Seven
Seven
The inside of the airport is a disaster.
Apparently, every airline with routes up and down the Eastern Seaboard has been changing, canceling, and rerouting flights all day. Despite the bold tropical sun that beams down in golden tubes from the main terminal’s glass ceiling, based on the electronic departures board, which Ellie has hardly taken her eyes off for the last hour, everywhere else on the planet is a mess of black storm clouds and gale-force winds.
“This doesn’t make sense,” Ellie announces as she and Jonah inch forward in the security line. She wears the same jeans and a similar white T-shirt to the one she had on when they flew down, her trusty cardigan in her book bag in case she gets cool on the plane. But she can’t imagine feeling a chill right now. They’re crowded in on all sides by a sea of frazzled, frantic, and furious travelers. Children are crying. Parents—officially over it—are cursing under their breath. Unlike when they first landed at the start of the weekend, there’s not a Happiest Vacation on Earth! T-shirt—the ones Jonah thought were corny, unlike Ellie, who believed they were cute—or a pair of whimsical mouse ears in sight. Everyone around them, it seems, is tired. Overheated. Pissed.
“What doesn’t make sense, Ellie?” Jonah asks and waves to Maggie, who awkwardly squeezes her way back toward them through the infinite mass of frustrated people after sneaking out to find an earth-friendly snack. Something has changed in him since they arrived inside the airport and checked Ellie’s suitcase, the emotional, sentimental nature he wore this morning now gone and replaced with a hard-to-place edge. “What’s the problem?”
Ellie—taken aback by Jonah’s confrontational tone—twists her hair off her neck and into a bun, securing it with the tie she always wears on her wrist. She fans her skin with her boarding pass, which Frank—a product of his generation—insisted on printing for all three of them, perhaps in case the airport’s Wi-Fi went out, like some sort of aviation-exclusive Y2K. She considers calling Jonah out on his attitude—reminding him that this is part of the issue. The way they snap at each other. The way they’ve learned to argue over nothing. She takes a breath, decides not to bring it up. It doesn’t matter now.
“The problem,” Ellie explains, “is that I don’t understand how Maggie’s flight is the only one still taking off on time.” She points up at the departures board, which refreshes every few minutes and reveals more altered itineraries. Their flight back to New Jersey has been bumped back by three hours, but so far no cancellation. “It makes no sense,” she continues, the familiar feeling of anxiety washing over her: the one that almost always accompanies her—an unwanted travel companion—anytime she or her family must venture away from home and the safety of their familiar surroundings. This time, though, it’s hard to say if her nerves are caused by the thought of Maggie flying through storm clouds or the thought of Maggie flying anywhere—and in any condition—away from her. “She’s heading north, too. How can it be safe for her flight to take off but not for ours?”
“I—I don’t know,” Jonah stammers, and when he does, Ellie notices that he’s sweating at his hairline, his face simultaneously pale and flushed. “I’m not a pilot.” His soft blue T-shirt—preppy, clean, tasteful—is rimmed with a faint line of perspiration. “I don’t know the flight routes, Ellie.”
“Yes,” Ellie acknowledges, becoming progressively more annoyed with him. Whatever civilities they extended to each other all weekend, whatever brief glimmers of doubt they may have expressed, Ellie now realizes are gone. She slides her foot into and out of her leather sandal, something to try to distract herself from her rising nerves. “I’m aware of this.” She tilts her head at him. He’s being short with her, yes. But there’s something else. “Are you all right?”
Above them, the departures board refreshes yet again. Several new cancellations blink in ominous red digital letters. “Come on!” someone yells out from behind them in the line seconds before an announcement about the cancellation booms through the airport’s overhead speakers. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“I’m—I’m fine,” Jonah stutters, even though the quickened quality of his chest— inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale —suggests otherwise. He turns from Ellie as Maggie rejoins them. “D-did you find anything?” he asks. His tone, Ellie can’t help but notice, is softer with her, the difference akin to wearing sandpaper all day and then slipping into cashmere. Still, something about the way he speaks is off, stammered, the sound of his voice not quite right.
