“How did you know he was the one,though?”
“I didn’t.” She grins. “That’s the beauty. You can’t know. But one thing that’s certain, eventually you lose everyone, even the ones who chose to stay. Nothing’seternal.”
Screw a light bulb going off, that comment hits me like a hard slap in the face. The only thing that’s had me second guessing whether I should hop on that plane or not is the what-if of losing him when all I should be focusing on is the right now of havinghim.
“Bob!” she shouts, clapping her hands so hard the ash from her cigarette falls to the ground. “Dammit.” She snatches the cigarette from her lips before she shuffles across thehall.
When I turn around, Bob’s standing in the middle of my suitcase with his leghiked.
Dot snatches him up, and urine sprays the wall. He growls when she scolds him. “I’m sorry,” she says with a shrug. “He’s got a little incontinenceproblem.”
“It’s…” I stare at my pee-soaked clothes. “Fine.”
She puts her hand on my shoulder once more. “We always regret the risks we never took. Trustme.”
And with that she meanders back around the corner, smoke trailing behind her like a steamengine.
Ten minutes later, I’m rushing through the front of my apartment, with an overstuffed gym bag slung over my shoulder. Unfortunately, Bob pissed in the only suitcase I own—which also contained most of my nice clothes. So here I am with nothing but shitty T-shirts and skinny jeans crammed in a gym bag to go toLondon.
I stop by the curb to hail a taxi. One sputters by.Two.
“Assholes!” I shout and step into the gutter, waving my armaround.
A cab finally stops, and I hop in. “La Guardia. I’m going to miss aflight.”
The driver punches the meter and veers onto the street, tires screeching. He zooms in and out of traffic, nearly sideswiping aFiat.
There’s an overwhelming feeling I’ve forgotten something, so I rummage through my bag, checking for my passport and wallet. Myphone.
The skyscrapers cast a cold shadow over the street when we whizz through the financial district. Just before we reach the bridge, the car comes to a juddering halt that sends my bag goes flying into thefloorboard.
The cab driver rolls his window down, hanging halfway out of the car as he swears at someone. Horns blare. People yell back and forth. And after a few nasty exchanges, we’re offagain.
I stare at my phone. I should text Elijah, let him know that I’m coming. But then I think about the way this would play out if it were a movie starring Kate Hudson and Matthew McConaughey. Sometimes in life, we all want to be a romantic—so I won’t text him. I’ll board the flight, last minute. He’ll already be seated, most likely staring through the window with his elbow on the armrest and his hand covering his mouth. He’ll think I’m not coming, and then I’ll stop at the end of the aisle and say something along the lines of, “You should never try to anticipate with me…” He’ll smile and embrace me, kissing me in a way that will make every woman on board that flight envious. Then we’ll take off to London, and I have no idea what happens past that point. Even though this scares the absolute shit out of me, I’m doingit.
I have no idea if we’ll last for two days or seventy years, but I’ll never know if I don’t give us achance.
Twenty minutes later, I’m still convincing myself I’m doing the right, rational thing in this completely irrational situation when the taxi cuts off a minivan and takes a hard right into theairport.
“Which airline?” the driverasks.
“Delta.”
The brakes grind when he slams them on. I hit the back of the seat, and my bag tumbles to the floorboard again. The cab fishtails a little before coming to a hard stop in front of Delta’s departing flights. I grab my bag, quickly pulling my wallet from my bag and swiping my card through the meter, then I climb out and race through the automaticdoors.
Usually, just the smell of the airport makes my stomach twist with anxiety, but right now there’s too much excitement tingling through me. The kind of exhilaration that makes you drunk and delirious with hope. I step to a kiosk and type my name over the screen. I hit enter, and the little plane icon flies round andround.
This is me taking my first step toward living life instead of trudging through it; taking the bull by itshorns.
The computer beeps at me.Passenger name not found. Please see a customer service representative. Furrowing my brow, I collect my belongings and get in line with the rest of the passengers checking their bags. I listen to them argue over the weight limit. Over theirseats.
When it’s my turn, I step to the counter and smile at the young woman behind it. Her red lips curl in a greeting. “How can I help youtoday?”
“I tried to check in on the kiosk, but I couldn’t pull up my ticket.” I lay my open passport on the counter. “It’s the ten fifty flight to LondonHeathrow.”
“Okay, just one second.” Her fingers tap over the keyboard, and her gaze strays from my passport to the computer screen. “There’s not a ticket for aCharlieElizabeth Williams,” shesays.
Air catches in my throat. My pulse thrums in my ears. “Shit!” I gasp. “I never told him my name was Charlie!” Shaking my head, I grab my passport. “He didn’t know my name was Ch—Demi Elizabeth Williams. It would be under that, can you check that name, please?” The woman glances at her screen, then looks to the clerk beside her. “I can’t give out other passenger’s information. If it doesn’t match your passport, you can’t board. I’m sosorry.”
