Chapter Twenty-Seven
She didn’t consider the meetings she had scheduled throughout the day, didn’t even think about the repercussions. She rushed to her office and grabbed her bag and phone. She folded her coat haphazardly in her arms and began to rush back out.
She stopped in the doorway as her eyes locked on the green scarf Erin left in her office months ago. She took it from the hook and stuffed it in her bag, hurriedly rushing back towards the office.
“Cancel my meetings,” she exasperatedly shouted towards Keegan. “Actually, cancel everything for today.”
“What?” Keegan asked, rising to her feet with a confused expression written across her face. Julia had one hand on the door, ready to make her great escape.
“Cancel it all,” she repeated. “I’m taking a personal day.”
Keegan’s face broke into a smile and then Julia was gone. She didn’t know how fast she drove–the trees and farms disappearing like streams of neon green in her rearview mirror–she just knew she had one hour and thirty-two more minutes until she reached the airport.
When she got there, she practically threw a fifty-dollar bill at the parking lot attendant in order for him to open the gate. The lot was full, he said. It could be for hours, he said. She didn’t care if she had to park on top of another car.
She drove around twice before she found a spot on the fourth floor near the unused elevators and needles lining the dirt covered concrete. She ran from her car, forgetting to even lock it, as she rushed towards the airport terminals.
How do people in those ridiculous romantic movies do it? There’s no getting through security. There’s no loving escape to the boarding lines to confess the feelings you pushed aside for too long. There are only lines of overly tired people with luggage and boarding passes waiting for security–men and women with weapons who get paid too little for inconsequential problems.
Julia pleaded with the woman behind the desk, but there was little information to give to a desperate person–let’s face it, who might even be a little crazy–who only knew someone named Erin Calanis would be boarding a plane to Virginia. Apparently, that’s private information anyways.
She walked away from the desk and retreated to the only corner by the door–cold air rushing inside between late arrivals rushing towards never ending lines. She didn’t know what flight Erin would be on. She didn’t know if it had left already, if it was boarding, if it didn’t leave for another eight hours. Even if she did, she’d never be let through the gate.
She picked up her phone and called Erin. It rang. One, two. The buzzing in her ears went on forever. Three, four. On and on. Five, six. Please, pick up. Seven, eight.
“Hi, you’ve reached Erin Calanis with the McSellen Corporation. Please leave a message at the tone, and I’ll be sure to get back to you as soon as possible.”
Julia hung up the phone. She scrolled through her contact, her thumb hovering over her last resort. She leaned against the cold glass window behind her. The dampness of the icy weather on the other side of it clung to her jacket.
She pressed the dial again. It rang. One, two. The sound twisting her innards into sausage shaped packaging. Three, four. She pressed her sweaty palms to her face, her vision breaking into the northern lights behind her eyes.
“Good morning,” a voice chimed from the other side. “This is Darlene with the McSellen Corporation. How may I direct your call?”
“Thank you!” Julia exclaimed, her voice attracting strange looks from passersby. “Thank you!”
“Ma’am,” she cleared her throat, obviously impatient, “how may I direct your call?”
“Oh! I’m sorry,” Julia interrupted before the end of her question. “Ms. Calanis, Erin Calanis, she’s one of your lead evaluators. She’s been evaluating my school, Kleinton High School. I know this is a strange request, but do you know when her flight back to Virginia is? Do you know where she’s going, when her flight leaves?” It came out in one exasperated breath before Julia could even think about the words spitting from her mouth.
“Ma’am, I can’t–”
“Please,” Julia pleaded. “I know this is odd, but it’s important. Do you know anything?”
Julia slumped even further against the window, her butt reaching the dirty floor. With trembling hands, she pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to ward away the headache creeping in.
“Ma’am,” she sighed.
“Please,” Julia begged again, her voice breaking before even finishing the word. There was a long silence that stretched between space. “Please.”
“Please, hold.”
And Julia did. She gripped the phone against her ear, the skin turning pink as her fingertips tingle from the pressure. She stood and paced back and forth as seconds turned to minutes.
