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“I know. Maybe let’s not do a book tour next time, though?”
“Once was enough,” I said, laughing. A rather elderly looking couple made their way into the seats beside me, their complexions freakishly close to Broderick and mine, only they were both a little ashen with the honor that is age. God, what I would give to grow old together. He lent her a hand as she took her seat, obviously both tired from the effort of travel, but it was the way he brought his forehead to hers that did me in. “I want that,” I muttered, evidently aloud.
“What?” Chris asked quickly.
“The old and gray, but still in love thing.”
Chuckling, he said, “Babe, if you and Broderick aren’t that, all hope is lost in this world.”
“Thanks, Chris,” I said, pulling my eyes away from the lovebirds so I didn’t turn into that crazy stalker lady. Reaching to pull my laptop out of my bag, I said, “Travel safe.”
“You too, boss.”
Line disconnected, I drank my half-caf latte—what a joke—and finished the last of my work for the week, firing off a few emails before they called our flight, and passengers began to file on board. How very different these flights traveling to each other had felt as the big day crept ever closer. Because after this weekend, there would be no more long-distance visits. No more reuniting in echoing airport atriums or stealing away for too-short weekend escapes.
As I wheeled my way down the ramp and onto the plane, I couldn’t help but smile because in less than ninety hours, all of my high school notebooks would at last be vindicated when I actually became Mrs. Allen.
Bags stowed, nestled in my first-class seat with headphones in my ears, I paused my audiobook when the speaker came on, because the pilot was standing at the front of the plane with the radio in hand. What was left of his hair was silver, his face clean shaven, and both his smile and eyes were kind as he looked down the length of the bustling plane. I wasn’t the only person to notice—the man across from me sitting up a little straighter with concern lining very blond brows.
“Good morning, passengers and crew for flight A-S-three-oh-five. I know this is unusual—normally my lovely attendants give you the safety brief, so don’t mind my ugly mug stealing your attention.” Curiosity bit through me, intensifying as I realized it was emotion welling in those pale blue eyes, not concern. “But today we have some extra special guests aboard—you’re all fantastic, don’t you worry—but my wife, Cheryl, and our sons, Marcus, Jim, and Vinny are all here with me to celebrate my last flight across these skies. I gotta tell you, folks, I thought I was ready, but you’re never really ready to walk away from something that’s been a part of you for over thirty-five years.”
He wet his lips, throat bobbing. I glanced back to where his wife and grown sons were all looking a little verklempt themselves and raised a hand to rub at the knot forming in my chest. His voice over the speaker pulled me back to the front of the plane as he went on, “But through all the flights, through all the cities and situations and complications, all that ever truly mattered to me were those four people sitting in the back of the plane today. Show of hands–who all has kids?” Most of the passengers raised their hands, as mine fell to flutter over my still flat low belly. “There is nothing—nothing this life offers—more important or more fleeting than the years with your children. Cherish them. Don’t blink! You blink, and you miss it.” He snapped his fingers, a bit of sadness shadowing his sweet smile back at his boys. “The diapers. The sleepless nights. The exhaustion, and worry, and exhaustion, decision fatigue, praying that you don’t mess them up too badly, the sports games, the… exhaustion,” he repeated, smiling softly. “It’s all so fleeting, in the scheme of things. I was blessed with a career that I loved. The freedom of open skies beneath my wings. But…when it comes down to it, all I’ve ever been doing is what all of you are fighting for. At the heart of things. We’re all just… finding a way back home.”
Broderick
If nostalgia had a smell, it was parchment, leather, freshly sharpened pencils, and burnt teacher’s lounge coffee. For the final time, I looked up at the lecture hall full of students. Not just my usual attendees, either—nope, I spotted faces that graduated years ago, others who were just a few years ahead, all piled into seats in the lecture hall that had been a second home to me for the last six years.
There was a kind of electric anticipation in the air today. Maybe I was imagining it, but I didn’t think so. The thing about teaching in a town as small as Mistyvale is that you actually get to know your students whether you mean to or not. Which means…they get to know you, too.
These were my kids. But they were also my friends. Because they knew I’d finally proposed to the girl of my dreams. Knew she would be here tomorrow to get ready for our laid back Mistyvale beach wedding. Which meant that nostalgia-anticipation cocktail in my stomach was echoed through the too-crowded space.
“As we wrap up the spring semester, I just want to thank every single one of you for being incredible students. Incredible scholars. For challenging thought for thought’s sake.” Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I leaned against the desk nobody ever actually used, and scanned over the room, meeting as many smiles as I could as a pang struck my chest. I’d never walk here before the sun was warm with a coffee in hand again. Never sit in the silence of an empty Mistyvale lecture hall waiting for students to stir to life in the cocoon of this campus. Drawing in a deep breath, I added, “Whether your grades will be posted this weekend, or were already handed down a semester—or years—ago,” nervous laughter graced the space and I smiled. Like I would be disappointed they snuck in to see me off, or something. “If I leave anything behind for you, may it be a love of learning. In the words of Socrates, the only true wisdom is in…” I bowed my head, gesturing with a hand for them to finish and smiling as they did.
“Knowing you know nothing.”
“Very good. So, carry on—dare to know nothing, seek everything?—”
“But, Professor Allen,” a familiar, teasing voice sent goosebumps down my spine, eyes closing as amusement lifted my cheeks. Laughter rippled through the rows as I turned, scanning for the face that had become my anchor point. “We can’t forget Descartes.” I found her then, tucked in a particularly crowded huddle toward the top of the hall. That glorious, wicked mouth was painted a bold pink, stretched in a feline smirk. El’s arms were crossed over a curve-hugging dress where she leaned back in her chair, chin lifted in a theatrical defiance. “Cogito, ergo sum.”
“Ahh, Miss Rhodes,” I said formally, eliciting a ripple of laughter. “Always keeping me on my toes.”
“I think, therefore I am. Isn’t that right, Professor? I know I’m a little out of practice, so I might be misinterpreting René’s work,” she said casually, as if he was an acquaintance rather than a historical figurehead. “But I believe he spoke to the very essence of knowledge and existence.”
I smiled up at my almost-wife, I shook my head as her feline smile grew. If we had ever been anything to each other prior, it had been beneath the umbrella of challengers. I didn’t much expect that to change. Prayed she would never stop. Truthfully, I lived for it. That push and pull of her. That push and pull to her. Which is what had me clasping my hands behind my back as I made a steady saunter to her side of the hall. “Perhaps wisdom has very little to do with certainty, and…everything to do with challenging our own perspectives,” I said, unclasping my hands as I began to ascend the stairs.
“And… being courageous enough to chase new beginnings?” She rose from her chair, shaking her head as she descended toward me until we met, face-to-face, in the middle.
“To new beginnings,” I said, and then I wrapped her up and kissed her breathless to the ruckus applause and obnoxious wolf whistles of my students, like we’d been performing a play, and this was our ovation. Even in the chaos, her lips on mine sent heat down my spine, body eager at her proximity.
Peeling apart, she rested her forehead against mine, her voice low this time. Just for me. “To new beginnings. Perhaps we’ll start by changing my last name, and in about seven months, begin again with Robert Milo Allen.”
