Chapter 30
Sunday
Check-in agents and their goddamn power trips.
I tap away on the counter as I stay locked in a stare out with the British Airways representative.
He’s the third person I’ve now seen in five minutes.
If I wasn’t so desperate to get on a flight, I’d take off one of these uncomfortable shoes that have given me blisters and whack the smugness right out of him.
“You’ve got to help me, please. My wife’s just gone into labor.”
I lower my voice an octave to make my story more believable. But my presence seems to be a mere inconvenience to his existence.
I feel bad for lying. But having already been shafted by the other check-in clerks, who told me they don’t sell tickets at airports, my last hope is here at the customer service desk, with this aging bitter queen.
Lord, don’t let me become like him.
“Okay, bear with me,” he says, his face now a blank mask of professionalism.
Thank God, the Grammy awards are held early on a Sunday evening and that the ten freeway was quiet. Otherwise I’d never have made it before the last flight to London departs.
“There’s one seat left in economy…”
“I’ll take it. Thank you.” I cut him off and hand over my credit card and passport.
My shoulders relax as he processes the ticket and I count my blessings that I picked up my passport for the Grammy ID check, rather than relying on my driver’s license.
The gods must be looking out for me tonight.
“Any bags to check?”
His gaze drifts from his computer to my eyes and the implication isn’t missed when I catch my reflection behind him and see the dark circles under my eyes. They’re a reminder that Alexander really needs to get his septum business sorted.
“Nope, just this suit and me.” I stretch my hands outwards.
I am completely overdressed for the flight, but right now I don’t care.
“Here you go, and congratulations on becoming a father, Mr. Foster.” His right eyebrow and lips arch upward as he hands my credit card, passport, and ticket back.
Sure. You got me, I think. But I haven’t got time to entertain this, I’ve got a flight to catch.
Instead of thanking him, I run to TSA. The long, winding queue is thankfully avoidable with my TSA precheck.
I skip the line, passing the hordes of families and crying babies and go straight through.
I’m slightly disappointed when the hot security guard doesn’t offer me a pat down when I set the metal detector off, but you win some, you lose some.
Clearly the gods don’t want me getting too cocky, despite their other favors.
Once I finally make it to the departure gate, I spot a seat near the window that looks out onto the plane, and take a moment to compose myself.
Thank God, I made it. Thank God, I managed to get a ticket back to London.
I collapse into the chair with all the grace of a reversing dumping truck. The adrenaline finally slows down and my breath becomes more stable.
I grab my phone out of my pocket and I’m instantly reminded of Stephen’s phone call earlier. There’s a barrage of new WhatsApp messages from him that I dare not open. I don’t have the headspace to deal with that now, let alone the message beneath from Ryan.
I scroll down to the family group chat, fire off a message to let them know I’ve made the flight and that I should be at the hospital by 6 p.m. tomorrow at the latest. Which leaves one last person to check in with: Alexander.
“Did you make it?” Alexander asks when he finally answers.
“Yeah, I’m just at the departure gate now,” I say, removing my tie.
The gate agent calls group one through three up for boarding and I take a quick look at my boarding pass: group eight.
“Thank God for that.” Alexander’s sigh matches mine.
Indeed, thank God this wasn’t a wasted journey.
“How did you get on? Did you win any other awards?”
I’d become too frustrated with trying to get the live stream on my phone during the cab ride. I’d decided it was better to save my battery.
“No. I lost out on all three. But I knew that would be the case. I don’t make enough CrediPop to be taken seriously in the other categories.”
“CrediPop?” I ask, confused by the phrase.
I’m assuming it’s another slang term that the kids use these days, like rizz, dank and sus, which all fly over my head. I guess I better get to learning before little Christopher grows up.
“Credible Pop, the kind of pop songs that transcend the genre.”
“Oh right.” I shake my head.
Isn’t pop just—pop?
“I forgot to say thank you earlier, in the midst of everything else,” I say, unbuttoning my top button.
“For what?”
“Your acceptance speech.”
My eyes well up again like they did at the awards show. I didn’t expect Alexander to dedicate the award to me, and I’d turned into a blubbering mess. Carla even had to give me one of her tissues.
“I meant every word.”
