“I just think sometimes you have to stop fighting against what is happening. Look, if I had to predict what was going to happen thirty-five days ago, I would have said it wouldn’t have lasted two days. That you’d both walk away hating each other, but that is clearly not the case.”
I chewed my lip. I didn’t know what to do. “My plane is boarding, I have to go.”
“Okay. Be safe. Text me when you land.”
“I will. And… thanks, Isla.”
“I’ll send you my bill.”
That made me laugh, despite wanting to cry. We ended the call and I got in line to board.
* * *
“Can you go any faster?” I asked the cab driver.
He just rolled his eyes at me in the rearview mirror.
We were pulling into JFK but I was eyeing the time on my phone with serious impatience.
When I’d woken up with a massive hangover and a text from Felicia asking me to call her when I was up, I’d decided this had to happen in person. Not over the phone. Not in a text. But face-to-face. I needed to tell her that I loved her in a way that she believed me.
So I’d bought a seat on her flight to London.
I didn’t want five rushed minutes at the airport.
I had two weeks.
It was the most time off work I could manage on such short notice and a week of that was because of the holidays, thank God. But it was a start.
If I actually made my flight.
As the cab pulled up in front of the airline I threw money at the driver and hopped out. My head was still throbbing and I had no idea what I had actually packed. I’d just opened drawers and thrown shit in there. None of that mattered. What mattered was getting to the woman I loved.
Using the kiosk, I checked in and then went to the security line. It wasn’t horrible, given it was Christmas Day, but it was long enough to make me bounce back and forth on the balls of my feet.
“Would you mind if I went ahead of you?” I asked the woman in front of me. “I’m late for my flight.”
“That’s not my problem,” she said, with a frown. “You should have left on time.”
The Christmas spirit apparently didn’t apply to the security line at JFK.
I waited, repeatedly checking the time on my phone, the line moving with zero sense of urgency. Finally, I got to the front. I kicked my shoes off, threw my bag on the belt, and went through the body scan.
“Someone’s in a hurry,” the TSA officer said.
She gave me a smile though, which was reassuring I wasn’t about to get pulled aside and frisked. “If I miss this flight, my relationship is over.”
“Ah, I see.” She jerked her thumb. “Go get your stuff. You’re clear.”
“Thank you and Merry Christmas.” I grabbed my bag and scanned the signs, trying to figure out which way to go, breaking out into a jog.
“You need a ride?” A guy who looked in his fifties pulled up alongside me in a cart. “You look like you’re in a hurry.”
“I am.” I jumped up onto the cart and gave him my gate number. “I need to get on this flight and convince the woman I love, the mother of my child, that we should get married.”
He eyed me, curious. “No shit? Well, hold on to your butt, let’s go get her.”
The cart leaped forward and I grabbed on to the rail. We were flying through the airport, dodging and weaving in and out of travelers. “That’s some fine driving, sir, I’m impressed.”