7. The Airport Chase #2
Becca wasn't answering her phone. Margot couldn't reach the gates without a boarding pass.
She strode to the nearest kiosk and jabbed at the screen. Seattle, sold out. Phoenix, boarding now. Sacramento, who flies to Sacramento from Oakland?
Des Moines. One seat left. $523 for basic economy.
She jabbed "purchase" without hesitating.
Boarding pass in hand, she joined the security line.
No PreCheck on a ticket bought ninety seconds ago.
Regular queue, snaking back through a maze of retractable barriers.
A family with a double stroller. A college kid with a guitar case.
An older man in a Hawaiian shirt arguing about the liquids rule at full volume.
Margot kicked off her Stuart Weitzmans, $400 pumps she'd owned for three years, maintained religiously, worn to every important meeting since she made partner, and dropped them in the gray plastic bin.
The line inched forward.
She texted Sophie: Oakland. TSA line.
OAKLAND??? YOUR FLIGHT IS SFO!!!
I know.
Oh my god. A pause. Then: Death threat rescinded. GO GET HER.
Twenty feet to the checkpoint. She could see the X-ray belt, the bored agents, the metal detectors. Fifteen feet. Ten.
If Becca had already boarded. If she wasn't even here anymore. If—
"Margot?"
She spun around.
Becca stood three feet behind her, holding an empty Peet's cup. Face blotchy, eyes swollen, mascara smudged beneath her lashes. She looked like she'd been crying for an hour straight.
She was on this side of security.
"Why are you—" Becca looked at her, at the security line, back at her. "Your flight's out of SFO."
"I know."
"Then why are you in Oakland?"
"I bought a ticket." Margot's voice cracked. She held up the crumpled boarding pass. "To Des Moines. I thought you were already at the gate and I couldn't get through without—"
"My phone died." Becca held up the black screen. "I forgot my charger at the cottage. I've been sitting at Peet's crying into a lavender latte like a complete disaster." She stared at the boarding pass. "Wait. Did you say Des Moines?"
"It was the only seat left."
"Margot, that's unhinged."
"Completely."
"Ma'am." A TSA agent behind her, silver-haired, military-straight posture, radiating the weariness of a man who'd retired from something more interesting than this. "Line's moving."
Margot didn't turn around. "I'm getting out."
"You're—" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "You waited twenty-five minutes. In the slow line."
"I'm aware."
She stepped out of the queue, leaving her bin on the conveyor belt. Her Stuart Weitzmans. Her laptop. Her toiletry bag. Her dignity.
"Ma'am, your belongings—"
A second agent materialized, bright coral nails, small enamel dinosaur pin on her lanyard, practically vibrating with excitement. "O'Neill, what's happening?"
"Don't know. Don't want to know." He gestured at the line. "Ma'am—"
"Oh my god." Garcia grabbed his arm. "O'Neill. Is this an airport chase? Like in the movies?"
"Garcia, I need you to—"
"This is an airport chase." She pressed her hand to her chest. "I've waited my whole life for this."
O'Neill closed his eyes briefly, the expression of a man who had seen too much and yet somehow not enough. "The line, Garcia."
"The line can wait. This is cinema."
Margot ignored them. She stepped toward Becca, heart throwing itself against her ribs.
"I was wrong." The words scraped out rough and raw. "Everything I said this morning. I was terrified, and I did what I always do. I froze. I pushed you away before you could leave, because if I'm the one who ends it, then it's my choice. I stay in control. I don't get blindsided."
Becca's chin trembled. She didn't speak.
"But I don't want control." Margot moved closer.
"I want you. I want your chaos and your terrible puns and the way you sing off-key when you think no one's listening.
I want to figure out the distance and the time zones and all the impossible logistics, because being without you is harder than any of that. "
"You said I was just proximity." Becca's voice was barely a whisper. "That people get swept up at weddings."
"I lied." The word cracked open in her chest. "I was so scared and I lied.
