Hot Georgia Rein

by Martha Sweeney

  As we wait for the train, I stand in front of Henry, facing him in a protective manner. I watch the people around me, studying them and watching how they interact. Once the train arrives, a man gets up and offers me a seat. I thank him and sit, turning the stroller so Henry faces me. With it being a few hours since he’s eaten, I offer Henry a small snack to keep him awake.

  People get on and off the train, and there are a few women who strike up a conversation with me about my son. I happily respond, needing the distraction from my growing anxiety.

  Once we hit the terminal, I’m able to bypass the TSA checkpoint by paying an eighty-five dollar fee which should give me a little more time to make it to the terminal before they start boarding. When we get to the gate, I check in and am relieved that I hadn’t missed the flight. The stewardess informs me that we’ll be boarding in just fifteen minutes, so I take a seat and relax.

  I text Cece that I’m waiting to get on the plane. When I put my phone away, that’s when I notice a smell. I look up and smile. “Well, at least you did that before we got on the plane,” I tell him. “There’s no room to change a diaper on it.”

  I fumble with our my stuff all the way to the bathroom. I only have to wait a few minutes for the large stall that has the changing station. He fusses a little but calms down when I hand him my phone. He holds it up, looking at it. With his chubby finger, he points at the picture and identifies each of us. Right as I get him standing to pull up his pants, the phone rings. His arm waves it in the air. Two seconds later, it hits my arm and then suddenly falls. I watch the phone travel in slow motion, noticing that Drew is the person calling, as it bounces on the ledge, against the wall, and into the toilet.

  “Fuck!” I exclaim.

  “Uck,” he shouts, repeating me.

  “Goddamn it!” I curse.

  “Dam it,” he repeats.

  “Don’t say that,” I instruct. “Mama said a bad word.”

  “Dam it,” he says again with a smile.

  I let out a sigh and take a moment to collect myself. There’s no need to argue with a two and a half-year-old. Plus, if I ignore him saying it, he’ll stop—I’ve learned that.

  Once I get him back in the stroller, I reluctantly reach down into the toilet and retrieve my phone. The screen is dark and it won’t turn back on.

  “God dammit,” I seethe.

  An announcement that my flight is now boarding is heard over the speakers. I pack my wet phone into an extra ziplock back and put it away since I won’t be able to use it. When I make it over to the gate, the stewardess lets me on first since I have a small child with me. We get seated quickly and wait for the plane to leave.

  With a toy in hand, my son busies himself on my lap as I stare aimlessly out the window. I hear the commotion of people getting on the plane, but don’t bother to pull my attention away from my thoughts. How am I going to explain to Henry everything that’s happened? I don’t care if he won’t listen, I’ll make him listen for our son’s sake.

  It isn’t until I hear some groaning that I’m pulled back to the present.

  “We’ll be waiting for a little while before we can depart folks,” the pilot states. “The rain is slowing things down and we’re the tenth plane waiting to take off. Please hold tight while we work to get us up in the air. Apologies for the delay. We’ll get going as soon as we can. Thank you.”

  I curse under my breath, not enjoying that everything seems to be getting worse. It makes me start to wonder, start to doubt if any of this will work out. Could I have made the wrong decision to go after Henry? Are we fated to never be together?

  30 Henry

  After I hang up the phone with Grady, I remain where I stopped, trying to process everything that I saw at Ivy’s apartment and what Grady just told me. Excitement at the idea that I have a son, a son with Ivy, flurries through me, but at the same time, rage and several other emotions filter in. I’m not sure how I feel about it. Would I have been better not knowing? How would I have felt if I heard it directly from Ivy and not like this?

  I start to wonder who else knew about my son and didn’t tell me, causing me to call Grady back. “Who else knew?” I ask as soon as he answers.

  “What?” Grady returns.

  “Who else knew about my son?” I press.

  “Aside from Ivy, it was just Momma, Papa, Nana, Pops, and me,” Grady informs.

