Page 23 of Desperately Seeking Mr. Darcy

A text exchange between Zane and his dad, Saturday, September 14, 3:30 p.m.

Zane:I’m off to Costa Rica. I hope it will be the kind of trip you had, just what I need to figure things out. Thanks for all you have done for me, Dad. I love you.

Dad:

WHAT AM I DOING HERE? That’s a great question—one I’m not sure I have a good answer for.

Somewhere between the moment Amelia hugged me goodbye, whispering in my ear, “You could still go with her, you know,” and seeing Macey trying to hide her shaking hands and then crying in the TSA line, I made a decision: I couldn’t let her go alone. So when we got through security, I went to the Delta counter and changed my ticket. It took longer than expected, so I didn’t get to meet her at the gate and had to surprise her on the plane. And she definitely looks surprised. I just can’t tell if it’s a good surprise or a bad one.

“I was wondering if you want some company?” I ask. “On your trip.”

Her eyes widen, her cheeks instantly turning bright pink. I can see something like hesitation flicker across her face. She opens her mouth, then closes it, as if debating something.

I reach up and rub the back of my neck, feeling suddenly unsure.

“Sir, can you please take your seat?” an attendant asks, and I look behind me to see I’m holding up the plane.

“Sorry,” I say, sliding into the open aisle seat next to Macey as the remaining passengers shuffle past us. I tuck my backpack under the seat in front of me.

“What are ... why?” she asks, looking so confused right now. Her eyes are wide, her posture frozen in place, her hands gripping the armrest like she’s bracing for impact.

“Can I get you a drink?” the flight attendant asks, leaning in toward us with her arm resting on the seat backs in front of us, her gaze flicking between Macey and me.

I ask for water and then turn my attention back to Macey. “I’m here because you need a Mr. Darcy, right?”

She moves her head up and down in slow movements.

“And I’ve got some time off, so ...” I give her a shrug. It feels weak, even as I say it.

“But ... Costa Rica?” She squeaks out the question.

“I thought I could go with you instead.”

She’s not excited like I thought she might be. Or even relieved I’m here and that she doesn’t have to do this alone. I must have misread something important. Amelia said Macey needed someone to go with her, but now I’m not so sure.

In my head, I thought I was being gallant, like this was some kind of hero move—not that I was trying to be a hero. I just wanted to be a friend, to show her I’m still here, even after all this time. And maybe we could fix whatever made us drift apart. At the ticket counter, it felt like the right choice. Now, with her wide-eyed stare, I feel like a moron.

“You ...,” she starts. I lean toward her slightly, waiting, but she doesn’t finish.

I lean away and rake my hand through my hair, messing it up and feeling like I’ve stumbled into one of those TikTok videos where someone plans a grand surprise, thinking it’ll be a hit, only for the comments to say, “I’m going to hold your hand while I tell you this ...”

The flight attendant comes by and gives me a small bottle of water. I twist open the cap and take a big gulp.

“Macey, did I mess up here?” I ask after I’ve drunk almost the entire thing.

“I ...,” she says. I wait, but nothing more comes. The silence feels heavier than it should.

I think what I’d like to do is leave now. Leave and pretend I didn’t do something so spontaneous.

It doesn’t matter, because I can’t change my mind. A flight attendant has just announced that the doors to the plane are closed. Unless I want to cause a scene and get escorted off, I’m stuck.

“Are you just going to stare at me?” I ask. I give her a crooked smile and tap my fingers on the armrest, trying to bring some levity to the moment.

“Sorry,” she says, giving herself a little shake. “I’m ... so confused.”

“I just thought maybe you’d want the company, since you seemed nervous to go on your own.”

She’s stopped staring at me and is now looking at her hands in her lap, as they fiddle with the zipper on her hoodie. Her fingers tug at the zipper, pulling it up and down, her movements quick and restless.

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