Page 104 of The Pocket Pair

No more planes. No more airports.

“No more cowardice.”

I say this one out loud. Maybe with a little too much force, because a few people turn and look my way. I thought airports were the kind of place where no one pays you any mind.

Unless you talk out loud. To yourself. About cowardice.

“I’m not a coward,” I whisper, and no one looks up this time.

Still, I call Mari through the app I downloaded so we could talk internationally without paying exorbitant fees.

“Am I doing the right thing?” I ask the moment she says hello.

There’s a soft chuckle, the kind that makes my heart squeeze with affection. “What thing is that, princesa?”

“Leaving Sheet Cake. Coming to Costa Rica. Getting on a plane that could crash and leave me a charred pile of bones at the bottom of the ocean.”

Mari tsks. “Ah. We’re being dramatic today. It would be very hard to burn up under water.”

“Thanks for that assurance.”

“Well,” Mari says, and it sounds like she’s switching the phone to her other ear, “talk me through this decision. Why do you want to come? Why do you not?”

Tears spring to my eyes, despite my very vivid and silent threats for them to stay put inside my tear ducts. Because yes—I am scared to fly. I didn’t know this until this moment, facing my very first flight all alone—and out of the country to boot.

But that’s not the real reason I can’t just walk up to the counter.

“I don’t know,” I whisper.

“Does it have to do with being scared of doing something new?” She pauses. “Or leaving what you know?”

“Both?”

“And what about your deputy?”

With Pavlovian precision, an image of Chevy in the hospital, shirtless and smiling goofily at me flashes in my mind. “He’s not mine anymore,” I grit out. “He wanted to break up before I left.”

“He broke up with you?” Mari sounds shocked.

I pick at a loose thread on my purse strap. “Technically, he asked for a break while I was gone. But it turned into a very real breakup.”

“I’m sorry. Is that why you changed your ticket to leave so soon?”

“Yes.” My lip starts to tremble. “And what if I come back and he’s with someone else?”

Mari sighs. “I have faith in Chevy. And in you. If it’s meant to be, distance won’t be the end of your story.”

I want to cling to that, to hope in it. If drug-addled Chevy showed me a glimpse of his real feelings, maybe there is hope. But not if fully-awake Chevy is going to push me away for reasons he can’t even voice.

He’s the coward. Not me.

“You know what?” I say, feeling a sudden surge of confidence. I tighten my grip on my wheeled carry-on and begin marching to the ticket counter. “I’m getting on the plane. I’ll see you soon.” Then I remember this is a long, overnight flight with two layovers. The best I could get last-minute. “Or—I’ll see you tomorrow. Whatever.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Mari says. “And I miss you. Everyone here is so excited you’re coming.”

That’s good. Because what I’m feeling as I hang up is anything but excited. Determined, maybe. Disappointed? Definitely.

“Ticket and ID,” the unsmiling woman at the counter orders.

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