Everything laid out, we spring into action. We spend the last leg of our drive back to Sedona on the phone with the airline. Fortunately, we’re able to grab two seats together on a flight that leaves in three and a half hours, but we’ll be cutting it close.
Back at the hotel, we toss everything in our bags with no regard for who it belongs to. There’s barely a moment to breathe between checking out at the front desk, making the two-hour drive from Sedona to Phoenix, returning the rental car, rushing through security and running to the gate. We make it just as the final boarding group is called.
We both heave out a long breath, our efforts still labored from our marathon sprint through the terminal. I tuck Gretchen into my chest and she melts against me. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”
I send up a prayer, hoping against hope for my words to be true.
Once we’re in our seats, we reach for our phones. I notice a missed text from Drew that came in while we were navigating the TSA line.
Drew
She’s out of surgery. Had to remove her fallopian tube but she’s okay.
Me
Thanks for the update. I’m glad she’s okay. Gretchen and I just boarded.
Not landing ’til after midnight. I’ll touch base with you in the morning.
Love you, man.
I hold out my phone for Gretchen to read the message. “Drew says Reagan made it out of surgery.”
“Thank God.” She cracks her neck from side to side before she tells her brother that she loves him in a text of her own.
After her phone signals with awooshthat her message has gone through, we switch to airplane mode and stash both our devices in the bags at our feet.
Gretchen is asleep on my shoulder before we take off.
We dozedon and off for the whole flight. During the few times we were both awake, I distracted her by talks of the day’s events. She launched into the story of Winona’s “intervention” at the birthing center and promptly swore me to secrecy. Now that I know the details, I understand why.
We’re zombies trudging through O’Hare at one-thirty in the morning.
Since I had Ubered to the airport, I take Gretchen’s keys and offer to drive us back to my place. Again, she’s asleep before we’re out of the parking lot. At least she can’t put up a fight when I pay her parking fee. It’s hardly a sacrifice since she refused to let me help pay for the hotel.
I’m also a lovesick fool who just wants to do things for her.
This relationship is new and I’m certain the obstacles will come now that we’re home. Gretchen’s confidence in how her brother will accept our relationship helps some, but I can’t shake the reservations in my gut that it won’t be that easy. It’s been a heavy, emotional few days for her so I keep my continued concerns about Drew to myself as I try like hell to grab on to a sliver of that confidence she has.
There’s also the matter of her relocation back to New York. Her interview for the Executive Assistant position at Saks is next week and, even though she hasn’t talked about it much over the past several days, I know she’s excited about it.
Truth is, I’m ready to do exactly what I had planned to do three years ago. I’ll become a frequent flyer, show up at her doorstep every weekend if she’ll let me. And when the time feels right, I’ll move there.
In the past, I dreaded relationship milestones. I wanted to cling to my independence, keep my own space, delay commitment, hold back on saying those three coveted words because it all felt too hard, like I was forcing it.
But that was beforeher.
With her, it’s easy. I don’t want to rush anything, but I also already know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that everything that scared me in relationships past, doesn’t scare me with Gretchen.
As I turn into my building’s parking garage, I blink back the romanticism because I know Arizona was the easy part. No family, no sneaking around, no work, no interruptions. But we’re home now. Our lives will go on as they did before and we’ll not only have to make time for each other, but we’ll have to navigate life’s challenges together, too.
The realist in me says to remain optimistic, but stay on guard.
Stay hopeful, but plan for the worst.
Never stop choosing her, but recognize certain people may not like my choice.
Never stop loving her, but accept what it might cost me.