  I nod as the information processes in my brain. “You sure no one else knew?” I check.

  “Just Cece and Drew,” Grady states. “She kept it quiet. She didn’t want to interfere with your life.”

  “Interfere with my life?” I bark. “It interferes! He’s my son.”

  “You were engaged,” Grady reminds. “Ivy didn’t want Julianna to be marred by your actions…and she didn’t want you marked as a cheater. Besides, you didn’t go after her.”

  Grady’s right. I was a fucking coward. I let her go and chose Julianna over Ivy. I chose to stay in Georgia rather than be with her and be who I could be and what we could have been together.

  “How could you not tell me?” I ask dejectedly.

  “I wanted to,” Grady returns. “I even pushed Ivy when she got back to tell you. It wasn’t until she called me out for not telling my secret to our parents that I understood why she couldn’t just tell you. Can you blame her? She was trying…at least from what she said she was. I’m sure she was scared of what you might think of her…let alone what you’d say.”

  My head bounces, understating why it would be hard for him to tell his parents about being gay. “She planned on telling me?”

  “Yeah,” Grady confirms. “Why do you think she came back for the funeral? She probably needed to see where you were with things.”

  Did Ivy really come back for me—for us?

  “Put yourself in her shoes,” Grady suggests. “There wouldn’t have been a right decision either way. You know that.”

  “I would have gone after her if I knew,” I claim.

  “Really?” Grady questions.

  His doubt hurts, but it’s the truth. There were so many times I could have done something and I didn’t. Maybe, I wasn’t ready then. Maybe, her leaving was what I needed to grow up and realize that I love her. With that last thought, I know what I have to do.

  “I told her it didn’t matter what’s happened between us,” I state. “The night of the funeral.”

  “Then, why the fuck are you still talking to me?” Grady laughs.

  “Shut up,” I chuckle.

  “Fuck you,” Grady teases.

  “Fuck you too,” I return playfully.

  “You wouldn’t,” Grady says. “Even if Ivy wasn’t in the picture.”

  “Yeah, you're right,” I laugh.

  “Go,” Grady encourages. “Before you break her heart again.”

  I nod and hang up the phone.

  I look around and realize that I’m completely lost and soaked. I get out of the rain, positioning myself under an awning while I use my phone to figure out how far I am from Ivy’s. I almost choke on my spit when I notice that I’m at least forty minutes away if I walk back.

  Shifting back to the curb, I try to flag down a cab, but none of them stop. After about ten minutes of trying, I start walking in the direction I came from. I know I continued straight after I turned the corner to the left of Ivy’s apartment, so I keep my head up, watching the street signs despite the fact that the rain is falling faster and harder.

  It seems like it takes forever to get back to Ivy’s apartment. When I’m almost to the corner where I need to turn, I curse under my breath when I notice that it took me fifty-three minutes to get back. I don’t hesitate when I reach the lobby. The doorman looks me over with a questioning glance but doesn’t say anything as I pass through. I get inside the elevator and I wait impatiently for the damn thing to get to her floor. I probably should have taken the stairs again, but I’m not sure my body would be able to handle the fifteen flights.

  I pace the hallway,
trying to figure out what to say when Ivy answers the door. Finally, I say fuck it and just knock, hoping that whatever I do say comes out and makes sense. My heart pounds in my chest as I wait to hear footsteps approaching the door.

  A goofy smile is on my face when I hear the lock turn, but it falls quickly when I don’t see Ivy staring back at me.

  “You’re back,” he says, looking a little shocked.

  I glance past him, hoping to see Ivy. “Is….”

  “She’s not here,” he says. “She left.”

  My face falls.

  “She left to find you,” he reveals.

  My gaze lifts to find him and hope returns. My Ivy went looking for me?

  “Her flight leaves in ten minutes,” he informs. “You won’t be able to reach her at the airport…not unless you call.”

  I take my phone out of my pocket, but notice that it seems a little waterlogged. “Fuck.”