“Just this.” Maggie, who wears a hunter-green sweatshirt with the word Vermont stamped across the chest and a pair of frayed denim shorts, holds up an overripe banana. “All the nuts and dehydrated fruit were manufactured in the same facility as dairy and eggs, so ...” She trails off, looks down at her sad, brown-spotted snack.
“Maggie, don’t be ridiculous,” Ellie snaps, her eyes still half on Jonah as the three of them step forward in the snaking security line. She pulls off her travel book bag, sifts through it, and produces a granola bar. “You can’t just eat a banana.” She offers it to her daughter, but Maggie—likely suspecting some form of antivegan contamination—declines. “It’ll be hours before you’re back in your dorm room.” Ellie stops and looks back up at the board in time to catch another round of cancellations. “That is, if you—or any of us—get out of here today.”
And maybe, Ellie thinks, this is what she really wants, the reason she’s kept focused on the board ever since their erratic driver dumped them off on the curb—her hope not so much that they’ll all depart on time and jet off into their new, broken lives, but rather, that they’ll all stay. Deep down, perhaps some part of her hopes their flights to New Jersey and Vermont will be scrapped, that the three of them will get stuck here in this crowded airport and forced to talk and to comfort each other and to try, in some small way, to make a form of amends.
“I’m going back to school,” Maggie announces more forcefully than Ellie expects, her voice a decibel below a shout. She takes a bite of her mushy snack, which may as well be a puree, and tries not to wince. “Come hell or high water, I’m getting back there tonight.”
“Mags,” Jonah offers, a weak response to his daughter’s unruly tone.
“Seriously?” Ellie shoots him a glare, though honestly, she’s not surprised. In every household, one parent gets to play good cop, which means the other parent must be cast as bad. For Maggie’s whole life, Jonah has been the one to bring home surprise toys and bags of candy. Ellie has been the one to remind Maggie about upcoming tests and dental appointments, the parent to stand her ground on discipline. “That’s all you’re going to say to her? We’re going to let our grown daughter speak to me like this?”
“What do you want from me?” Jonah questions, a subtle quiver in his voice.
It was not so long ago that Maggie and Ellie spoke to each other in a different, kinder way. But by the time they arrived at that final summer, all their interactions had become so strained.
“Can I come in?”
Ellie stood in the doorway of Maggie’s bedroom, watching as she packed one more duffel bag.
“Um, yeah.” Maggie shoved another shirt inside it. “What’s up?”
Ever since the electronic acceptance letter had arrived that winter, Ellie had done her best to swallow her emotions and express nothing but her pride in and excitement for Maggie, even as she felt her daughter drifting further from her, and on a course she wasn’t sure was right.
“I guess it’ll be pretty quiet around here in a few weeks.” Ellie sat on the edge of the bed.
Maggie sighed and set down her things. “That’s the way it’s supposed to be, Mom.”
Ellie nodded her understanding. “Can I ask you something?” She knew this was likely one of their final private moments together before her daughter left.
Maggie huffed. The same human who’d once run full speed into Ellie’s arms, now annoyed by her mother’s voice. “What is it?”
Ellie rubbed the comforter. “Why, exactly, did you have a change of heart? Was it pressure from your friends? Or your guidance counselor? Dad, maybe? I know he can be pretty excitable when it comes to talking about his college days.” She didn’t mention the last thing she’d been thinking, the chorus that had sung the same sad song over and over in her head for weeks. Or is it because you just want to get away from me?
“We’ve been over this a hundred times.” Maggie zipped her duffel. “Practically every girl in my graduation class is heading off to someplace new for school,” she explained. “My generation, we’re going to do big things. Really find ourselves and our identities, figure stuff out, leave our mark on this world.” It sounded like she was reading from a page someone else had written. “I’m not like you, okay?” Maggie looked down, absently tugged the hem of her well-worn preppy shirt. “I don’t want the same life as you.”