“I’m sorry,” a voice came alive on the other side, “we don’t carry personal flight plans.”
“You don’t know your employee’s flight plans?” she asked, pure frustrated astonishment tainting her voice.
“At the last minute, Ms. Calanis rescheduled her flight that was supposed to depart next Monday.” She paused. “She never sent us her updated itinerary.”
Julia dropped her phone to her side, the voice echoing past the faded noise as it fell further from her ears. Her head flurried in an angsty storm–the migraine fighting through with the full force of a baseball bat. Her vision wavered as her head grew light. She leaned against the wall even more for support, pressing her hands into her eyes again to see anything other than the spinning room.
“No, no, no, no,” she whispered, crumbling to the floor in a heap.
Julia - 11:26 a.m.
Erin, don’t get on that plane.
Julia - 11:27 a.m.
I just want you to hear me out. I’m begging you.
“Ma’am?” a voice called before her. Julia looked up at a blurry image of an airport receptionist standing in front of her. “Ma’am, are you okay?” Julia couldn’t answer, her thoughts jumbling faster than her heart chords could untangle. “You were asking about flights to Virginia?” she asked. Julia nodded as she pressed her forehead against her knees. “There’s only one flight departing here for Virginia today.”
Julia looked up towards her concerned face. “When?”
“It’s actually leaving right now–”
“How can I get through that gate?”
“Well, it’s boarding now. So, you would have to purchase a ticket.”
“Please, sell me a ticket,” Julia pleaded, her breath irregular and ragged.
And she did. The woman sold her one of the two last tickets to the only flight leaving for Richmond, Virginia. There was the tugging feeling within Julia again–that indescribable feeling of needing to be where she was–of knowing she would always find her in the end.
“It’s boarding now!” the woman shouted as Julia ran to the security line.
Julia pushed past those in line, squeezing between enormous luggage bags and screaming children. She made it through the checkpoint, rushing past coffee and food restaurants with lines piling into the walkway. She raced past each gate, wondering why such a small airport needed so many terminals.
But she made it. Gate 19.
As she pulled the green scarf out of her bag, she noticed there was no one in the waiting area–dozens of empty blue seats spread out in all directions. There was no one behind the desk, no lines waiting to board. A yellow fabric cord was pulled across the entrance to the hanger, the door closed.
As Julia walked to the glass wall facing the tarmac, she watched a domestic airliner crawl from the terminal towards the runway. It inched, foot by foot, towards the bend in pavement. Then, without warning, it sped to an unimaginable quickness, floating through the air before she knew it.
She pressed her forehead to the cold glass, foundation streaks forming above her. She watched the metal bird drift into the air, turn slightly, and then disappear behind layers of fluffy clouds.
She was gone.
***
Julia got back in her car, the slam of the door rattling her bones. She pressed her head against the wheel as uncontrollable tears escaped from her unwilling eyes. She’d been through so much, endured so much to finally admit that she deserves a happy ending too, that she deserves love too. It all fell apart.
The sun began to set just over the horizon, casting hues of orange and red over rolling hills. Her forehead began to sting from the pressure of the wheel still pressed against it. Her lap was soaked with rogue tears, the river still flowing as if an overloaded dam finally broke loose. Cars thinned out of the parking lot and plane after plane zoomed overhead–the reverberation of noise shaking the windows.
Eventually she put her car into drive and did the only thing she knew how to do; she kept going. She was halfway home when a town sign for a familiar place flashed past her. She turned the car around in an unlawful U in the middle of the median and followed the signs until stark highways led to familiar beaten roads. Winding turns led to a forgotten main street with darkened shops and empty sidewalks.
She pulled into the parking lot of The Tipsy Hatter. Her hands dangled beneath the key still in the ignition. It was by chance that she missed her exit home in her foggy state–finding the sign that led her there, always a home away from home.
