Chapter 10 #2
It feels like such a ridiculous hope. But when the boy leans forward and tugs a pair of headphones out of his bag, I read the C. Williamson across the back of his jersey and feel a tiny twinge of victory.
I have no idea what I think I’m winning, but it feels like a good sign anyway.
It suddenly occurs to me that if I were dating Carter Williamson for real, I might handle myself differently if I found myself sitting next to a fan.
Or would I? Would I just ignore it? Would I say something?
What would Carter want me to do? I have no idea what protocol is when it comes to this sort of thing.
On the opposite side of the aisle, there’s a couple also dressed in Jaguars gear. I make eye contact with the woman, and she offers me a polite smile. “I promise he won’t be a bother,” she says. “He’s got a movie downloaded. He’s a great traveler.”
“I’m not worried,” I say, returning her smile. “Did you come to Atlanta for a game?”
She nods. “His tenth birthday.” She motions to her son. “It’s his favorite team.”
I look down at the boy. “And Carter Williamson—is he your favorite player?” This is so far outside of the norm for me. I don’t talk to strangers. I get on flights and put on headphones and tend to feel resentful if I have to make eye contact with anyone.
I don’t mind if someone talks to me.
I’m not horrible.
But I don’t seek out opportunities to interact. And yet, here I am talking to a ten-year-old about hockey.
The boy’s eyes widen. I doubt he expected me to know Carter’s first name. “He’s the best defender in the league,” he says.
“Even better than his twin brother?”
He sits up a little taller, like he’s more than ready to give me his reasons. “It’s close,” the boy says. “But I think Carter has a better eye for the game. He’s a playmaker. He sets people up for shots that no one else can see.”
The flight attendant appears, and the boy is momentarily distracted while his parents ask him about his menu preferences for dinner, so I take the opportunity to pull out my phone and text Carter. Something tells me he’d appreciate knowing I’m sitting next to a kid wearing his jersey.
Sarah
True story. I’m sitting on the plane next to a kid wearing your jersey. He came to Atlanta for his tenth birthday so he could watch a game.
Carter
For real? That’s awesome. Do you have a few minutes before you take off?
I frown at my phone screen, not sure why he’s asking.
Sarah
I think so. People are still boarding.
I expect another message. Instead, I get a FaceTime call.
I accept the call and suddenly, Carter is filling my phone screen.
Well. More like Carter’s torso. His bare torso.
Something flutters low in my belly at the sight of all that toned skin, but then Carter’s head pops through the top of his t-shirt, and he slides the fabric into place, blocking my view.
As soon as I see his face, a knot of tension at the base of my sternum loosens and unwinds.
He offers me a warm smile. “Hey, gorgeous.”
My cheeks heat. My brain knows he’s only pretending, but my body is clearly struggling to get the memo. “Hi,” I say, proud of how normal I sound.
“Sorry,” he says, offering me a sheepish grin. “I realized right after I hit call that I should probably put a shirt on.”
I shift and turn my back to the wall of the airplane so there’s no way the kid sitting next to me can see the screen. “What are you doing?” I ask, dropping my voice to a whisper. “What’s happening right now?”
“Put the kid on,” Carter says.
I turn down the volume on the call, glancing at the boy next to me. But he’s still leaning over the aisle talking to his mom. “What?”
“The kid sitting next to you,” Carter says. “I thought I could wish him a happy birthday.”
Of course he does. Because he’s Carter. And this is exactly the kind of thing he would do with his fans.
“Um, okay. Hang on,” I say. I mute the call and set the phone face down on my tray table, then look over at the little boy. “So, listen, if it’s okay with your parents, I’ve got someone on the phone who would like to say hello to you.”
His eyebrows lift. “Who is it?”
I smile. “I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.” I look up at his parents, and they nod their approval, though the dad’s expression is slightly wary, like he can’t quite decide if he should trust me yet. “What’s your name?” I ask the boy.
“Aidan,” he says, and I nod.
I pick the phone back up and say to Carter, “This is Aidan. And this”—I hand the phone over to Aidan—“is Carter Williamson.”
