him through my own eyes, because I sure as hell couldn't speak. I tried to inhale like he told me to, but I failed. The sound was all off; it was choppy and wheezy, not slow and smooth.

"Shit, okay," he muttered.

With one swift movement, he lifted my body off the bench, sat himself on it, and then brought my body onto his, so that I was sitting on his lap.

"Lean back into me. I want to feel your back on my chest," he whispered in my ear. "I'm going to breathe and I want yours to match, okay? We're going to do this together. We're going to get through this together."

Sitting on Taylor like that, it felt like his body surrounded me entirely, like he was my personal cocoon. Just as he promised, I could feel his chest move and fall on my back. I tried my best to match the pattern. Eventually, I did.

As my breathing became more and more normal, my body freed up resources for me to notice other things. Like the feather light touches Taylor was running across my stomach, underneath my t-shirt.

A tingle spread from the back of my head and down my spine, and that along with his touch, was the greatest antidote if I had ever seen one.

I looked down at his hand, at the contrast between his tanned flesh and my paler one.

"Sorry," he mumbled. His hands froze.

"No, don't stop."

I sounded like crap, but still not as bad as I would have thought.

"You're sounding better," he confirmed.

I nodded.

"I didn't ask you before, because the answer was so obvious, but are you okay now?"

I swallowed, assessing my bodily and mental state. My thoughts were clearer, the sweat had evaporated, my stomach felt calm, and my heart rate was back to normal.

"Yeah, I think so."

"You sure?"

I turned to look at him. He looked stunned. What the hell was wrong with me? A good friend of mine, one of the best I've ever had, invites me to his home, and how do I react? What do I give him in return? A freaking anxiety attack, which probably burdened him.

"I'm really sorry," I admitted, not meeting his eyes.

Taylor shook his head violently and he frowned. "No, no. Don't apologize for that, Camille. I'm not sure what the hell just happened, but I know I never want to see that again."

My eyes dropped to his chest. His t-shirt was grey and the material looked so soft. "I know, I'm sor--." I didn't finish that word, because I was sure Taylor didn't want to hear it again. "I'm sure it must have been difficult for you."

"For me?" Taylor's head fell forward. "What the hell are you talking about? I was just worried about you."

I bit my lip and nodded slightly. Making him worry wasn't my intention, but my body had other plans, clearly.

"Thank you," I murmured.

He just nodded curtly. I could see his throat move so clearly with the swallow he just took. I guess it wasn't really "no problem" or "his pleasure."

After Taylor asked me again if I was okay, he grabbed my case and led me to his car. I'll never forget the look on his face when he held his hand out for me. He wasn't asking, just offering. Like whether I took it or not was irrelevant; he just wanted me to know he was there.

I took it.

Because when someone hands you a lifeline, it's a good idea to take it.

One of the good things about a panic attack, if there are any, is that it magnifies all sensations, even the pleasant ones. And the feeling of my hand in Taylor's was one of the best I've ever felt.

When we stopped in front of a black Jeep, I smiled, despite myself.

"It's not the same car as back in Winnipeg, but it's the same car, if that makes sense," Taylor said quietly, correctly guessing the reason behind my reaction.

I nodded. "Makes perfect sense."

He opened the passenger door and waited until I was buckled in before he closed it and tossed my case into the trunk.

When he took his seat behind the wheel, I revelled in the fact that turning on the heat wasn't necessary.

"Would you like to talk to me about what that was about?" he asked suddenly.

Would I like to? No.

Did I feel like I owed him an explanation? Yes.

"I, um, had a panic attack," I said meekly. "I don't have them often, but when I do, they're kind of a doozy." I tried to make light of the situation, but Taylor didn't buy it.

I could see his eyes narrow and his mouth turn down as he stared ahead at the road.

"What made you panic?"

Do I tell him? Would that make him feel bad, for inviting me on this trip? Again, I felt obligated to share.

"Trips like these made me a little anxious."

He glanced at me. "You don't like to fly?"

I swallowed, trying to wet my mouth. "It's not that exactly. I guess I'm just a little anxious to meet your family. And...and I guess I'm a little nervous about spending time with you here."

