Chapter 23 Honeymoon
Honeymoon
The worst part of being in a fake gay relationship is that you can’t even use it to your advantage at the airport ticket counter. Out the window go Please, my wife is pregnant and We’re on our honeymoon, because you never really know how people will react to queerness.
So, we’re forced to play the reality TV card instead.
Teams, meet António Augusto Carvalho Monteiro at Quinta da Regaleira for your next clue.
Still holding the clue in my hand, I scan the ticket counters, looking for a very specific kind of person.
What I’ve learned from years of anecdotal research is that college students are the demographic most likely to watch mindless international reality television (thank you, Love Island).
And though contestants aren’t allowed to flat-out say the words “I’m on The Adventureverse,” our matching outfits, enormous backpacks, and camera-wielding shadows communicate it well enough.
There. A freckled twentysomething with cat-eye glasses and a pin on her lanyard that says Universidad de Buenos Aires. I catch Yumi’s eye and nod to our lifeline. As the prettier and more charming partner, this task falls squarely on her shoulders.
“Excuse me, can you help us?” Yumi asks, approaching the woman.
I hang back, watching her work. I don’t need to hear the conversation to recognize the moment Yumi says the magic words: “We’re in a competition for a million dollars.”
The ticket agent’s eyes widen in recognition, dart from Yumi to the camera to the crew. Yumi gestures to me, I wave awkwardly, and five minutes later, we’re walking away with four tickets to Lisbon on a flight that was supposedly fully booked.
“You’re welcome,” Yumi says, bumping my shoulder with hers.
I try not to think as I wrap an arm around her waist and lean my head into hers. “You’re a lifesaver, babe.”
She gives me a knowing look that I hope the camera interprets as flirty.
We head straight for our gate, though the flight doesn’t board for a few hours.
Better early than late on The Adventureverse, but knowing that doesn’t necessarily make the waiting less boring.
We have so much more downtime than I expected—and I expected a lot.
We spend most of our time like this, sitting on uncomfortable airport benches or in taxi seats.
As time ticks closer to boarding, there’s still no sign of the remaining teams. At the two-hour mark, the hour mark, the twenty-minute mark, it’s just me and Yumi.
“I can’t believe this,” I whisper, fearful that the Adventureverse gods might hear me.
“I know,” she whispers back, excitement in her voice. “We’re gonna—”
That’s the moment KC and Gabriel, Team Football, round the corner, fast food hamburgers in hand.
“Damn it,” Yumi says under her breath, dropping her forehead into her hand.
“Hey, guys!” KC says through a mouthful of food.
“We were hoping we were the only team to make it on this flight,” Yumi admits readily, screwing up her face.
“Ah, sorry to disappoint.” He does look genuinely sympathetic. “Gabe and I were just grabbing some fuel.” He hoists his burger, like we hadn’t just seen him eating it. “Matt and Morgan were at the food court, too, but I don’t know what flight they’re on.”
“Shoot.” Yumi leans back in her chair, crossing her arms petulantly. Then she suddenly stands. “Disappointment calls for snacks. Noe, you want anything?”
I shake my head. “No thanks, babe.”
She gives me a very Aliona-esque thumbs-up and points at the nearby newsstand. “I’ll be quick.”
“How did your challenge go yesterday?” Gabriel asks, settling his enormous body into the seat across from me. KC follows suit, slinging off his pack.
“Rough. She had to do the tango, and not all of us are dancers for a living.” I give them a look. “How was cooking?”
KC grins at me. “Oh, it wasn’t really cooking. We had to hang beef in the meatpacking district. It was no joke.”
Gabriel nods. “Those things were like five hundred pounds. Ashley and Marina finished before us, they’re beasts.”
It takes me a moment of mental reorientation to place Ashley and Marina as the Cowboys. “Did you—” I’m stunned into silence when KC pulls up the leg of his pants to adjust them, and I see metal where I was expecting flesh.
He catches my gaze before I glance away, giving me an understanding smile. “Surprise,” he says, raising his eyebrows playfully.
“Oh,” I say, shaking my head at being caught off guard. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. I was just…”
“Surprised?” he supplies, smiling. “I know. That’s why I said ‘surprise.’ ”
I laugh but wonder how many people he’s had to put at ease about his own body.
