“This is it,” Faye murmured.
“Yeah,” Dylan answered. “This is the ugly part.”
I turned toward her. “We’ll call when we land. And tonight. Then again tomorrow. You’re not getting rid of us.”
Her eyes were already shiny. “Good.”
“And we’ll try to see you again before spring training starts,” Dylan said.
“Okay.” She let out a shaky breath and adjusted the strap on her backpack and glanced up at the monitors. “Okay, my gate’s down that way.”
“We’re the opposite direction,” Dylan said absently as he checked his boarding pass. “Since our gate’s closer, we can walk you to yours first.”
She shook her head. “No. Your flight’s earlier. I’ll walk you to yours.”
Our gate sat at the end of a short hallway. The seats were already filled with people.
Dylan checked the screen. “Boarding in about twenty minutes.”
“Too soon,” Faye muttered.
We found a spot off to the side, out of the main flow. She dropped her backpack at her feet and looked between us.
“So this is where I try not to cry and ruin my mascara.” She frowned.
“You’d still be hot,” Dylan answered.
She snorted. “Not the point.”
I took her hand. “You remember the plan?”
“You’ll call when you land in Atlanta,” she recited. “Then again tonight once you’re back in Portland. And we’ll text too much after that, and you’ll harass me with pictures. You two will try to get to Boston before spring training starts, if security and schedules don’t implode. If that fails, we figure something out.”
“That’s it.” I squeezed her fingers.
Dylan rubbed the back of his neck. “You know where we stand on all this.”
“Yeah.” Her gaze moved between us. “You’re in. I’m in. We have no idea how it’s going to go in the next few months.”
The agent at the podium picked up the microphone and announced preboarding. A small group began lining up.
Dylan grimaced. “That’s us in a minute.”
“I hate this,” she whispered.
“Same,” I answered. “But you’re not losing us. You’re just getting on a different plane.”
“For now,” Dylan added.
She took a breath that trembled slightly and stepped into us, looping her arms around our necks and pulling us into a hug. We held on, three people in the middle of a busy gate, pretending we were alone.
“I’m going to miss you,” she said into my shoulder.
“We’re going to make you sick of us on video calls,” Dylan told her.
“That’s the goal,” I added.
The gate agent called our group.