You asked me what I want—here's my answer.
I want you. I want to be someone who deserves you.
I want to spend the rest of my life proving that you're not too much.
You're everything, Becca." Her voice broke.
"You're everything. And I almost let you fly home thinking you weren't."
A tear slid down Becca's cheek. She didn't wipe it away.
"I drove to the wrong airport." Margot stepped closer, close enough to touch. "I bought a ticket to a city I've never thought about once in my life. I left my shoes in a TSA bin—"
"Your Stuart Weitzmans." Becca's voice wobbled.
"I love you more." It came out raw and unplanned.
"More than Italian leather. More than my schedule.
More than being safe." She took Becca's hands in hers.
"I don't do this. I don't make scenes or chase people through airports.
But you make me want to be someone who does. Someone who chooses love over fear."
Behind her, Garcia made a sound that might have been a sob.
"You're causing a scene," Becca whispered.
"I know."
"There's like sixty people watching."
"Let them."
"The TSA agent is actually crying."
Garcia was pressing both hands to her chest, coral nails bright against her navy uniform. "I'm fine," she managed, clearly not fine. "This is just—O'Neill, are you seeing this?"
"I'm seeing the line backing up to the food court."
Garcia scoffed, whacking her coworker with the back of her hand. "You have no soul."
Margot kept her eyes on Becca. "I love you. Not because of the wedding. Not because we got swept up in something. Because you're you. Warm and bright and brave enough to feel things even when it's terrifying. And I want to learn how to be that brave. With you. If you'll still have me."
Becca stared at her. Seconds stretched.
"You bought a ticket to Des Moines," she said finally.
"Yes."
"You left your favorite shoes in a bin."
"Yes."
"That man behind you has been sighing passive-aggressively for three full minutes."
"I hear him."
"You hate scenes."
"I do."
"You made one anyway."
"I did."
Becca laughed, wet and shaky, half-sob, half-relief.
"You're an idiot," she said.
"I am."
"I love you too." She pulled Margot closer by their joined hands. "And I'm not making you go to Des Moines."
She kissed her.
Behind them, Garcia cheered. Scattered applause broke out in the line. O'Neill muttered something about retirement and developed a sudden intense interest in a passenger's carry-on.
When they finally pulled apart, Becca was laughing through her tears.
Garcia appeared beside them, phone out. "I need a photo. For my vision board."
"Garcia," O'Neill called wearily. "The line."
"It's for manifestation, O'Neill." She snapped a quick picture of them, Margot disheveled, Becca tearstained, both grinning like idiots, and clutched her phone to her chest. "I'm gonna meet my person in an airport someday. I just know it."
"You're gonna meet a write-up from HR someday," O'Neill said, but there was no heat in it.
They retrieved Margot's belongings from the bin. O'Neill had pulled it aside before it went through the X-ray, and he handed everything over without a word, though Garcia gave them a tearful thumbs-up from her station.
Walking out of the terminal, hand in hand, Margot felt lighter than she had in years.
"So," Becca said. "What now?"
"I rebook my flight." Margot glanced at her. "Or I get on yours. If you want company."
Becca stopped walking. "You'd come to LA? Today?"
"I'd go anywhere." She meant it. "As long as it's with you."
"That's cheesy."
"I'm trying new things."
Becca studied her face, searching. "I'm still mad at you."
"I know."
"You said terrible things. We're going to have to actually talk about it."
"I know. I'll spend as long as it takes."
"Good." Becca squeezed her hand. "Because I meant it. I can't be with someone who makes me feel like I'm too much."
"You're not too much." Margot stopped, turned to face her fully. "You're exactly enough. I'm the one who needs to catch up."
Becca searched her eyes. Whatever she found there made her nod slowly.
"Okay," she said. "Then let's go home."
They walked toward the Southwest counter together, fingers intertwined, and Margot let herself believe this might actually work.