Chapter 18: The Flight Home

They flew home from Los Angeles on separate flights — Jess to Chicago, Danny to Boston — which was practical and also briefly terrible in the specific way of things that are necessary but still cost something. They said goodbye at the security line, which was not where either of them had imagined saying goodbye when they'd started twelve states ago in a parking lot with a booking confirmation and a suitcase. 'Next weekend,' Danny said. 'I'll come to Chicago or you come to Boston. Your call.' 'Boston,' she said. 'I want to see your apartment.' 'It has a view of a parking garage.' 'I have a view of another apartment.' 'We're clearly both doing great,' he said. She laughed. 'Next weekend.' 'Next weekend,' he confirmed. He kissed her, there in the security line with strangers on both sides not caring even slightly, and then she went through and he went through and they walked toward their separate gates with the particular bittersweet quality of people who have found something and know the finding is not the end of the work. Jess sat at her gate and texted him: *I deleted the playlist once. I recreated it from memory. That's how I know.* His response came in forty seconds: *I know exactly what you mean. Also hi from gate C22. Also I miss you already and that's embarrassing.* She typed back: *It's not embarrassing. It's you. I like it.* She looked out at the tarmac and thought about Chicago and Boston and the fourteen hours between them and the two hours by plane and the very specific truth that distance is a problem with a solution when both people are willing to solve it. She was willing. She boarded the plane.