Ellie blinked hard, like she was both seeing and hearing imaginary things. “Has my life really been so bad?” she asked, feeling hurt and taken aback. “I mean, I raised you, and—”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” Maggie rubbed a hand across the rug. “Can we not make this about you, please?” She stood, pulled more clothes from her closet. “This is part of the problem.”
“What’s that?” Ellie couldn’t keep her emotions down anymore. “The fact that I’ve been trying for months to help you make the most informed possible decision?”
“No!” Maggie replied. “The fact that, for months, you’ve been trying to make this decision for me!”
“That is not true, Maggie! You made the decision! You made the choice! You’re leaving, whether I think it’s best for you or not! Which I don’t!”
Maggie tossed a pile of sweaters onto the floor. “You’re right, Mom.” She balanced a hand on her hip. For a long beat, they just looked at each other, like strangers, and breathed. “I made the choice. And right now, I’m really glad that I did.”
Now, in the airport, Maggie dramatically adjusts her silly patchwork bag on her shoulder. “Look, I just need to get back, all right?” She rolls her eyes—a stark reminder that, although she’s an adult according to her age, she’s not really. Not fully. Not yet. “This wasn’t exactly the best time in the world for you to drop this bomb on me,” she points out, and looks exclusively at Ellie, as if she’s the only one responsible for everything that’s unfolded, as if her father is an innocent bystander—just as blindsided as her—and not half-responsible for this decision. “In case everyone forgot, I start finals soon.”
“Can we—can we just not do this right now, gang?” Jonah asks as he tugs on the neckline of his shirt. “Can the three of us just—”
“Why are you guys doing this?” Maggie shouts, startling the many travelers who surround them, as well as a pair of officers who instantly move closer to their family’s place in the line. “This is so dumb!” she exclaims and throws up her hands. A squishy-looking piece of banana falls onto the airport’s teal-patterned carpeting. “None of this even makes sense!”
“Is everything okay over here?” one of the officers asks, wearing a stern look.
“Not really!” Maggie goes on, oblivious to the new threat of authority. “Apparently my parents are getting divorced! So, I guess— poof! —we’re just, like, not a family anymore! I don’t have a home anymore ... or whatever!”
“Mags,” Jonah repeats again as everyone around them looks on. He continues to pull at his shirt, as if the fabric has shrunk, everything suddenly too tight for his muscular body. “Christ. Is it really hot in here?”
“Mags.” Ellie bends down to pick up the banana piece, ignoring both Jonah and the officers. She stands and then, with her free hand, reaches out to touch her daughter’s arm, hoping to soothe her, the way she used to be able to do when Maggie was small. Maggie pulls away, fast and hard, nearly hitting another traveler who stands behind her. “Maybe the three of us should step out of line and talk.”
“What is there to talk about, Mom?” Maggie’s eyes are glassy with tears. “You and Dad already made this choice without me. What am I supposed to talk about? What is there for me to say?” She launches her hands back up toward the glass ceiling. “Oh, right. That’s just it! I don’t get a say!”
“Ma’am?” one of the officers asks, his question directed at Ellie.
“We’re fine, sir,” Ellie asserts, still holding the mushy fruit, hoping this man—and everyone else around them—will magically disappear into vapor and go away. She shoots her daughter a look, sees she’s slowly calming back down. “Really.”
The officers exchange a glance and then nod—their silent agreement that bigger problems likely require their attention—before they move on.
“Have you lost your mind?” Ellie shout-whispers at Maggie once the police are gone. She tosses the banana piece in a nearby garbage can, where other travelers begrudgingly empty their water bottles before they arrive at the head of the security line. “Are you trying to have us all arrested?” she asks and wipes her soiled fingers on the thigh of her classic light-wash jeans.
“Hey, gang,” Jonah says, but Ellie is too fired up with Maggie to let him speak.
“I get it,” Ellie continues, a burning ball of anger rising quickly inside her. “This isn’t ideal for anyone. Trust me, this isn’t a position your father and I ever thought we’d be in, either. But this is what’s happening, and this is what’s—”
“Dad?” Maggie quickly turns away from her mother, her expression softened, like melted butter. “What’s wrong? You’re breathing sort of funny.”