Oh God, I can feel the floodgates about to open.
I wave my hand in front of my eyes and an elderly woman gives me a perplexed look, as if she’s never seen a grown man cry before.
“I bet Avril Lavigne is wondering what the fuck she has to do with all of this.” My attempt at deflecting with humor is the only defense I have left to fight back these tears.
“Don’t! Between that and everyone asking who Betty is, the press and social media are having a field day.” Alexander’s chuckle pushes away my tears.
A warm feeling rises in my chest, knowing that I am said Betty.
An announcement calls for all remaining passengers and I stand up.
“Right, I better go.”
“Okay, safe travels. Message me when you land, okay?”
“I will. Love you.”
I pause for a beat when I realize that’s twice in one night now I’ve said those words, words I’d been unable to say before, but finally allowed myself to. And I realize I do.
I love the way he makes me feel.
The way he looks after me in a way I didn’t think he could or would.
“I love you too.”
Alexander hangs up and I’m left with a warm feeling in my chest and a smile on my face.
I’m greeted by a matching smile when the gate agent takes my passport and ticket.
She hands it back and tells me to use the second door, which instantly wipes the smile from my face.
Like I don’t already know I’m stuck in the back of the plane.
The real shock hits me when I finally take a moment to look at my seat number.
A middle seat.
In economy.
For eleven hours.
And all without an eye mask or sleeping pills. Lord help me.
Monday
“Why does your phone have a UK dial tone? You’re in London and didn’t tell me?” Stephen immediately hits me with questions when I finally answer his call on the long taxi drive from Heathrow to the hospital.
There’s a lot of things I don’t tell him these days, but I bite my tongue. I’d thought about ignoring his call again, but the messages from him had become more erratic since I landed, and I’d rather deal with this now before getting to the hospital.
“My sister’s in labor,” I say matter-of-factly.
“How could you!” Stephen’s tone is indignant.
My mind races, recalling all his text messages.
Blaming me for Ryan breaking up with him.
How I got in the way of him being happy.
“How could I what?”
I lean my head back on the padded rest to stretch out the kink in my neck, which has become stiffer than a stripper’s pole during dollar hour.
“I never stood a chance, did I? How could I hold a candle to you, Christopher fucking Foster.” His venom starts to pour through my phone.
“That’s not fair,” I say, switching the phone to my other ear. A ball of anger rises in my chest.
“Do you know what’s not fair?” Stephen’s voice is becoming hysterical. “That Ryan’s still in love with you. That he never stopped loving you. That he was only going out with me to get back at you.”
I don’t know who to be angrier at: At Ryan for what he told Stephen. For the messages Ryan sent me when this was all going down. Or Stephen, for putting us in this situation in the first place.
I take two deep breaths as darkness falls across the London sky as we drive through Regents Park.
“That’s not my fault.”
“It’s all your fault.” The petulance in his voice, like that of a teenager throwing a strop, pushes my patience beyond its limit. Even my stress ball, which I don’t have right now anyway, could stop me now.
“Actually Stephen, it is all your fault,” I snap at him like a dog owner tightening the leash.
“How dare you?” Stephen yells back at me.
“How dare I? How dare I? How dare you,” I say, completely losing my shit.
“How dare you blame me when you were the one who broke our code by going out with my ex-boyfriend. It’s not my fault that Ryan broke up with you.
That Ryan is still in love with me. If you’d actually stopped for a minute and thought with your head rather than your penis, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation. ”
Up until now, I’ve always been supportive of Stephen when he’s gone through a breakup. But I’ve had enough of him always playing the victim, of always placating the narrative he spins in his head to make things easier for him.
Maybe hearing a few home truths will do him the world of good.
“We’re here,” the taxi driver says, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror.
The taxi stops right outside the main entrance of the hospital. I tap my card on the reader and exit the car. Stephen finally breaks his silence as I enter the reception area.
“You were the one who gave us your blessing. You were the one who said you were okay with me and Ryan going out together.”
“That’s it. Cast me as the martyr while you play the victim. You know what, Stephen, if that’s what it takes to make you sleep better tonight, then fine, make me the martyr. I don’t care. I’ve got more important things to worry about right now than getting upset over something I didn’t do.”