Page 148 of Goodbye Again
THE TERMINAL FILLSup quickly before boarding. I dig my earbuds out of my bag as a woman resembling Betty White in a caftan sits down next to me.
“Well, hello there,” she says.
I pull my earbuds out and actually look at her. Is it—could she really be—
“Yes,” she says. “How have the last five years been?”
I swallow hard, not answering.
“Yeah, well, I figured,” she huffs, straightening her blue caftan in front of her. “You two had a magnetic pull so strong, I thought my egg fortune machine was going to break.”
I’d laugh but my jaw is currently on the floor.
“Relax, honey.” She pats my thigh. “How has it been? Falling in love so many times? You must be exhausted.”
Still, I try to speak but the confusion is stiffening my tongue. She sips her coffee and her bracelets jingle.
“Your Gramma is a riot, by the way.” She leans in. “Don’t tell her but I like the older version of you better than her.”
I shake my head slowly, disbelief consuming the entire interaction. “You’re the—”
“Quit stammering. Yes, I’m the fortune teller from that night in Seattle and I told you about all the loves you’d have in your life and how the majority of them would be the green-eyed school teacher. He’s a real looker, isn’t he?”
I say nothing, still shocked.
“Let me see your hand,” she demands, taking my hand before I can offer it. Her soft index finger traces my love line from my pinky finger to my index. One line with no forks, only a few creases. “This line belongs to him.”
She folds my fingers over my palm and squeezes gently.
“Anyway, have a safe flight.”
She gets up and leaves. I glance around the terminal, wondering if the whole interaction was a hallucination.
I WRITE MYSELF OFFas a complete psychopath by the time I board the plane.
I take my seat in 2D and stare out the window at the airline personnel bustling on the tarmac while passengers shuffle down the aisle, making their way to their seats when the distinct sound of the “Careless Whisper” saxophone starts playing from the front of the plane.
Turning toward the sound of the music, I see JP standing there, holding a boombox, wearing jeans, a t-shirt and my favorite smile.
Tears immediately spring to my eyes, and I shake my head out of disbelief or the humor of it all; I’m not sure.
“Hey, Jules,” he says. Other passengers are laughing, and a few have started recording this encounter on their phones.
“What are you doing?” I ask breathless, standing to meet him. My cheeks burning.
“Proving it to you. I’m finding you. I’m coming to get you, Jules. Or I’m going with you. Whatever you want and whatever you need. Here I am.” he says, stepping closer, the CD in the boombox skipping as he walks. The flight attendants are giggling from the front of the plane. Passengers are exchanging glances. But JP is only looking at me.
“JP,” I whisper.
“I’m not doing this anymore. I’m not saying goodbye again. I’m not going to be left wondering. I wake up a good portion of every morning wondering where you are and what you’re doing. I’m not doing it anymore. From now on, I’m going to know exactly what you’re doing and where you are. I’m going to be the first thing you see in the morning and the last thing you see at night. I’m not letting another six months or a year pass by without you knowing I fell in love with you the moment we started talking on that plane five years ago.”
The rest of the plane collectively goes,awwand I almost pass out from embarrassment. But then I remember, it’s JP.My JP.
He smirks the way he does and my eyes fall to the freckle on his bottom lip. I swallow hard and deflect. “You sound like a stalker.”
“No, I’m just in love with you. It’s the same thing.”
I laugh long and loud, even against the clouded white noise of the airplane. A few people around us laugh too.
