“Absolutely. I’ll be right back.”
When she leaves, Lois lets out a low whistle. “Georgia, honey, what have you gotten us into?”
“I have no idea,” I admit, looking around. Through the window, I can see the tarmac, the regular people boarding regular planes in the distance. This feels like a different universe.
Ella is already trying to climb off the couch, and I grab her before she can tumble onto the floor. “Oh, no you don’t. Let’s get you buckled in.”
By the time we’re settled—Ella in a specially provided car seat that Alana produced from somewhere, Lois and I in the impossibly comfortable chairs—I’m feeling thoroughly out of my depth. The jet’s engines hum to life, smooth and quiet.
I sneak a glance toward the front cabin. Calvin is still on his phone, gesturing with one hand while he types something on his laptop with the other. Even from here, I can see the sharp line of his jaw, the way his blond hair is perfectly styled. He’s taken off his suit jacket, and his white shirt is rolled up at the sleeves, revealing tanned forearms.
He really is attractive. Objectively speaking.
It’s a shame the personality doesn’t match.
Back at my cottage, he’d briefly seemed almost vulnerable when he talked about his grandmother, and I’d thought that maybe there was more to him than the cold businessman exterior.
But since I agreed to this project, he’s been nothing but efficient. Professional. Distant. He’s had his assistants handle all the logistics, had detailed itineraries delivered to both Lois and me, arranged for our things to be packed and shipped. Everything organized, nothing personal.
And now, here we are, and he hasn’t said more than ten words to us since we said our hellos on the tarmac.
But what shouldIcare? This is business, and in fact I’m a little ashamed to want Calvin to like me. It feels like being back in high school, desperately pining after the popular boy’s affections.
I’m an adult now. I need to get a grip.
Men who act like work is the only thing that matters tend to stay single. Who wants to date someone who can’t look up from their laptop long enough to have a conversation?
Then again, I’m not really in a position to judge anyone’s relationship choices. My picker is clearly broken. I chose Mike, after all. Charming, funny Mike, who seemed so supportive when we first met. Who said he loved how passionate I was about my work, how driven. Who moved in with me after two months and said he was “between jobs” but would find something soon.
Except he never did.
And “between jobs” turned into “the job market is really tough right now,” which turned into “I’m focusing on my art,” which turned into me working fifty-hour weeks while he played video games and complained that I never had time for him.
When I got pregnant, I thought maybe it would change something. That impending fatherhood would motivate him. Instead, he told me he wasn’t ready to “give up his freedom.”
His freedom. While I was six months pregnant, paying all the bills, doing all the housework, and teaching full-time.
I’d told him to leave, and he’d had the audacity to seem hurt.
“You’re choosing the baby over me?” he’d said.
“I’m choosing myself,” I’d replied. “And yes, the baby. Who is also me. So maybe work on not being such a selfish ass.”
He’d left. Signed away his parental rights. Sent one text after Ella was born and saw her picture through the friend grapevine: “Cute kid. Good luck.”
That was it. Fourteen months ago, and I haven’t heard from him since. And good riddance. The only thing good about that relationship was that I eventually left it.
Unfortunately, it’s left me scarred in a way I haven’t been able to yet evaluate. I know it has. Going through the last year and a half without a partner is something that might have broken me. Except I’ve never had the luxury of breaking, because I have Ella, and I need to stay strong for her.
So, no. I’m not going to judge Calvin Aarons for being single and married to his work. I’m married to my role as a mother.
At least he’s honest about his priorities. At least he’s not pretending to be something he’s not.
The jet begins its takeoff, and I tense a little bit. It’s Ella’s first time on an airplane. We drove when we moved out of the city and to the coast. She takes it well, though, thoroughly distracted by one of the new cardboard books I packed her for the flight.
Alana returns with our drinks and a beautiful plate of cut fruit, cheese, and crackers for Ella. “We’ll be serving dinner in about an hour. The flight time is approximately twelve hours to Jumayah, with one refueling stop.”
Twelve hours.
