I look at Caspian. He looks worried. Not about me, though.
He’s worried about the mystery sobber.
“Should you go check that he’s okay?” he asks the girl.
Emma, according to her name tag.
I huff.
Should Caspian maybe check that his boyfriend is okay?
Even in airplanes you’re advised to put on your own oxygen mask before helping others.
Caspian should make sure that I have oxygen before mentally resuscitating blonds from his past.
It’s basic relationship logic.
Emma shrugs.
“He’ll survive.” She tilts her head. “Is Josh your friend?”
Ma che cazzo.
“He’s not my friend,” I say. “That narrows it down, doesn’t it?”
“Antonio,” Caspian says calmly, as if he didn’t just leave me without oxygen and push me out of the plane.
To make room for Josh.
“We’re not doing this now. Do you still want the milkshake?”
“Sure,” I say. “But I will pour it over your head.”
I turn to Emma.
“Excuse me. Do you have a stool I could borrow? He’s very tall.”
Caspian takes my hand.
“We’ll come back another time.”
Outside, I yank my hand free.
He lets me, and suddenly I don’t know where to put my hands.
I fidget with the charms in my bracelet.
“I’m not jealous,” I announce. “But I need to go home for—for personal reasons.”
“Personal reasons?”
He steps closer. I can feel the heat of him.
“Deeply personal.” I’m trying not to cry. “Please respect my privacy during this difficult time.”
I take a step back so he can step into his new future with Josh. The symbolism is tragically beautiful, and my quiet heroism should be studied by future historians.
Caspian assesses me, his jaw flexing. He’s probably planning his happily ever after with Josh.
