Page 75 of Ticket to You

Micah

Good, Philly can be like the sister we never had.

Eloise sees me reading the texts and lets out a bubbling laugh. “It’s a new family group chat, without Adam, obviously. We’ll add him in after the secret’s out.”

“And what if he doesn’t feel the same way?” I ask, my voice dry. I’m about ninety percent sure Adam truly loves me, too. But there’s ten percent of me that is worried my grand gesture will cross the line into the weirdo-clinger territory.

“He feels the same,” Naomi says, nodding once. Something about her sure, solid expression overpowers that ten-percent-doubter in me.

I’ve been to JFK enough to know when we’re about to the departures door. I unbuckle my seatbelt and sit on the edge of my seat. Once we’re close enough, I give a quick wave to Naomi, return Eloise’s excited thumbs-up, and hurry inside the sliding doors. I go to the only ticketing table with no line, my heart drumming and my lungs empty.

“Is there a flight to China tonight?” I ask, interrupting the agent’s greeting.

She purses her lips at my impoliteness and taps at her keyboard, looking at me with a cold, hard stare. “There is nothing direct, but we have a flight that connects in LAX, then Incheon, then to Beijing.”

“Great!” I practically shout, digging through my purse. “I need to buy a ticket.”

“I’m sorry,” she says in a voice that tells me she is absolutelynotsorry, “but the flight is about to board. We are no longer selling tickets for it.”

My fingernails dig into my palms. “Fine. When is the soonest I can fly to China?”

The clicks of the keys are enough to make me feel clammy all over.

“The same route is available tomorrow night,” she says, staring at me from under her eyelashes.

“Sure. That works.” I throw my credit card and passport onto the counter.

Taking her time, the agent gets my information, checks my passport, and swipes my card.

“What way is security?” I ask, adjusting the strap of my carry-on.

The agent tips her head to the side, her lips twisting into an intimidating smile. “You can’t go through security until the day of your flight.”

I push my hands out in front of me and take three slow breaths.She has to be joking.“Then I need to purchase whatever ticket I can get that will let me through securitynow. I–I forgot something with my friend who’s flying out. It’s an emergency.”

She furrows her eyebrows, a feigned act of innocence. “Your friend can leave whatever you forgot with the gate agent, and we can get it to you.”

My fingers splay out as if to release my frustration through their tips. “Just get me adamnticket.”

I smile my eyes as she swipes my card, unconcerned about the hit the two transactions will be on my budget.

As soon as I get through security, I run straight for the stairs, taking them two at a time so I can go up faster than the crowded escalators would allow. Not wanting to dwell on Adam’s departure, I hadn’t asked him many questions about his itinerary. But I think he mentioned a Los Angeles layover, which would mean his gate is nearly at the end of the terminal. I push through crowds of people speaking languages I don’t understand, families in matching Mickey Mouse shirts, and Tommy-Bahama-clad men who were probably vacationing in Atlantic City.

I listen closely to each announcement that comes over the intercom, and eventually, right as Adam’s gate comes into view, I hear one meant for me. “Doors closing for Flight Four-Two-One to Los Angeles. Four-Two-One to Los Angeles,” the scratchy voice says plainly, as if it didn’t just ruin everything.

My feet slow to a stop. Ahead of me, the gate’s sign glares at me.You failed, it mocks. I watch helplessly through the mass of travelers as the gate agent swings the door to the tarmac closed, locking it firmly. Under me, my legs threaten to give out, so I lean against the nearest wall, unable to look away from the floor-to-ceiling windows as the plane backs away from the gate, rolling slowly out of view.

I swallow hard. Soon, Adam will be in Beijing and head straight for the mountains, sure to lose phone service. I’ll have a few hours tops to talk to him over the phone after he lands. But even then, what will I say over a phone call? I was banking on clarity hitting me once I laid eyes on him.

I should’ve told him sooner. I should’ve taken the risk.

“Ophelia?”

I spin around. I’m just hearing things, surely. But then I think I see—yes!There, just outside the gift shop, only a few feet away, Adam is staring at me. He stands motionless between the racks of potato chips and I-Heart-NYC keychains, his jaw clenched tight.

He takes a tiny step forward. “What are you doing here?”

“What areyoudoing here?” I shoot back, still half convinced I’m dreaming. “Weren’t you supposed to be on that flight?”

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