Page 4 of Winging It with You

I used to have friends. Loads of them, actually. Those first years of undergrad were a hazy blur of nights spent with various smatterings of friends I’d collected. Two a.m. laughing fits shared over double cheeseburgers and cheap vodka or delirious nights cramming in the library fueled by burnt coffee and Tastykakes. But now? Could it be that I’d met Clint and, somewhere along the way, just completely forgone any basic human connection beyond him and us?

The very same anger I felt this morning churns in my stomach as the departure time on my boarding pass stares up at me from the counter. A reminder of the self-imposed ticking clock I’ve volunteered to race against.

What the hell was I thinking? Slumping in my seat, trying to knead the tension throbbing behind my temples, a thought pops into my head.

“Can I get you anything else?” Mick says; his sudden reappearance startles me. “Some food, perhaps?” His question reminds me I’ve been drinking on an empty stomach.

“I’ll take more water when you have a moment,” I say, pushing my empty water glass in his direction. “Oh, and some mozzarella sticks, please.”

Mick nods, punching my order into the computer, and makes his way around the bar. I glance at the now-thinning crowd in the restaurant. The handsome pilots are still on the other side of the bar. And suddenly, I see it. A plan—a rather stupid and almost entirely unrealistic one—comes barreling into focus.

2

Theo

Boston Logan International Airport—Terminal E

Boston, Massachusetts

“Can you believe they’re grounding me?”

The flight into Boston deplaned faster than usual. Tagging along behind the last of the passengers and crew making their way up the jet bridge, I was finally able to check my email. Sitting in my inbox was the dreaded answer from my supervisor. I’d maxed out my flying hours for the month, and the bottom line: I was forbidden from piloting any more flights.

Effective immediately.

“You’re being dramatic, and you know it,” Mark says as we cross the threshold into the busy terminal. “They aren’tgroundingyou, Theo. It’s protocol.”

“Cállate,” I say, and he laughs when I give him the finger. But shutting up isn’t something Mark is known for. Especially when he’s right. “Please don’t give me the whole protocol spiel,” I groan. If there’s anyone who knows the FAA rule book frontto back, it’s Mark. He can, notoriously, rattle off random regulations in every conversation.

“Theo, listen to me,” he says, grabbing my arm, halting us in the middle of Terminal E. “Maybethisis your sign to slow down a little bit.” He nods to the phone that’s still in my hand. “I know it’s not what you wanted to hear, but you’re the only pilot I’ve ever met who doesn’t travel for themselves. Or even just use the time off you’ve earned. Whether you like it or not, these rules and limits are in place to prevent burnout. You know…safety and all.” Mark puts an arm around my shoulder. “You know what Amelia asks me every time you leave?”

“Hmm.”

“She asks if I think you’re happy. Likeactuallyhappy.”

There’s no hiding anything from Mark’s wife. “And obviously you tell her that happy is my middle name, right?”

“Something like that.” Mark laughs again, dropping his arm and grabbing the handle of his rolling carry-on. “Look, I’m not going to tell you how to live your life. Never have, never will. But we’ve all watched you charm your way through the last couple of years, cracking jokes, making everyone laugh, so, this?” he says, pointing back at my phone. “This is an opportunity, Theo. An opportunity to seize some semblance ofnormalcy.” It’s hard not to notice the emphasis he places on that word. “I know we don’t really talk about your military service…”

I step back, the sharp turn into more delicate territory taking me by surprise. “Yeah, I think it’s a littletooearly in the day to be unpacking all our emotional damage, sir,” I say, sarcastically glancing at my watch.

“Hear me out,” he says in response to my attempt to redirect the conversation. “You’re one hell of a pilot, my friend. One ofthe best I’ve ever seen. Shoot, I feel like I learn something new fromyouevery day.”

His compliment means everything. Flying has always been my dream, and honestly, no matter how overworked or tired I am, there isn’t a single moment when I’m in the sky that I forget that. It’s the one thing in my life that I feel good at, and now? Having that taken away from me? It scares me more than I will ever admit.

“But do me a favor and try to remember there’s more to life than work, okay? Take some risks. Stop putting off that trip home. Strike up a conversation with a stranger. I don’t care what you do, but be spontaneous and step outside your comfort zone.”

“It’s like you don’t even know me at all.” More to life than work, huh? What a foreign concept. On every level, I know he’s right. But I can’t brush off the fact that I’ve spent the last couple of years on autopilot—show up to work, sleep when I can, and eat. Rinse and repeat. And while it may be easier to just avoid…everything, is that really the life I want to be living?

“I’m serious, Theo.” His voice is now filled with concern.

“As am I. I promise to talk to strangers and will do my best to remember there is more to life than work.” I place three fingers straight up. “Scout’s honor.”

“You’re so full of shit,” he says, rolling his eyes. We both turn and continue making our way through the crowded terminal. “I know you’re mentally drafting a rebuttal email.”

He’s not wrong.

It’s useless, though. Decisions like this aren’t something that can be reversed, no matter how much I beg, plead, or throw back-to-back fits. And as much as I love a good professional grovel, I have to accept the fact that my flying days are officially on pause.

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