  “Everything okay?” he asks.

  “No,” I say, punching my fingers harder against the screen. “It won’t work.”

  “I’ll call her,” he offers.

  “Thanks,” I reply.

  “If she doesn’t answer, you’ll probably want to head straight back to the airport to catch the next flight,” he suggests.

  “I drove,” I mumble.

  “Seriously?” he asks, lifting a brow.

  “I’ve never flown before,” I share for some reason.

  He nods. “She might already be on the plane,” he says, pulling the phone away from his head. “She’s not answering.”

  “Are you…Drew?” I inquire, needing to know.

  “Yeah,” he sighs.

  “You’re gay, right?” I check.

  He offers a nervous smile. “Yeah.”

  I nod, unsure of what to say.

  “Well, it went to voicemail,” he informs, pocketing his phone. “If you start driving….”

  “Yeah, I should do that,” I agree, wringing my neck.

  “She loves you,” he blurts. “She couldn’t stop talking about you…ever…I mean since I met her back in college.”

  “Really?” I ask with a grin.

  He nods. “She never got over you. It killed her to not tell you about your son,” he adds. “She went back and forth over the years whether to tell you or not.”

  I can’t help but smile.

  “I’ll call her again,” he offers. “I’ll let her know you’re here. What should I tell her?”

  “What do you mean?” I check.

  “Should I say you’ll wait or are on your way to her?” he says.

  “Oh,” I sigh. “Let her know that I came back and I’ll see her in Georgia.”

  “Okay,” he confirms.

  I walk away, but turn back to him. “Thanks,” I say, offering my hand. “And, sorry for the assumption.”

  “What assumption?” he asks.

  “Thinking you were the other man in her life,” I state. “I was pissed that I didn’t punch you when I first saw you sitting with her.”

  His face changes. “Uh, thanks for not hitting me.”

  I smile. “You’re welcome,” I reply.

  “Good luck,” Drew offers. “Not that you need it.”

  “I still need it with Ivy,” I inform. “I made this mess and I need to fix it.”

  “We all play a part in life’s messes,” he states with a smile. “It’s what you do with them that counts.”

  I smile and nod before turning back to the elevator.

  Once I get back to my truck about fifteen minutes later, I change out of my wet clothes right there in the parking garage. I try to turn on the app to direct me back home and get onto the road, but the damn thing is still fucked up. Not willing to waste any more time, I get back on the road, deciding to just trust the signs and my memory from the drive up. Surprisingly, the rain seems to keep people off the streets and I’m able to get out of New York faster than I had coming in.

  When I enter Pennsylvania, I realize that my phone is completely shot. I try to find a burner phone at each gas station I see along the way, but there’s nothing. After the fourth place, I keep driving, only stopping for gas and a little food. I need to get back to Ivy, my Ivy, as quick as possible.

  31 Ivy

  “Sorry folks,” the pilot’s voice booms over the speakers. “I know that I said it would only be a little while, but we’re still waiting for clearance to take flight. There are lightning storms down in Georgia and South Carolina which are causing the delay. I should have a little more information for you all here soon. Sit tight and relax. Thanks for flying BlueAir.”

  “Damn it,” I say, holding my son closer to my chest.

  He’s just started to fall asleep, thankfully, but we’ve been waiting at least thirty minutes past our scheduled departure. From the sound of it, we aren’t getting in the air anytime soon.

  “Can I offer you a drink, miss?” the stewardess inquires.

  “No,” I sigh. “Maybe once we’re in the air.”

  “It might be a while before we’re up,” she quietly mentions.

  “Seriously?” I sigh. “Okay. I’ll have a water. Thanks.”

  “Sure thing,” she replies with a smile.

  My gaze flits to my phone. I’m not sure why I’m still holding it. I guess I’m hoping that it’ll magically start working again.

  “Here you go,” she says.

  “Thank you,” I return.

  “Let me know if you need anything else,” she says, rushing off to the next passenger.

