I lean into him and kiss his neck. A soft peck and nothing more. He lifts my head off his shoulder, tilting my face up to his, scrolling over my features. “I thought I was tougher than a word,” he says. “But I just discovered that having to say goodbye to you is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.”
I want to say, “Then beg me to stay,” but his mouth is on mine, and he’s kissing me, hard. He’s saying goodbye with the way his lips move over mine, the way his hands caress my cheeks, the way his mouth moves to my forehead and presses one single, gentle kiss right in the center of it before he releases me. He practically pushes away from me, as if putting distance between us will make this any easier. He walks backward until he’s at the edge of the curb, and all my words are lodged in my throat, so I press my lips tightly together and try not to let them loose. We stare at each other for several seconds, the pain in this goodbye evident in the air between us. And then he turns and jogs back toward the parking garage.
And I try not to cry, because that would be silly.
Right?
• • •
I’ve never liked window seats, so when I hear the woman in the aisle seat say something to the affect of hating aisle seats, I offer her mine.
I’m not scared of flying unless I’m looking out the window. And if I’m in a window seat, I feel I’m taking it for granted if I don’t look out the window. And then I spend the entire flight staring at the world below us and it makes me panic more than if I just don’t put myself in that position.
I set my purse beneath the seat in front of me and try to get comfortable. I’m relieved Ben is coming to New York next year because the flight from L.A. to New York is one of my least favorite things.
I close my eyes and hope I can get a few hours of sleep. I won’t have time to sleep before rehearsals tomorrow, and I would just sleep in, but tomorrow is opening day and I have to be there for the last rehearsal.
“Hey.”
I hear Ben’s voice and smile, because that means I’m definitely going to sleep just fine if I’m already confusing reality with dreams.
“Fallon.”
My eyes flick open. I look up to see Ben standing next to me. What in the ever loving hell?
I look at his hand and he’s holding a plane ticket.
I sit up straight. “What are you doing?”
Someone is trying to squeeze past him, so he moves to where he’s standing as close to me as he can get. When the man passes, Ben kneels down. “I forgot to give you homework for this year.” He hands me a folded sheet of paper. “I had to buy a plane ticket in order to get it to you before you took off, so that means you have to follow through with it or I’m out a lot of money for naught. And who actually says naught? Anyway. That’s all. Totally not an alpha-move, but whatever.”
I look at the paper in my hands and then back up at him. Did he seriously buy a plane ticket just to give me homework?
“You’re insane.”
He grins, but then has to stand again to let someone else pass. A flight attendant tells him he needs to clear the aisle and take his seat. He winks at me. “I better go before I get stuck on the plane.” He leans down and gives me a small peck on the lips.
I try to hide the flicker of sadness I know is evident in my eyes. I force a smile just before he turns and makes his way toward the exit. A flight attendant intercepts him and asks why he’s not in his seat. He mutters something about a family emergency, so she allows him to pass, but right before he’s out of my line of sight, he turns around and winks.
And then he’s gone.
Did that really just happen?
I look down at the paper in my hands and I’m nervous to even open it, wondering what homework assignment could possibly be worth the purchase of a plane ticket.
Fallon,
I lied. Kind of. I don’t have a lot of homework for you because I think you’re doing a good job at adulting. I mostly wanted to give you this letter because I wanted to thank you for showing up today. I forgot to thank you earlier. It sucks that you have to go a day without sleep, but it means a lot that you sacrificed that sleep to follow through with our arrangement. I’ll make it up to you next year, I promise. As for this year, there’s only one thing I want you to do.
Go visit your father.
I know, I know. He’s an asshole. But he’s the only father you have, and when you told me you haven’t spoken to him since last year, I couldn’t help but feel at fault for that. I feel guilty for the fight you guys got into because my butting in didn’t help matters. I should have stayed out of it, but had I stayed out of it, I wouldn’t have had the privilege of finding out what kind of panties you had on. So I guess I’m saying I don’t really regret butting in, but I do feel bad that maybe your relationship with your father wouldn’t be so strained had I just minded my own business. So for that, I think maybe you should give him another chance.
When I realized I forgot to ask you to do this one small thing, it was worth the $400 plane ticket I just had to buy. So don’t let me down, okay? Call him tomorrow. For me.
Next year, I want all the hours of November 9th I can get with you. Let’s meet an hour earlier and I’ll stay until midnight.
In the meantime, I hope you still get laughed at.
Ben
I read the note through again before folding it. I’m happy he’s no longer on the plane, because the smile on my face is embarrassing.
I can’t believe he just did that. And I can’t believe I’m going to suck it up and call my father tomorrow simply because Ben asked me to.