“I know, honey.”
Tears fill my eyes as my shoulders shudder.
“I wanted to stay...”
Stephen waits until I’ve quieted a little before offering me his napkin. “Here, your impersonation of a raccoon is getting too real. I think there’s some TSA regulation about wild animals on planes.”
Though I don’t give a damn about my mascara, I take his napkin. In two dabs it’s covered in black. “I-I barely got to see him,” I say between sobs. “I had tried so hard to have hope. And when Vicky said she had an offer...before it was laid out...I did. It was all right there.”
Stephen isn’t holding my shoulder any longer, but his hand is covering mine. “What was all there?”
“You know? The dream. The whole entire picture. I never realized how badly I wanted it. I never let myself think about it. My goal has always been my career. I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am.”
Stephen nods as he hands me my wine. “You have. It’s like it’s nearly totally gone.”
“What?”
“Your ass. You don’t even have one.” He nods. “Legs straight to back.”
I shake my head. “It was there. I could see it.”
“I find Pilates helps.”
“Stephen, I’m talking about the dream—the career and that someone special. I could get used to spending all my nonworking time with him. I did. In two damn weeks, I got used to it. Falling asleep and waking. Simple things like standing side by side when we brushed our teeth, having morning coffee...I know it’s dumb, but it was...
“It was...” I go on. “As in past tense. It’s over. I gave it up to not lose twenty percent in salary and my paid days off.”
“No, you didn’t. That decrease she offered you was based on your current salary. It’s not based on the increase Neil offered. By not accepting her offer, not only did your income not decrease by twenty percent, but also it is going to be increasing another fifteen.
“And besides the money,” Stephen continues, “you’re back on point in juniors. Your title hasn’t changed for the worse. And one more thing, you’re working where you’re appreciated.”
Suddenly, I have a thought. “Vicky talked to you first. Did you know what she would offer me before it happened?”
“No, not exactly.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“Boss lady, before you went in there, I told her what I’ve told you: we are a team. I’m not upset about the way this went. I’m moving back to London, we’re still together, and I too am getting that fifteen percent increase that Neil offered.”
“He obviously didn’t know what was going down in New York. He could have had us—”
“Or he did,” Stephen suggests, “and he was afraid Witch Vicky might turn you against the company as a whole, and he didn’t want to lose you.”
“How can you always make me feel better?”
“It’s in my job description,” Stephen says with a smile. “And for the record, I know that this time with Trevor, this time leaving for London, it will be different.”
“I want that. It’s just that as I was leaving, he seemed so...I don’t know the right word... distracted.”
“Maybe he was holding out for the same dream. You know how those macho men are?”
I scoff. “Like you?”
“Yes, exactly like me.” Stephen covers my hand again. “No, macho men want to fix everything. Your man is a planner and a builder. My guess is that he seemed distracted because that was what his man-mind was doing. Instead of giving you his full attention, he was figuring and contemplating. You know, like with the bridges and roads.”
I sigh, recalling how Trevor kept looking at his phone instead of at me. I know that’s a modern-day issue with everyone, but we were standing at JFK outside of security. Our kiss goodbye was about as romantic as a brother kissing a sister. Okay, it was a little better than that because it was on the lips and that would be...Eww.
“May I get you more wine?” the flight attendant asks, looking my way.
“Oh, the answer to that question for the entire flight is yes,” I say. “And even if you have to wake me, it’s still yes.”
“She’ll have one more for now,” Stephen interjects, lifting one finger to emphasize his point.
“And for you, sir?”
“One also, for now. Thank you.”
“You’re not my babysitter,” I remind him after she walks away.
“No, I’m your assistant. We’re not in a hotel room with pizza. We can’t exactly follow your mother’s rule with pretzels and peanuts. It’s my job to keep you in a state that will allow you to walk off the plane because we’re not losing our new increase in salary or giving Witch Vicky ammunition to point fingers.”
Leaning my head on Stephen’s shoulders, I close my eyes. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
It’s then I remember Trevor’s words on the telephone and I reach for my purse, grabbing my phone.
“What are you doing?” Stephen asks. “You can’t call or text from up here.”
“No, but I can send an email. The airline has internet.”
He covers my hand with his. “Maybe we shouldn’t drunken email from fifty thousand feet.”
“It’s not drunken emailing. It’s saying what I should’ve said this afternoon.” I squint my eyes, but the letters and icons on the screen are still blurry. Thrusting my phone toward Stephen, I say, “You’re my assistant. Connect me to the internet and find Trevor’s email.”
“Shana, is this a good idea?”
“My assistant.”
A few minutes later he hands me back my phone. “You’re connected to Wi-Fi. I have Trevor Willis’s email. Are you sure you want to do this?”
I take my phone and with one eye closed carefully type out my message.
Trevor,
I didn’t want to leave you. I hope we can do this long distance.
No matter what happens. I heard you this afternoon. I’m sorry I didn’t say it too. My silence wasn’t because I don’t but because I was shocked that you said it.
Just so you know and never doubt...I love you, too.
Yours,
Shana
I hit send before I can change my mind and hand my phone back to Stephen. “Can you disconnect the Wi-Fi?”
“Yes, boss lady, it’s very difficult. It’s called airplane mode.”
I lay my head back on his shoulder and close my eyes. “See, that’s why we’re a great team.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Shana
There’s nothing like sleeping in your own bed.
That saying is true. Since we landed at Heathrow Airport on Saturday morning and Ubered to our respective homes, it’s what I’ve been doing. Of course, because it’s all I’ve been doing, I have no food in my apartment—well, other than a few open boxes of cereal that may or may not be stale upon my return. The only thing worth trying to consume in the refrigerator—since I can’t exactly drink condiments—is apple juice, and if I were a betting woman, I’d wager that it is close to fermentation at this point.