“I couldn’t even relax on a twenty-hour flight to Sydney,” he laughed. “I had to stay sober just in case you overdosed on benzos and wine and we needed to call for an emergency landing.”
I tried to catch my breath from laughing so hard. “Do you remember the letters I would write when I was hallucinating at thirty-five thousand feet? Declaring how lucky I was to have you take care of me while I blacked out on every flight? I was never more nostalgic than when I was on Xanax and airplane wine.”
He looked at me squarely. “Part of me wished you stayed like that after we landed.”
I looked down at my plate. “I was a lot sweeter when I was drugged,” I admitted.
He signaled the waiter. “Can we each do one more sambuca?”
The waiter looked at me to confirm I wanted another one, and I nodded. We needed to end on a positive note.
I insisted on picking up the tab and walking him to his hotel. The second sambuca landed hard, and I had to pull out my phone to calculate the tip, which Ben thought was adorable. As we left the restaurant, laughing our way toward Park Avenue, Ben went back to describing how life-changing his trip had been and saying he wished he’d been there with me. He turned toward me and looked so earnest and hopeful that I instinctively leaned in. The next thing I knew, Ben was kissing me, and I was kissing him back, with an intensity that seemed unfamiliar and surprising to both of us.
I hailed a cab. As we slid into the back seat, I mumbled, “Perry and West Fourth Street, please.”
Chapter Fourteen
I couldn’t remember finding my keys or unlocking the door or taking out my contact lenses.
I didn’t recall setting my alarm for 4:45 a.m. so I could throw clothes into a suitcase and make it to the airport on time.
All I know is Ben was next to me when I woke up.
I jumped out of bed and immediately realized I was still drunk.
“I’m supposed to be on a flight to Los Angeles.”
I looked over and saw Ben sitting up in bed, rubbing his right temple. “You have to go to Los Angeles? When?”
I hadn’t realized I was talking out loud. There was no way I could miss my flight. How would I explain to Eddie that I overslept for an 8 a.m. flight?
I had no idea what had happened, or if we’d even used protection. Had he been safe over the year we’d been separated? Did I need to find a twenty-four-hour pharmacy and take Plan B before the flight? My thoughts were racing so loudly, I was sure Ben could hear them.
“My flight is in three hours. I haven’t even taken my suitcase down from the top of my closet ...”
I sat helplessly in the middle of the floor, struggling to make a mental checklist of everything that needed to happen to get myself to JFK. I pointed to the step stool next to the dresser and drew a line with my finger from the step stool to the closet door.
“I need that to go there so I can take that down,” I muttered, pointing to the shelf above the closet.
Ben looked confused. “What time is it?”
I squinted at the clock on the stove and jumped up, totally panicked.
I didn’t have time to spiral.
“It’s almost five a.m. It takes an hour to get to JFK from here ... oh my god, why didn’t I tell Patricia to book me out of Newark?”
Ben threw back the covers and was by my side before I could blink.
“Sam, it’s okay. Just take a later flight ... say you got sick ... but don’t go. Not yet. We need to talk. Please.”
I looked at him as if he had two heads.
“Are you crazy? Ben ... whatever happened last night, we can talk about it when I’m back from LA. Or I can call you when I get there. But I have to make that flight.”
Ben shook his head. “Last night was amazing. The conversation we had at the end of the night, after we got in the cab—we need to talk about itnow. I can’t wait for you to come back from LA. Stay here with me. I’m asking you, Sam. For us.”
I felt a wave of intense nausea and stumbled to the bed. I dropped my head in my hands. The room was spinning.