“What’s up, Aidan?” Carter says, his voice warm. “I hear you just had a birthday.”
I make eye contact with Aidan’s parents one more time and smile, then I listen to five minutes of the most adorable conversation I’ve ever heard.
Carter is amazing. Kind. Solicitous. Complimentary of Aidan. He asks him questions about hockey, then really listens, paying attention to every single word, like a ten-year-old’s opinions on the game are vitally important. Eventually, another voice sounds through the line.
“Who are you talking to?” the voice says. It’s similar enough to Carter’s that it has to be Theo.
“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh!” Aidan says, one hand gripping his hair like he can’t believe what’s happening.
“Hey, Aidan,” Theo says after Carter explains the call. “What’s this I hear about my brother being your favorite?”
“You’re both amazing,” Aidan says. “He’s barely ahead. You’re basically tied!”
“Hey, now,” Carter says. “I liked being your favorite.”
Theo laughs. “It’s all right, Aidan. I’ll let him have the win. He gets so few of them.”
At the front of the plane, the flight attendant motions for me to wrap it up, and I nod.
“Time to say goodbye,” I say loud enough for all participants of the FaceTime call to hear me.
Aidan says his goodbyes, then I take the phone. “That was amazing,” I say, my voice a little quieter.
“It was fun,” Carter says. “Text me when you land?”
I nod. “Okay.”
His eyes shift, and he looks to his left before pulling the phone a little closer. “Fly safe. Love you.”
My heart falls into my stomach as my entire body flushes with heat.
I know he’s pretending. Of course he’s pretending.
But somehow, every new situation we find ourselves in feels like a situation I’m not prepared for. I have no idea how to reconcile what my brain knows—this isn’t real—with how my body reacts.
My gaze darts over to Aidan, who is watching with rapt attention.
So I guess we’re doing this.
I look back at Carter. “Love you too.”
The call disconnects, and I drop my phone into my lap, then shove my hands between my thighs to keep them from trembling. It’s ridiculous that I’m reacting like this. But those words just felt so real.
A twinge of sadness pings around in my heart.
I’ve never said I love you to a man before.
It hurts to think that I just did for the first time…and I didn’t mean it.
“Carter Williamson is your boyfriend?” Aidan asks from beside me.
I manage to smile at him. “He sure is.”
“Best birthday present ever,” Aidan says. “Thanks for calling him.”
“That was all him,” I say. “I texted him and told him you were sitting next to me, and he called me.”
Aidan’s parents pipe up next, offering their own thanks.
The whole exchange really was so fun, but I’m too distracted to truly appreciate their gratitude.
My own feelings feel too difficult to sort out.
I feel oddly proud, which doesn’t make sense because I’m not in a real relationship with Carter.
But I also feel a little bit sad. This man is kind and generous and good.
Am I taking advantage of that? Of his generosity?
When my phone buzzes in my hand, I scramble to open the screen. I don’t realize I’m hoping for a message from Carter until I see one and immediately feel relief.
Carter
I hope that was okay. I know we didn’t talk about it, but it felt like a good way to end the conversation since I knew they were probably listening.
Sarah
Good thinking. They were listening, so it was the right call.
Carter
It felt weird to say it. But it probably won’t be the only time we do. Maybe it’s good we got the first one out of the way?
Sarah
True. Do you think it will get easier?
Carter
I’m sure it will. We’ll get the hang of things.
Sarah
I’m trusting your confidence here.
Carter
We’re going to be fine. I promise.
Sarah
Okay. Turning on airplane mode.
Carter
Text me when you land. Fly safe.
Another text pops up, this one from Anna. It’s a picture of the girls sitting at the island in her kitchen, their hands and faces covered in rainbows of finger paint. Their smiles are wide and happy; I can just see the beginning of Poppy’s missing front tooth growing in.
Anna
They miss you already! Forget New York and come home.
I love the image, then send a quick response.
Sarah
Kiss them for me. Back in two weeks!
I sink back into my seat, thinking of how different leaving the girls would feel if I knew I wouldn’t see them but a few times a year. There aren’t words to describe my sense of relief.
And that’s all thanks to Carter.