  My gaze shifts to my boy and then the window. I can feel the hope fading that fixing things with Henry is still possible. I can’t call anyone with my phone being dead and I’m stuck in this plane until who knows when. I take out a book, hoping that reading will be distracting enough. I just started reading a new author, Nicole Strycharz’s The Divorce, thanks to Cece recommending it. When that doesn’t help to relax me, I try to close my eyes and control my breathing.

  “Apologies again for the delay folks,” the captain says, interrupting my moment of zen. “We’ve been given the go-ahead to take off, so once the other planes in front of us get into the air, we’ll be up there with them. Please get yourselves seated and ready for takeoff.”

  “Excuse me,” I say to the passing stewardess. “What time is it?”

  She checks her watch. “It’s four forty-four,” she informs.

  “Thank you,” I reply.

  I take a deep breath in and let it out as slowly as possible to help me from freaking out. We’ve been on the plane for at least an hour and a half. We could have practically been to Atlanta by now.

  Once we’re finally in the air, which is about thirty minutes after the pilot announced it wouldn’t be much longer, I get a vodka cranberry to help calm my nerves. I keep replaying over and over again in my head what I could have said to Henry each time we were together when I came back as well as what I’m going to say to him now. All I can do is beg for him to at least not blame his son for the choices I’ve made. They deserve to be in each other’s lives.

  Even though I’m tired from the emotional day, I’m unable to rest on the plane. The stewardess offers to get my headset out of my purse when she sees me struggling to do something with a sleeping toddler in my arms. I plug them into the armrest and select a movie to pass the time.

  My son wakes when there’s about an hour left to our flight. He doesn’t seem to mind the pressure in his ears, but he does suck down half of his bottle. We play a little until he busies himself with my long necklace.

  “Dada,” he says.

  I smile. “Yes, honey. We’re going to see Dada.”

  “Go see Dada,” Henry repeats.

  “Yes,” I confirm. “And, you’ll see Nana, and Pop-Pop, and Uncle Grady too.”

  “See Nana and Pop,” Henry cheers. “See Gady.”

  “That’s right,” I agree. “You’re going to get to see their house.”

  “Se der house,” Henry states.

&nbs
p; “Mm-hm,” I hum.

  “Mama,” he says looking up at me with those beautiful, golden amber eyes he’s gotten from his father.

  “Yeah, honey,” I reply, choking a little.

  “Go see Dada,” he says.

  “That’s right,” I affirm. “We’re going to see Dada.” My fingers trail along the edge of his dark hair and watch him as he inspects the stone at the end of my necklace. He looks just like his father and I can’t help but smile while a tear escapes my eye. I lean forward as I pull him toward me, kissing his forehead.

  “I love you,” I whisper to my son, but also to his father, hoping he’ll hear me.

  “Love you,” he repeats, leaning in to kiss me. He shifts over toward the window. “Wook Mama.”

  “I see, baby,” I return. “We’re up in the sky. Do you see the white clouds?”

  “See whi couds,” he states.

  “There’s a lot of them, isn’t there?” I ask.

  “Lot of dem,” he replies.

  “We’re flying in the sky like the birds, honey,” I inform.

  “Fy wike birds,” Henry repeats.

  “Do you want a snack?” I check.

  “Want snack,” Henry confirms, nodding his head. “Eat.”

  “What do you want?” I ask. “I’ve got an apple, carrots, or grapes.”

  “Want gapes,” he replies.

  “Please,” I prompt.

  “Want gapes pease,” he says.

  Once we land, I try to rush to get off of the plane, but I can feel the fatigue setting in. It’s been hours since I’ve really eaten and all of the emotional drama isn’t helping. Needing a moment, I go into the bathroom. I relieve myself as he sits in his stroller, fussing, from what I assume, is the result of a dirty diaper. I change him and then grab a container of fruit from one of the shops we pass by, knowing that I’m going to need something if I’m going to drive. I offer him a piece of cantaloupe as we make our way to the exit.