A Change of Plans

Ch. 1- An Unexpected Encounter

        “Praise God for weather delays”, I mutter to myself as I drag myself over and drop into an uncomfortably small airport chair with zero back support. Because of the weather, instead of being two minutes late to my flight, I was actually four hours early, which meant, yup, that’s right, airport McDonald’s for dinner. While attempting to down the rest of my lukewarm caffeinated beverage that, being made in hotel coffee pot was much closer to motor oil mixed with milk than coffee, a familiar, yet unwelcome voice behind me says,

        “Did you learn nothing from your speech on caffeine in 9th grade? That much could kill a person your size.” Choking on a mixture of shock and burned coffee grounds, I manage to cough out one word.

        “Jackson.” I turn to see him looking just as handsome as he had three years ago. The same gorgeous blonde hair, the same tan complexion, the same smile that had broken me into pieces. I tense up, the awkwardness of the situation practically begging me to turn and run.

        “Hey Aves.” His grin widens. He reaches over and grabs my coffee from my now stiff hands, smells it, gags, and drops it into a trashcan nearby.

        “Hey!! I was drinking tha-“ I start, but he silences me with a raised eyebrow and a Starbucks cup that magically appears from behind him. I gasp, eyes widening.

        “Still addicted to this stuff? Avery Thompson, I’m ashamed.” His eyes twinkle with delight at having caught my attention. He hands it to me, and I slowly pop off the lid, inhaling deeply at the heavenly scent. Thanking him, I put the lid back on, and take a drink. He says with a satisfied smile,

        “I saw your reaction to whatever that was trying to pass as coffee, and decided to save you taste buds. You’re welcome.” He drags his bag over to where I’m sitting and drops into the bright orange plastic chair next to me. My hands tighten around the cup, tension filling the air already.

        “Soooo, ummm, hi.” He says politely, like one would to a total stranger. I can see his fingers tapping out drum cadences on his leg, just like he always has when he’s uncomfortable or nervous. Biting the inside of my cheek, I shift away from him an inch or so, suddenly feeling awkward and stiff again.

        “Hello,” I say back, in the same cordial tone you use with strangers, remembering the last encounter I had with Jackson Kemp. We make eye contact, and he quickly looks down, keeps drumming. I taste blood in my mouth, reminding me again, that he’s not my Jackson anymore. I quickly stop biting my cheek and he looks up again, and asks,

        “So you’re going back to Dallas?” I nod, and ask him the same question. He smiles a tired smile, nods, and replies,

        “As soon as we land though, I gotta drive to Cleburne.”

        “Grandparents?” I ask.

        “Grandparents.” He confirms. Not wanting to let any more awkward silence ensue, we take turns making polite conversation, catching up on the past few years of each other’s lives. This goes on for about an hour, and right as I feel us both starting to let up, and be comfortable with each other, both of our phones go off. Noticing it’s midnight on the dot, I get a sinking feeling, knowing what’s going to show up on my phone. I pull it out of my bag anyway, and sure enough, a calendar pop-up has appeared that reads-

                                                                October 17

                                                        Anniversary- Jackson :)

                                                                   All Day

        My breath catches, despite the fact that I saw it coming. My eyes dart over to his phone, and it says the exact same thing, with my name in place of his. I suddenly feel too hot, and I can feel the tears building behind my eyes, so I shove my phone into my purse, and try to take deep breaths. We sit in silence for a minute, until he stands abruptly, and we make eye contact. He picks his bag up and slings it over his shoulder, and starts to turn from me, but not before I see the tears filling his own eyes the way I’m certain they are in mine.

        “I have to go,” he says in a pained voice, turning away from me and starting to walk.

        “Go where?” I ask, voice catching, and he stops for a minute, mid-stride, as if contemplating coming back. But he just shakes his head, and I watch Jackson Kemp walk away from me.

Again.