“I—I don’t know.” Jonah gasps, waving a hand at his face. “There are too many people. There’s too much happening.”
“Jesus, Jo,” Ellie blurts out, suddenly realizing what’s going on. “Are you—are you having a panic attack?”
In all the years they’ve been a couple, Jonah has never been the one to panic. Yes, he shows emotion. And, yes, he worries like everyone else. But panic is just not a part of his personality, as if this piece of him was simply cut out of the fabric of his being at birth. For the duration of their marriage, Jonah has always been the one in the proverbial driver’s seat (well, often the literal one, too), the person who knows what to do, where to go, and how to get there. But this—this is new.
A TSA employee waves their family onward—panic attack or not, there’s no time to delay here. Not wanting to cause another scene, they abide and move up to the security machines, where they’re all forced to quickly slip off their shoes, empty their pockets, and dump their bags like criminals—the days of luxurious Pan Am–style travel long gone. Jonah’s breathing sounds labored—his hands shaking—as he walks through the x-ray machine and collects his things.
“Jo.” Ellie stops him on the other side of the security area as he lifts his wallet and slides it back into his pocket, looking like a shell of himself. She stands a foot in front of him, watching and waiting as he slowly catches his breath. Behind them, Maggie gathers her belongings. “What’s going on?”
“I just—” He sucks in one more deep inhalation. The color slowly returns to his face. “I guess I just didn’t realize this would be quite so hard.” He forces a small smile as Maggie steps up beside him. He playfully tousles her long, straight hair, like she’s still a kid. “You ready to go ace those exams, kiddo?” he says then, as if the whole thing—this visible display of his emotions—has not happened.
Another TSA employee signals for them to keep moving before Ellie can say anything further. They can’t stand here in the security area forever, though now Ellie wishes they could—that these giant x-ray machines saw one level deeper, not just to determine if anything they carry is dangerous, but rather to see what pieces inside each of them are broken.
Together—but not really—they step in the direction of the airport’s monorail system, the one that will bring them to their respective gates and force them to separate from each other.
“Why don’t Dad and I come with you, Mags?” Ellie suggests as the train pulls into the modern, neon-embellished tube. As it does, she thinks about those silly vacation shirts, the ones they never bothered to wear as a family. Ellie wishes they could go back in time so she could insist—not merely suggest—that they wear them, something to prove their bond, as if doing so might have helped. “Our flight’s delayed anyway. We can help you get settled at your gate,” Ellie continues as the train’s electronic doors slide open. A crowd of happy travelers, all ready for a memorable few days ( Best Vacation Ever! Happiest Family Trip on Earth! ), pours out of them. “We have time.”
Maggie shakes her head, her drapery of shiny hair shaking along with it. “I’ll text you guys when I land.”
Nearby, one of the other families strolls past. The mother is playing a game with her young child, a sort of impromptu charades. “Are you a zebra ?” the mother asks. “Are you a hamburger ?”
Ellie recalls playing games like this with Maggie. Children love when you pretend you don’t know them, or don’t know what they are, like they’re strangers from a different universe. When Maggie was small, Ellie engaged in a similar game with her daughter. And who are you? Do I know you? I don’t remember you being like this. Once Maggie hit a certain age, though ( Ugh ... Mom ... seriously? ), she stopped finding it funny. A few years later ( But really, Maggie ... who are you now? I hardly know or recognize you ... ), the game stopped being fun or funny to Ellie, too.
Back near the monorail, Maggie hugs Jonah first, long and hard, before she breaks away and offers Ellie a much shorter embrace. “I guess I’ll see you guys later,” she says, and Ellie knows it’s because she doesn’t want to have to say goodbye.
Maggie joins the crowd of other travelers, her bohemian bag swinging at her side, and steps inside the train.
“Please stand clear of doors and hold on to handrails,” an automated voice announces overhead. “The doors are now closing.”
Through the glass, Maggie gives her parents one last wave.
“The doors are now closed,” the voice says as the monorail begins to move backward.
Ellie stares ahead, not taking her eyes off Maggie until the train is gone.