Eventually, she turned the car off. Walking inside, she took her usual seat, the window completely thawed out in the springtime air. The bar wasn’t crowded; only a few groups in booths and several misfits spread out amongst the stools. The stereo played music she couldn’t discern, but even that was quiet in comparison to what it usually was at that hour.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Greg said, tiptoeing over with a flourish. “I thought you forgot about us!” Julia gave a weak smile and his grin dropped. “Oh, honey,” he sighed, his hand already on the bottle of tequila as he patted on the counter for her to take a seat.
“Can I get a double?” she asked, trying to sound as steady as the facade she put on each day, but it faltered.
“The usual?” he asked, his hand pressed gently over Julia’s.
She nodded, pinching the bridge of her nose as if that would make the headache go away. She turned back towards the window. There were no wandering strangers to stare at, no rush of people outside.
The wind died down and with the April air, no flurries to be seen. Everything was so still, even the few people in the bar; everything but Julia.
Greg slid her chilled glass across the counter and Julia caught it in her palm. She held it in the air as a salute to him and then downed it in two gulps. He leaned against the counter, his blond brows crinkled together.
“Another, please.” She held back the sting of the liquor.
He just looked at her, lost in the depth of her eyes. They had an unspoken agreement, and it worked for years. She would tell him if she needed to, and he wouldn’t pester if she didn’t. He was always a distant friend, no strings attached.
He sighed, reluctantly taking her glass to the other side of the bar and pouring another hefty amount into it. Squeezing it in his hands, he hesitated before handing it over. He held out the glass, but he didn’t release it as he looked into her swirling eyes. Her hand gently folded over his, her eyes pleading for sweet release.
“Are you okay?” he asked. She didn’t answer, didn’t fake a smile, didn’t shrug.
He released the glass, but she didn’t raise it to her cold lips. She buried her face instead, her elbow jostling the liquid. She didn’t have any tears left to give, but her eyes burned as if she was the one holding them back behind an iron door.
He just stood there, his presence a band aide to her cracking flesh.
“Thank you.” Julia finally looked up and tilted the glass towards him before swallowing its contents.
Greg gently pursed his lips before walking towards the other end of the bar. He knew she’d ask for another refill if he continued to stand there.
Julia set her empty glass down. She swallowed again, the last of the little bit of lava tasting liquid still tickling her tongue. At least now it wasn’t just her eyes that burned; her chest pinked with the heat, her already nauseous stomach doing somersaults within thin skin. She spun the little drip of liquor still in the bottom of the glass before her.
She ignored the buzzing of her phone on the counter–Keegan’s name repeated over dozens of texts. She turned her attention back to the old wooden-paned window.
She couldn’t see straight. It was too much alcohol settling in an empty, na?ve stomach. A swarm of mistakes overtook her mind, each one stinging even deeper than the last.
Why had she been so afraid? Why didn’t she take a step back and see that sitting in the complacency took more energy than actually leaving? She put too many others, too much else first. When she finally saw the silver lining in it all, the moment was gone.
Sometimes the hardest road isn’t worth it. Sometimes we value hard work too much over everything else. Sometimes we truly think our blood, sweat, and tears will be for something, but there are those who give their life in war and still lose in the end. There are people who have nothing at all regardless of having three jobs and a shared apartment with two other families.
No one ever said life was fair; we just all assume it will work out that way in the end. We assume–whatever your religion or lack of one is–that someone, something out there, sees you and has a plan. We assume that there’s a reason behind the hard choices, the hard consequences, the pain. But there isn’t. The world is a fucked up and messy place, and sometimes someone has to lose for another to win.
Julia rested her head on the counter, catching that glint of green out of her bag. Sitting up, she pulled the scarf from its hiding place. She held it in front of her, the silky fabric melting in her hands. Slowly, she raised it to her nose–that cozy, sweet scent swirling around her. At first, it warmed her entire body, but then reality sunk in. She’s gone. She’s really gone.
“Is this seat taken?” a voice unsteadily hummed behind her.
