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27
FASTEN YOUR SEATBELTS FOR TAKEOFF
Elodie
Don’t get me wrong—TSA pre-screen is one of life’s greatest inventions. But why does it have to be more crowded than regular security on a Sunday morning at five-thirty? We’ve been trudging through this line for forty-five minutes already, and my nerves are frayed as thin as my cuticles.
I check my phone for the departure time. Again.
Gage peers around the coil of bleary, annoyed travelers ahead of us, trying to get a view of the checkpoint. “We should be fine. We still have forty minutes,” he says reassuringly, but all I can think is forty minutes to back out, forty minutes to walk away.
I haul in a big breath. “So, this will just be for?—”
But before I can even recap the rules of this marriage of convenience one more time, the line starts flowing. Suddenly, we’re moving along, then we’re showing IDs to a sturdy TSA agent. With eagle eyes, she stares down at Gage’s driver’s license, then back up. Down, up.
My pulse gallops.
What is it? Does his face not match the ID? I try to check his license to figure out the issue. I catch a glimpse of his middle name, but I don’t even have a second to ask him about it because the agent’s suddenly satisfied, dismissing him and nodding to me. “Next,” she barks.
I stick mine out at her. She gives a serious perusal. My stomach churns. Has my license expired?
No, of course not. But I feel like it has.
A nod my way, then a gravelly, “Next.”
All business, Gage urges me over to the security checkpoint he’s picked, reaching for my purse. I hand it to him and he sets it on the conveyor belt with a chill that I simply don’t possess. I don’t get how he can be so…calm when I’m so frazzled.
My purse slouches onto his neatly folded leather jacket. Even his jacket looks cool, while my bag is chaos as they trundle away.
I hustle through the scanner, then out the other side, but right when I’m grabbing my phone and purse from the belt, he’s pulled aside for a random screening.
“Are you kidding me?” I mutter.
But there’s no joking at security.
Five minutes later, his hands have been wiped down, his jacket scanned, and his tablet confirmed unthreatening. He tips his forehead to the row of departure screens as announcements ring out overhead.
“The international terminal is this way. The flight to JFK is now boarding. Please don’t leave your luggage unattended.”
I check for our flight, my shoulders dropping. “They changed gates.”
“It’s at the end of the concourse,” he says. “And it’s boarding.” His eyes travel quickly to my shoes. Converse sneakers today. “Can you run?”
No. God no. Running is awful. “Of course,” I say, then he grabs my hand and we’re trotting through crowds, weaving through parents tugging toddlers and couples in sweats wearing neck pillows.
As we race toward the last gate at the end of the concourse, I’m certain this is how I’ll die. My lungs are staging a mutiny. My thighs are screaming obscenities at me.
And yet, I choose this moment to try again. “We’re just doing this for the length of the lease, right?” I say as we jog past a shop selling I left my heart in San Francisco sweatshirts. Or maybe my mind, in my case.
He’s not even startled by my abrupt return to the rules of the road. He nods, cool and controlled. “Yep. We’ll get that guy to back off and then we’ll just…” But he trails off, maybe uncertain for the first time since he offered his hand last night.
My worry skyrockets. Is it us he’s freaking out about? Something else?
“Get a divorce,” he finally adds, as if the word tastes like sour candy on his tongue. “I don’t know if we can get an annulment after two months. I’ll have to look that up.”
“Or I can,” I offer as we race past gates like partners in…romantic crime? “I guess people have gotten married for less,” I say, trying to normalize the insanity of this choice.
“People get married on a dare from their friends. People get married because they’re drunk. People get married and then they just get divorced as soon as they can.” He lists off reasons steadily, a man in charge once more. “At least we have a reason.”
