Page 27 of Unexpectingly Happily Ever After

The last time I traveled by myself was a few years before the kids came along. Brit and I decided to go to Paris for a few days. Before that was Cuba and Mexico. I’ve been to Europe three times. I am a world-class traveler, so what is the knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach?

The kids will be fine, I repeat as Imarch up to the counter.

And so will I.

Despite the Starbucks latte and the Tim Horton’s donut and wasting some time wandering the few shops open at this hour, and riding twice on the moving sidewalk, the early hour gets to me, and I end up in the boarding area, slumped uncomfortably in a chair, fighting off sleep.

″Boarding Flight 741 at Gate D.”

My eyes fly open. “What…Where…” I look around wildly, with no idea where I am.

″The plane’s getting ready to board,” says a man sitting beside me.

Airport. The chairs had been nearly empty when I had sat down, but now they are chockablock, with strangers staring at me. Especially the kindly-faced older man next to me. I try to calm my heart rate but then–

″Where are the kids?”

The man’s kindly face turns confused. “What kids?”

″Mykids!” I jump to my feet, the book flying off my lap. “Where–?”

″You had children with you?” He stares at me in shock. “I didn’t see anyone with you!”

″My kids, they’re…” I trail off, heaving a deep breath as I finally comprehend where I am. Airport. Vegas. Brit. Standing in the middle of the waiting area looking foolish. I sit down quickly. “They’re at home.”

″Are you sure?” he booms.

″I’m sorry.” Hand on my heart, I turn to him, to see the look of fear mirrored on his face. “I’m so sorry, but I was just confused.”

He lets out a whoosh of coffee-scented breath and slumps back into his seat. “You can’t do that to a man. I don’t think my heart could take it.”

″I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

″Harold?” A woman walks over to us, her hands full of Tom Horton’s cups. “What’s going on?” She frowns at me as she hands Harold his coffee.

″I was a bit confused when I woke up,” I apologize. “I thought I lost my kids, but they’re not even here.”

″Where are they?” Harold asks. He has a nice voice, deep and kind, like his eyes. I notice they’re wearing matching khaki pants and brightly coloured shirts. Retirees leaving for vacation.

I take another deep breath. “Back home with my husband. Hopefully still in bed.” I stoop to pick up my book, collect my purse from under the chair. “I’m really sorry if I freaked you out.”

″As long as they’re safe,” Harold says, hugging his coffee to his chest like it might calm him. What I must have done to his poor heart.

His wife sits beside him and leans around to face me. “I used to wake up in the middle of the night thinking the baby was somewhere in the bed,” she says. “It so upset my husband.”

I glance from her to him. “Then you must be used to it.”

″Oh, I wasn’t married to him,” she says dismissively. “Still not.”

″Oh, I thought–you’re not–” I stammer.

″Oh no,” she trills before turning doting eyes at Harold. “Well, maybe someday.”

Harold, honest to goodness, blushes a deep red.

″She doesn’t need to hear any of that, Winnie,” he mutters.

Winnie gives a girlish giggle.

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