An hour, time was lost on me. The baby wasn’t mine.
“I’m sorry. I’ll leave now.”
I walked towards the counter to be greeted by an over-friendly lady.
“Can I help you, sir?”
The baby wasn’t mine.
“Where is your next plane going to?” I asked.
“Excuse me?”
“I want a ticket on your next flight to wherever it’s going,” I answered, defeated.
“Um, sir, that’s quite an unusual request.”
I saw her make eyes at the security guard. “Maybe, but the girl I have loved for over seven years tells me tonight she’s pregnant with someone else’s baby so perhaps you can understand my need to get the hell out of this city?”
Her face turned compassionate. I didn’t need a pity party. I needed to get out of here. “We have a flight leaving in an hour to Alaska, sir.”
“That’s fine, I’ll take that.”
“The last-minute fare on this ticket is $2,100.” She searched my face, waiting for me to tell her that it was a ridiculous price, like I gave a shit about money. I pulled my Amex out of my wallet and passed it to her. She took it, surprised by my lack of consideration for money wasted.
The baby wasn’t mine. How could it be his?
“Here is your boarding pass, sir. Flight 793 boards from Gate 11 in approximately thirty minutes.” She handed me all my documents and I walked away in search of my gate. Finding it, I sat at an isolated section of the lounge.
The baby wasn’t mine.
How could it be his?
Was she fucking him the whole time?
My Charlotte, my wife was carrying another man’s baby.
There was nothing but white noise in my head, but I sat here silently… still…numb, staring into space waiting desperately to board this plane.
The flight was bumpy, but what did I expect from a last-minute flight sitting in economy once again? I closed my eyes trying to drift off to sleep. The constant wail of an infant a few rows back left me no choice but to place the free headphones over my ears. With a little more peace I tried again, but of course I was unable to clear my mind.
The following week I spent remote fishing somewhere in the middle of Alaska. The town was small yet very accommodating. It’s amazing how sitting for hours on end with professional fishermen waiting for a bite could ease your troubles, that was until I knew I had to finally leave. The convention in Paris was four days away and my cell had been turned off for the entire time I was here. I only messaged Kate before I boarded the plane to tell her that I would not be contactable for the week. She replied with a simple “okay.”
I didn’t allow myself to think about her, it was like pouring salt on a wound. The questions went round and round in circles. On my last night before heading back to London, I did the inevitable and turned o
n my cell. The beeping didn’t stop for two hours straight even though the signal I was receiving was weak.
542 work emails.
17 texts from Adriana.
4 texts from my mother.
7 texts from Rocky.
1 text from Elijah.
1 text from my father.