He extends his prosthetic leg slightly. “Lost it after a nasty football injury. Some”—he glances at the camera—“jerk went for my knee. Snapped my leg right in two.” He mimes a breaking motion with his hands.
“Bone was sticking out and everything,” Gabriel says, popping the remainder of his burger into his mouth and crumpling the wrapper. He tosses it over KC’s head, landing it perfectly in the garbage can.
“Wow,” I say, scrunching my face up at the visual.
“Yeah, it was gnarly. Infection got bad and they had to amputate,” KC says, like he’s describing a minor inconvenience rather than a career-ending injury. “I don’t hide it, so don’t worry about looking. I just wear pants because it’s more comfortable with the socket.”
“It’s kind of hard to hide an injury like that when you had a career like KC’s.”
I look between them. “I was raised in more of a hockey family. Were you good?”
The two men exchange a grin, delight dancing across their faces.
“Yeah,” Gabriel says, crossing his legs at the ankles. He can barely contain his smile. “Yeah, you could say he was good.”
“So was Gabe,” KC adds.
“Power couple,” Gabriel says, holding out his hand for a fist bump.
“You said you watch hockey?” KC says, eyeing me.
I nod.
“Crazy sport,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m from upstate PA. You know the Penguins?”
I fight back a smile, imagining telling my dad that someone asked me if I knew the Penguins. I hope they air this so we can laugh at it together. “Yeah, I know the Penguins.”
“I don’t want to speak out of turn, but my injury would be like if Crosby took a bad check into the boards and could never play again.”
My mouth falls open. “Sidney Crosby? You were the Sidney Crosby of football?”
“Something like that.” KC laughs.
“Oh my God.” My hand covers my heart. Sidney Crosby is a generational talent, first overall draft pick, franchise player, future Hall of Famer. If KC had a career like that ahead of him…I truly couldn’t imagine how losing that would have felt, besides unspeakably tragic. “I’m so sorry.”
He frowns, a moment of vulnerability. “Yeah. Thanks.”
I feel gross participating in the classic tragic backstory moment that reality TV preys on episode after episode, season after season, show after show. Knowing they won’t air my question or KC’s response, I ask, “Does it bother you that they’ll play an inspirational montage over that conversation?”
He laughs, shooting a smile to his cameraman before leaning back into his hands.
“It is what it is. I know what I signed up for. It’s weird, ’cause it’s my life, right?
I know the bullshit I had to go through, but to them”—he nods at the ever-present camera lens—“it’s just inspiration porn.
If I had to choose a montage, though, inspirational is the way to go.
Inspirational montage means the hard part is over.
And the thing is, I was already famous. So, they would’ve written the articles anyway.
At least this way, I also get a fat check for it, you know what I’m saying? ”
“Oh,” I say, unsure of why I’m so taken aback by how easily and thoughtfully he answered. Of course his answer was complex, he must think about it constantly. “Yeah, that makes sense.”
“I know it does. If other people wanna monetize my trauma, I might as well join them. I loved competing. Giving that up sucked. Still sucks. But it was also my whole career. When those sponsors dropped me and the checks stopped…” He shakes his head.
“Brutal. Without Gabe, I would’ve…” He shakes it again.
“Nah. I’ll take the inspirational montage if it gets me sponsorships.
Football, The Adventureverse, influencing?
I’m using my body to make money either way. No shame in that.”
“No shame in that,” Gabriel repeats. “Could’ve been any of us, man. Disability is the only marginalization that anyone can end up in at any time.” His stern eyes bore into mine as he speaks, as if I have personally been advocating against the need for ADA compliance.
I nod apologetically, though I don’t know why. Then I picture it through the drama of the edit: Gabriel’s air of reprimand, my kicked-puppy eyes, KC hunching over to cover his prosthetic back up. Oh God.
“One hundred percent agree,” I say, internally wincing at the card I’m about to pull, but knowing it needs to be done to keep production from using that clip to create a narrative that doesn’t exist. “My dad has end-stage liver disease, and people act like chronic illness is some sort of punishment for immoral behavior, as if they’re ‘too good’ to get sick. ”
I resist the urge to tack on and he wasn’t even a substance abuser.
That’s the point—part of me wants to defend my dad, like his relative sobriety makes him better than other patients, like he’s one of the good ones.