We were at a red light, and he looked over at me. If he was surprised, he did a good job of hiding it. "What do you mean?"

I shrugged, feeling pathetic. "We're not in Winnipeg anymore. Maybe you'll realize you don't like me as much when you're not stuck in a boring city where you don't know anyone."

Taylor kept silent for a few seconds after I finished speaking. Then he kept silent for a few more minutes. He didn't even nod or shake his head.

Alrighty then.

"Do you mind if we stop somewhere before we go to my parents'?" his voice was lower than usual.

"Yeah, that's fine."

He nodded, switching lanes. I had no idea where we were going and I was feeling too shy to ask, but five minutes later, I got my answer. Taylor pulled into the parking lot of a small, standalone building that had a cartoonish drawing of a coffee cup on the front window. It was a café.

"Come on in," Taylor said in that same tame, low voice he had used since the moment he found me at the airport.

Still in my seat, I watched him walk to the front door of the cafe. He waited there until I caught up to him. I threw him a weak smile as he opened the door for me and gestured for me to walk in first.

Despite the light outside, the restaurant was quite dark. The only source of light seemed to be lamps that had mosaic blue and red glass coverings. With my eyes still taking in the place, I sank myself down into the wooden chair at the table that Taylor chose.

"What usually helps you when you're feeling anxious?" he asked, staring straight at me. "My mom always drank chamomile tea before my games when I was younger. She said it helped with the nerves."

My lips parted slightly. Seriously? Taylor stopped here to buy me a cup of tea? Not just any tea, but tea that was supposed to help my anxiety?

"I think she's right. Chamomile sounds good," I said in a breathy voice.

Taylor nodded, smiling slightly, one corner of his mouth reaching higher than the other.

"Medium chamomile tea, for here, please," Taylor told the barista who came to our table. He looked at me as he spoke to her.

I could feel his eyes on me and the attention made me slightly uncomfortable. I kept my eyes glued to the sugar packets on the table until a steaming cup was placed in front of me.

The first sip was hot but I could already feel the soothing properties take effect, even if it was only the placebo. Or maybe it was just Taylor.

"Are you mad at me or something?" I asked, finally, after enduring Taylor's stare for the past five minutes.

"Yes," he said immediately.

I looked up. His eyes were still serious but he had a small smile on his lips.

"Not really. A little, I guess," he sighed. "I just wish you would have told me that this trip would make you anxious. I wouldn't have pushed you to come if I knew it'd make you feel this way."

I shook my head. "I want to be here. I just... get anxious sometimes."

His head cocked to the side and he gave me A Look ."Camille, I invited you here because I want you here. And I want my parents to meet you so they could see my favourite person in Winnipeg. I'm not sure what you were talking about earlier, but I'm pretty sure how much you like someone isn't influenced by the city that you're in."

My jaw had hit the table and stayed there from the second Taylor used the words favourite person to describe me.

I was about to respond, even though I didn't exactly know what I wanted to say, when the ringing of his phone, which had been sitting on the table, interrupted me.

He looked at the screen and murmured. "Just one second."

Bringing the phone to his ear he said, "Yeah, Mom?"

His mom? I took a sip of my tea.

"Yeah, I did. There's just some traffic right now. I'm not sure when we'll get there, but I'll text you when we're close." A pause. "Okay, thanks. Love you too."

Taylor ended the call and shoved the phone into his pocket like the call wasn't a big deal.

Did he just lie to his mother for me? Because he knew that I was anxious about meeting his parents and he wanted to buy me time for me to calm down? I think he just did.

"Finish your tea and take your time. Whenever you're ready, you let me know and we can head back out."

I brought the cup to my lips because I was afraid that if I spoke, I'd blurt out something like "I love you."

"Seriously. I don't want to leave here until you're feeling good."

"Thanks," I said.

God, that word was just too small, too common, for a situation like this.

I finished my tea—it was surprisingly tasty—and watched Taylor patiently watch me. Even though I knew I was being a huge nuisance, he didn't make me feel like one.

With my knuckles, I pushed the now tea-less container to the centre of the table.

"Okay. I'm ready."