Fail to Love by Maci Dillon

 

Destiny Over Destination

 

“Happily ever after is not a fairy tale—it’s a choice.” ~ Fawn Weaver

 

 

RAVEN

 

“Excuse me, would you happen to have an iPhone charger available? My phone is dead, and I’m running late for my flight.”

Of all days to be behind schedule and have a flat phone, I thought.

First, Sean dropped the bombshell invitation on me at dinner last night—how was a working woman expected to pull together an international trip in just a few hours? The initial shock turned to excitement in seconds until my so-called besties freaked me out with an oh my God possibility that he might propose. I barely slept and cringed at the reflection of myself in the rearview mirror. No amount of expensive eye creams could fix my panda eyes this morning. I had unpacked and repacked my bags countless times before finally zipping the suitcase and climbing into bed.

Not only did my indecision make me sleep-deprived, but the Uber driver also screwed up my address and made me wait an extra twenty minutes. And now my cell was flat, after drafting and deleting multiple messages to Sean while I waited, explaining why I could no longer join him.

Then, of course, there were dramas at the center. For a second, I thought my boss, Sandy, was going to deny my last-minute request for leave, but when I suggested it, she had said, “Get on that fucking flight, we’ll manage.”

I felt awful trying to talk myself out of the opportunity. I loved that Sean invited me. The fact he wanted me with him rather than to be apart for a few days made my heart soar.

I knew it would be rude and stupid to refuse him, but the to and fro of my heart was eating away at me.

I only hoped I didn’t leave it too late to decide to honor my commitment to fly out with him today.

“Sorry, ma’am, only a Samsung charger.” Dammit. Fucking Samsung users. I emptied the contents of my handbag onto the seat beside me and searched again for my charger. Of course, I had packed it in my carry-on luggage that sat in the trunk of the car, out of reach and useless.

Thankfully, I had decided against a lot of luggage and opted to take a carry-on bag only. I needed a new suitcase  and decided to buy one in Paris to bring home all my shopping. It saved me at least fifteen minutes at the check-in line.

Racing against the clock, I pulled my small bag behind me while removing my watch, pulling my iPad and dead phone from my bag to throw in the tray after I rushed through customs.

“Please put your sunglasses in the tray, miss, and remove your shoes.”

Fuckers.I’m already late!

Five more minutes, and I was away, rushing toward the departure lounge—number thirty. How could this be happening? I knew Sean would’ve been trying to reach me as we were due to board five minutes ago.

Hopping on one foot as I struggled to replace my second shoe, I break into a less-than-coordinated jog while I pulled my carry-on luggage behind me, my bladder growing heavier with each side step as I navigated around the swarms of people going this way and that. I spot a bathroom sign and check my watch. There’s no time.

Sucking it up, I move on toward my gate, where I knew Sean would be waiting for me. Ahead to my right, I can see the fluorescent sign beaming—Gate 30. There was still a line-up of passengers.

I was going to make it.

Sean deserves better than this. Better than me.

As I exited the bathroom, I hesitated and glanced toward the departure gate. It was closed, and I saw Sean being ushered frantically back down the tunnel. He’d come looking for me. My heart plummeted.

What have I done?

Scrambling for my travel wallet to find my ticket, I raced toward the flight attendant desk, only to find it unavailable, and the entrance to the plane sealed off. Now in a panic, I searched for somebody to help me.

“Excuse me, sir. I’m on this flight. I was held up in traffic. Please, I need to get on this flight.” The security guard glanced over my ticket and lifted his eyes to the departure screens.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. This flight is closed and ready to depart.”

“But you don’t understand… my boyfriend is on this flight. My phone is dead, and I couldn’t contact him. He’ll be worried sick,” I pleaded tearfully with the burly man with a rough beard and gentle eyes.

He spoke into his radio, but the answer remained the same.

“The best I can do, ma’am, is offer to get a message to your boyfriend.”

“Yes, please. Sean Mathers, he needs to know I, Raven, was stuck in traffic.”

I listened as Rodger, the kind gentleman, relayed the message through his radio. But there was no response. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the aircraft moving out in the direction of the runway.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. You’ll need to see about changing your ticket to the next departing flight.”

Tears streamed down my face as I realized what I’d done.

Torn between my past and my future, I stood in the present, a weeping public mess.

Alone.

I’m such a fucking idiot.

I turned to the security guard once I could no longer see the plane from where I stood. My eyes red and puffy, I asked, “I need somewhere to charge my phone. Can you point me in the right direction, please?”

“I’m due for a break, so why don’t I help you get that ticket fixed up and show you the best place to grab a drink and charge your phone?”

I smiled and nodded as I began to follow Rodger back the way I came.

Further away from Sean.

From Paris.

“You know, Rodger, I appreciate your help, but I think I might just go home and forget about the trip.”

“What? Didn’t you say your boyfriend was on that flight?”

“He is. But it’s a work trip for him, and he offered to take me with him. It’s only for a few days. I’ll leave him a message when my phone is working again. He’ll understand.”

“Hmm, sounds to me like you’re doing a darn good job of talking yourself out of this, miss. Where were you going, anyway? Did you have a connecting flight, or were you planning on spending a few days in Dubai?”

“Paris.”

Laughter filled the air. Not a simple laugh, but a full-belly laugh which had everyone within a ten-yard radius staring at us. “Missy, you can’t be serious?” He stopped walking and turned to me, clutching my shoulders. “What woman would pass up a trip to Paris?”

I chuckled at his public spectacle, well aware my cheeks were heating up from the unwanted attention.

“A woman who missed her flight because she hesitated. Maybe it’s a sign.”

“Oh, okay then. Yeah, definitely a sign. You should rush home, lock yourself in the house, pull all the blinds, and sit in darkness and wait.”

It was my turn to laugh. “Wait for what?”

“You know, your next sign,” he mocked, his eyes wide and arms branching out in front of him. He laughed again, clearly amused at my predicament.

Confusion formed in the way of a frown on my face as I looked at him seriously.

“Look, I’m not above believing in signs and miracles or fate even for that matter, but signs can be taken any way you like from whatever you see, hear, or experience. It’s not the thing, it is simply how you choose to interpret the thing.”

I shuffled along silently beside my new friend and pondered his wisdom.

“If you don’t go, you’ll regret it, and life is too short for regrets, little lady. You don’t want to live the rest of your life wondering what if. Do you?”

Been there, done that, I thought. And look where that got me.

Another belly laugh erupted from Rodger as we rode the elevator back to the ticketing area. “Now, there’s a sign for you,” he said, pointing to a large sign suspended from the ceiling up ahead of us.

Your destiny awaits.