4. Willow Windheim
FOUR
Willow Windheim
“ D on’t guilt-trip me,” I switch my phone to the other ear, telling my ex-boyfriend and ultra-reluctant dog-sitter, “Thor can’t possibly miss me yet.” Looking around at the chaos I change subjects, “Brady, you think L.A.X. is bad? Hartsfield-Jackson is enormous. Crazy busy. I had to take a tram to Luggage!”
“Atlanta is one of the largest hubs for travel in and out and throughout America.”
“Thank you, Wiki.”
Brady snorts with amusement, a sound that is always refreshing to me. We’ve been broken up for two years. The things that used to drive us crazy about each other have lost their…edges. My dry wit used to rub him the wrong way, but now he thinks it’s funny. Ah, irony. I remember very clearly our last huge argument where he shouted, And by the way, you’re not funny!
I swear that hurt more than the one time he called me a bitch. One and only time. I told him that day, We don’t call each other names, ever. I refuse to have that kind of relationship.
When he said I wasn’t funny, that was the final straw and I ended it. Not because it was mean, which it was, but because if he didn’t like my sense of humor, there’s a huge part of me he didn’t ‘get’ and that’s a lonely feeling. I used to have to explain my jokes. So not fun.
“Hang on. Gemma is calling through.” I switch over and tell my best friend, “Hi! I’m at the airport and on the other line with Brady.”
“Why?!”
Over a gate-announcement that feels like it’s lodged in my ears, I shout, “HANG ON,” and switch back to tell him, “LET ME CALL YOU BACK!”
Brady grumbles, “Why are you yelling at me,” and hangs up.
Back to Gemma, announcement ending and sending my voice back to its normal volume, I tell her, “Hey. I told him I’d call him back.”
“Willow, why are you at the airport?”
A sly grin spreads. “Because someone told me I never do anything spontaneous.”
She’s silent a beat. “Oh please tell me. I can’t wait!”
“Someone said that I haven’t truly smiled in a very long time.”
Knowing she is that person, she shouts with glee, “Where are you!!! ”
“Atlanta.”
Pure confusion. “Why Atlanta? There’s no water there.”
A lover of the wet stuff is my best bud, and since we live in Venice Beach, California, she has no lack of it. I’m her surfing companion, and have the tan to show for that. In the winter, we’re all about wearing the body suits. Come springtime, which is now, bikinis, rain or shine. And it’s been all shine so far this Spring.
“Don’t you think I’ve had enough water?”
“Never!”
“Hang on. My bag just flopped onto the belt thingy.”
“Willow, why are you in Atlanta!!!”
Shoving the phone in my dress-pocket and my body through crowd, I tell no one and everyone, “Excuse me. That’s my bag!” A teenager dressed in hip jeans and hoodie reaches for the navy-blue suitcase I pointed out, from where it sits propped precariously atop two others — one black, one red and tattered — and snatches it to freedom with ease.
“Here ya go.” He smiles at me, and I see a light spark in his eyes. He thinks I’m cute. I’m also thirty-one and it’s never gonna happen.
“Thank you!”
“No problem. You live here?”
“Excuse me,” Pulling the handle up on my suitcase and my phone from my pocket I motion, “On the phone with my lover.”
“Oh…” he frowns, and I never see him again.
Ever.
“Gemma, isn’t it funny how you can have a moment with someone and then never see them again in your entire life? The world is filled with so many people. I’ve never been more aware of that than right now in this crazy mosh pit of an airport.”
“From the muffled sounds I was hearing, you had me in your pocket, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never felt closer to you.”
I burst out laughing, rolling my bag toward the exit, and feel my ear vibrate, Brady’s name lighting the screen. “He’s calling through again.” She’s not my lover, but we joke like we are because it’s funny to us.
“Why is Brady blowing up your phone?”
“He’s watching Thor.”
“Why am I not watching Thor?!”
“Because then it wouldn’t be a surprise when I called you from the airport.”
“Why are you in Atlanta!!!”
I spot, standing centered near multiple sets of electronic double-doors, a handsome older man with sandy-brown and silver hair, denim shirt stretched tight over muscular arms above well-loved jeans and cowboy boots, holding up the sign I’m looking for: Sunflower Retreat.
“I booked a ten-day retreat an hour north of Atlanta.”
“You what? ”
“On a farm.”
“You what?!”
“With cows, horses and chickens.”
“You WHAT?”
“And yoga.”
She laughs like a balloon popped, “I love this for you!” Brady’s call has gone to voicemail, which he’ll hate.
“I’ll report more when I get there. Listen, I have to go. I just found the shuttle driver, and if I were twenty years older…oh, he’s wearing a ring. Never mind.”
We hang up without ‘goodbye’ — very common for me and Gem — and I introduce myself to the silver-haired hunk of an if-only, “Hi, I’m Willow Windheim.”
“Jaxson Cocker, co-owner of Sunflower. We’re just waiting for a few more people.”
I flash a smile to five other people gathered near him, my mind on Brady, their luggage and expectant smiles letting me know they’re also guests. “I just have to call back someone, since we’re not leaving right away.” Stepping a few feet from my Sunflower group, I press his name from the missed-call list and he picks up immediately.
“Thor is staring like he doesn’t know me.”
“You bought him for me, Brady! He loves you.”
“He’s pretending he doesn’t know me. To piss me off.”
“Just wanted to say I’ve got my luggage, and met up with the retreat’s owner. I’m all safe. I need this. Please give him the best time. Park every day at 4:30, remember? His friends are all there.”
My ex groans, “Every day.”
“He’ll be a much happier dog. And a happier dog is a nicer dog.”
“I’ll do it.”
“I’m gone for only ten days!”
“Ten of the longest days of my life.”
“You’re so supportive, you know that? Are you going to keep stressing me out with this? Because relaxing is kinda against the whole point of my leaving town.”
“I promise to not call you.” He pauses. “Too much.”
“I love you, Brady.”
“Love you too, Willow.”
Hanging up, I lock onto warm, curious, emerald eyes. Was Jaxson Cocker — who, in my opinion has the best surname ever — listening to my conversation? Our group has fleshed out since I arrived and our host announces, sign falling to his side as he pulls out keys from a worn back pocket on his way outside. “Everyone is here. Follow me.”
The sound of nine rolling suitcases in motion is our soundtrack for an exciting adventure now begun.