She turned towards the warm smell of vanilla, the subtle waves of pear and honeysuckle. Those messy coffee curls bounced as she tucked her hair behind her ears. She locked onto those evergreen eyes and nothing else ever mattered more again.
“The seat,” Erin repeated with a weary smile.
Julia jumped from her stool. It wobbled from the abrupt shift in movement, threatening to crash to the floor. She didn’t care. Her mouth gaped open, her eyes midnight moons, and her palms already damp in pure disbelief.
All noise faded around her–an echo at the other end of a tunnel far past the horizon. There was no Greg in the distance, no other strangers surrounding them. There were only those glistening eyes locked on hers, a treasure she’ll never lose again.
“How–” she gasped, “you–” Her brain was experiencing a thousand misfires, not allowing the connection to meet her mouth. “The flight?”
“I obviously didn’t get on it,” she replied and grinned, those little specks of brown stardust on her cheeks reaching for the night sky.
“When you didn’t answer my texts or phone call, I–”
“You what?”
“I thought I lost you,” she whispered, the words floating from her lips like a rolling fog on a dewy morning.
“What was so important that you needed to tell me?” her voice chimed, an inexplicable plea hanging on the end of it. Erin’s eyes fell downward to the scarf clenched in Julia’s clammy hands.
“You left this in my office.” Julia’s voice was barely a whisper as she held out the fabric.
“You asked me not to board a flight because you wanted to return my scarf?”
“Yes,” Julia said at first, and then she squeezed her eyes closed. “I mean, no.”
She clenched the scarf in her hands, its smooth fabric dangling from her fingertips. Erin took it, her warm fingers gracing Julia’s skin just briefly.
“I’m sorry,” Julia said at last. “I’m so beyond sorry for everything I’ve put you through these last few months.”
“You didn’t–”
“Please, let me get this out before I start overthinking,” she begged. “You tried. You tried to get closer, and I did nothing but push you away. I was too afraid I wasn’t good enough for you, that you were too young, too smart, too beautiful. I was too afraid you’d hurt me, that you’d leave like Marin did, that I’d ruin you.” She paused, gulping down the feeling of her stomach floating in the back of her throat. “I love you. I think I started loving you that first night I met you here. I think I fell more in love with you every time I heard your laugh. I was too afraid to say anything because this,” she motioned to the space between them, “could have just been temporary for you, completely over the second your contract came to a close.”
She closed her mouth and studied Erin, but she couldn’t pick out the emotions flashing across her eyes. Her lips were parted and a slight tinge of pink started to creep from her ears.
She considered she was making a mistake, a complete fool of herself. Maybe she misunderstood everything. But she was in too deep. She felt too much to go back now. Now she knew what it all meant.
“I love you,” Julia repeated again, squeezing her shaking hands against her sides. The words were velvet in her mouth–so satiny smooth that she wished she could say them over and over again until her tongue was polished stone. “I love you. I tried so hard not to, but I do. I am so madly, head over heels in love with you, Erin Calanis. I know you have to leave. I know you said you’d never stay in New York. I know you have an entire life to go back to. You could have anyone, so there’s no reason for me to think you’d choose me–”
“Will you just shut up,” Erin interrupted, her mouth pulling up to the biggest grin Julia had ever seen, “and kiss me?”
Julia didn’t think, didn’t allow any stray thoughts to slither in, as she placed both hands on Erin’s soft cheeks and fell into her gravitational pull. Their lips collided and somewhere–somewhere very far away–an entire galaxy was created with the atoms that buzzed between them.
“Julia,” she pulled away just slightly, her breath a fresh breeze against her face, “you have never been temporary for me.” And then she smiled again–the same one she saw in that very place just a few months back. Her eyes glimmered and Julia could barely hold up her trembling knees. “I love you too.”
They wrapped their arms around each other–melting into warm lips with a desperate comfort that only grew–soaking up every possibility that rested within their future. Because they had it all. They had all the time to figure it out, all the patience to allow it to fall into place like it was always meant to be.
Home.