Page 11 of Old Acquaintances

“No, I guess not.” He raises his voice. “Not since you abandoned our family.”

“Stop,” I growl.

He asks, “You’re not feeling too panicky about seeing me, are you? You’re not going to do that thing where you strip off all your clothes, right? Because we’re in public and I don’t know what would happen if you got naked in an airport. That seems like a bigger violation than smuggling in eight ounces of lube.”

The man in front of me does not appreciate the insistence of my closeness. I smile at his frown and tell Tucker, “I don’t care about seeing you. As far as I’m concerned, you’re invisible.”

“You look the same. You haven’t changed at all.”

“It’s been seven years, Tucker. That’s a long time, but not long enough to need a face transplant.”

He pokes my cheek. “Is this where you get your Botox?”

“Don’t touch me!”

We reach the counter, and he smiles that charming, handsome smile that won him Homecoming King. He holds out his phone to be scanned.

The woman on the receiving end smiles back. She scans my ticket and tells us to have a nice day.

He wraps my arm around me. “We will. She’s finally coming home to the children.”

I grit, “Get away from me.”

As I storm off into the tunnel, he tells a stranger, “I just don’t want them to grow up without knowing their mother.” His voice gets louder. “You’ll never forgive yourself if you leave,honey. You’re a farm girl, you can’t take care of yourself in the big city!”

“Shut up.”

“Those dreams are not bigger than us, Baby! We can make it work,please.” He comes behind me and grapples for my hand. I ram my bag into his leg, and he laughs, letting me go. “Ow. Jesus, what do you have in there?”

“I would make a weapon joke, but I don’t think it would be well-received in an airport,” I snap. We’re drawing some curious looks. “Why don’t you have anything?”

He pats the front of his jeans. “Shit, I left my fanny pack in the car…” He throws his hands up and rolls his eyes. “I checked my bag.”

“What if they lose your luggage? Don’t you know anything about precautions?”

“Well, if my bag gets lost, then I will run around the streets of Florida butt naked like God intended. I prefer not to have tan-lines, anyway.” Tucker gestures to my carry-on. “What do you have in there? Adult diapers?”

“I wish I had asshole spray so I could erase you from my sight.”

“I bet you’ve got some hemorrhoid cream, at least. I know how constipated you get.”

We approach the plane, and I reach out to touch it before crossing the threshold inside. Tucker laughs to himself.

He says, “Some things never change.”

“It’s a ritual. Rituals are not supposed to change,” I argue, heading back to my seat.

“It’s a superstition.”

I tilt my head back. “You know, what? I just had a nice thought: if the planedoesgo down, at least it takes you down, too! Bittersweet. Rain, then rainbows, right?”

“You’re a sick freak.”

We reach our seats and I try to hoist my bag over my head, toppling back a little from the effort. Tucker snatches it from me, barking, “Good God, Ella - sit down.” He shoves it into a compartment and settles into the seat beside me.

I’m pressed up against the window, and he lifts the armrest between us.

“I would like some separation,” I say, pulling it back down.

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