Like you can be a good one. Health isn’t something you can earn through goodness, and disease isn’t a punishment.
I just wish doctors acted like they knew that, too.
“Oh, brutal.” KC shakes his head. “I hope he pulls through okay.”
“Me too.” The universe gifts me with an announcement that boarding will begin shortly for priority members.
The timing is nothing short of fortuitous.
I feel my voice crack at the end of the sentence, but it’s drowned out by the static of the speaker.
I force a smile and wave goodbye when they go to gather their things, ignoring the narrowing of my vision.
Taking both bags, I calmly walk to the bathroom, yielding to travelers crossing my path with the utmost politeness.
But once I’m alone in a stall, I unplug the cord from my mic pack and sob into my hands.
I blame the stress of the game, the lack of sleep, the way I casually wielded the thing that’s killing my dad to make myself look better on TV.
Thinking about it makes my skin crawl. Ugh. A better daughter would never—
Suddenly, I gag, whirling around to face the toilet just in time to vomit my breakfast into it.
I keep dry heaving, long after there’s nothing left in my stomach.
Then I stand, turn, lean my forehead against the back of the stall door as I wipe away my tears and spit with zero-ply airport toilet paper.
“Noelle?” a tentative voice calls. Yumi, of course. “You in here?” Her sneakers squeak across the freshly mopped floor, stopping on the other side of the stall door.
A vise tightens around my heart and I can’t help but let out a startled gasp. Normal voice. Normal voice. “What’s up?” Okay, a little croaky but not bad. A thought hits me. “Shit. Are we boarding now?”
“No, no. They haven’t even started boarding first class yet. I just wanted to track you down. Make sure you hadn’t been kidnapped.”
Relief helps loosen the feeling in my chest. It makes sense that Yumi would return to find me missing, as well as our bags, and come looking in the bathroom that Bo and Petter were waiting near. “Oh, okay. Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be out in a sec.”
“ ’Kay,” she says, but her footsteps don’t fade.
“You don’t have to wait for me.”
“I know.”
Groaning internally, I run a hand over my face and unlock the stall door.
Yumi’s eyes alight on mine, which are no doubt bloodshot and puffy. “You good?”
There’s no point in lying, because a You good? from Yumi is basically a diagnosis. Instead, I mime turning a knob and mouth mic pack.
She nods, reaching behind her to switch it off. It clicks and she immediately asks, “What’s going on?”
With a tenuous grasp on my chill, I recount my interaction with KC, leaving out the vomity parts.
“Oh,” Yumi says when I’m finished. She bites her bottom lip, giving the situation serious thought.
“Yeah, I think you’re fine. It’s not like your dad is keeping it a secret.
And maybe it’s something people in your situation need to hear, that someone else feels that guilt and sadness, too, you know? ”
“I just feel like I keep manipulating him,” I say quietly. “Like he’s a pawn that I keep moving to get things.”
“Like what?”
“Like this, like getting you to come on the show.”
Yumi’s eyes shift as she thinks. “Okay, but you’re his daughter. It’s your life, too. You’re just telling the truth and talking about how it feels.”
I shake my head, repeating my thoughts right before I was rudely interrupted by my body betraying me, “A better daughter w—”
Yumi cuts in sharply, “And a worse daughter wouldn’t be worried about this at all.” She gives me a reproachful look. “Let me turn on my mic pack and record you calling yourself a bad daughter. We can see what your dad has to say about that when we get home.”
When she mimes reaching for the dial, I grab her wrist, laughing. “Okay, okay. Point made.”
She puts a hand on my elbow, guiding me to the sink area to rinse out my mouth and wash my hands.
As she leans against the tiled wall, legs crossed, Yumi says, “One year without me and your brain has already reverted back to being mean to you. What are you going to do without me when I leave again?”
Strangely, the question doesn’t send me into a nostalgia misery spiral. The way she says it is too jokey, like she doesn’t fully mean it. “Find someone else,” I reply with a shrug, following her down the hallway and out of the bathroom.
Over her shoulder, she calls. “Please. You’re an acquired taste, that’ll take years. What will you do in the meantime?”
I gasp in mock outrage. “Are you saying that nobody will ever love me, you jerk?”
“Not like I do.” She spins to wink at me. “Babe.”