Page 2 of Winging It with You

“I have a plane to catch.”

He grabs my arm before I can turn to walk away. “You can’t be serious.”

“Let go of me, Clint.Now.”

Sensing the growing number of eyes on us, including those of a very concerned Susan from behind the ticket counter, he thankfully listens.

“Asher, just hold on…Give me a moment to explain.” His tone and gaze soften as we seem to be entering the eye of the breakup storm that’s been violently building around us. For the briefest of moments, I’m tempted to hear him out. Considering all the time we’ve invested in each other, I should, right?

There’s even something behind his tired brown eyes that I can’t quite put my finger on. Something I haven’t seen in a long time.

Compassion? Remorse? Perhaps even…regret?

“You can’t do this alone,” he says.

Well, that lasted all of two seconds.

“Fucking watch me, Clint,” I spit back, and the nosy teenagers, who now feel like my brothers-in-arms, hoot and holler. Turning away from him, I storm off toward the escalator with the cheers of approval solidifying my decision and strengthening my resolve.

“Excuse me, sir…um…Mr. Bennett!” Susan yells after me, hurrying around the ticket counter. “You’re going to need this.”

She places my passport in my hand. I stare at the cheesy cover—a recent and thoughtful gift from my mother, one of a matching set whose twin is safely tucked away in Clint’s pocket. I run my thumb over the phrase she printed in small, gold script.Away We Go!

“Thank you.” And away I go.

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After barreling through security, Ifind solace in the least likely of places.

An airport TGI Fridays.

“I’ll take another.”

I wave my empty glass in the direction of the bartender—a gentleman in his mid- to late forties, I’d guess. Judging by his glance of indifference, I can only assume he’s used to passengers who are eager to drown their sorrows or quell their flying anxiety before their flights.

He places my third (fourth?) mimosa in front of me—it’s basically juice, right?—and lingers momentarily. “Can I get you anything else?” he asks again, because it feels like I’ve been here for a full afternoon already. One of the downsides of traveling with Clint was always his irrational need to be at the airport hours before a flight. I’m not just talking about some wiggle room to make sure you’re checked in and have enough time to grab food without having to race through security. No, the man is notorious for wanting to spend a full day at the airport, lounging in uncomfortable chaos with a terminal full of strangers,just in case.

I lean forward, peering dramatically over the bar. “You got a man back there who isn’t spineless, selfish, and a worthless bag of dicks?”

His expression shifts from suppressed laughter to total annoyance. He might have even scoffed at me, which to this day, I hadn’t realized people did in real life, but here I am learning something new. He could just be my new best friend.

I glance down at his name tag.Mick.

“Are you married, Mick? Someone special in your life?”

“I, um…I’m not,” he says quietly, averting his gaze as he haphazardly wipes a pint glass with a rag I’m sure hasn’t been washed inquitesome time.

“Alright, can you just pretend with me for a moment? What kind of man convinces his partner of almost six…no, seven years—seven years, Mick…to uproot his entire life—literally begs him to put a giant pause on any sort of personal and professional plans he may have—”

A pair of handsome pilots pulls up to the other side of the bar, momentarily tearing his attention away from my story.

“Stay with me, Mick…we’re getting to the good part.”

Conflicted, he gives the duo a sympathetic nod. “And what’s that?”

“This partner has asked you to do all this for a reality television show.”

“Which show?”

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