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The Denver Situation

Song : Colder Weather - Zach Brown Band

T he goodbyes always felt like an eternity, no matter how many times I ’ d done them before.

The hugs were always the same: tight, lingering, full of unspoken words that echoed through the air long after they were over.

My mom ’ s arms wrapped around me like she was afraid I might slip away, and as she pulled back, her face was a mix of worry and love.

“Be careful, okay?” she said, her Trinidadian accent thick with concern.

“And don’t forget to eat, my girl.” I smiled softly, fighting the lump in my throat.

“I won’t forget, Mom.”

“Text me when you land, even if it’s late. ”

“I will,” I promised.

My dad stood behind her, his arms crossed as he tried to mask his emotions.

He wasn’t one for overt displays of affection, but I could feel the weight of his pride in the way he looked at me.

His expression softened, and for a moment, I saw the father I remembered from my childhood—the one who’d carried me when I was too tired to walk, the one who told me to never settle for anything less than what I deserved.

“You got everything?” he asked, his voice gravelly, yet gentle.

I glanced over at the pile of bags near the door. There was Nacho’s carrier, my carry-on, and a small purse.

I double-checked my phone.

“I think so.”

“You’ll be fine,” he said, giving me a rare nod of approval.

“Safe travels.”

I squeezed his hand before turning to head out. But just before I reached the door, I heard my mom’s voice again.

“Make sure you call us when you get there, alright?” I simply nodded.

“I will. ”

I got to my gate and—oh, joy of joys—the screen said my flight was delayed.

Not because of Denver weather like they’d been threatening all day.

Nope. Houston had decided to throw a thunderstorm soirée after I’d already left.

You can’t make this stuff up. It was like the universe was playing a game of “How inconvenient can we make this girl’s trip?

” Or this episode is called “How bad does she want the dick” Har, Har universe.

Naturally, I did what any emotionally exhausted woman would do—I dragged myself and my tiny chihuahua, Nacho, to the Outback Steakhouse that happened to be located right next to my gate.

He sat in his carrier like a miniature king surveying his kingdom, and I ordered an old-fashioned.

Then another. And, for symmetry, a third.

Jon was on FaceTime, equal parts amused and concerned like he wanted to sign me up for AA himself as I sipped my feelings.

“I think this is what they call ‘taking the edge off,’” I said, stirring my drink like I was auditioning for a sad-girl cocktail commercial.

“At this rate, you’ll be naming the ceiling tiles by drink four,”

Jon teased.

He looked good, too—too good for someone on the other side of the country, making me wish teleportation was real.

Three drinks and a few blurry jokes later, the gate agent finally got on the mic and said the words we’d been dying to hear: “Now boarding.” I downed the rest of my drink like a champion, paid my alcoholic bill, scooped up Nacho, and made a beeline for the plane.

“Wheels up” I texted Jon.

We finally landed in Denver hours later, and by that time I was the human version of a melted crayon.

But I wasn’t done yet. My connecting gate?

Gate 139. My current location? Gate 32. Because why not make this a full-blown triathlon?

So there I was, practically sprinting across the airport with a three-pound chihuahua strapped to my back and my carry-on slamming into my calves every few steps.

I was breathless, slightly hungover from the old-fashioned, and trying not to cry.

By the time I got to Gate 139, the plane was pulling away from the jet bridge like a moody ex-boyfriend who “just can’t do this right now.

” I wasn’t the only one left behind—there were seven of us total, a ragtag crew of weary souls who all stared in collective horror as our hopes disappeared down the runway.

I FaceTimed Jon immediately. He answered on the first ring, since he’d been waiting, hoping I’d say I made it. Instead, I just shook my head.

“They closed the gate. The plane left. It’s gone,” I said, trying not to sound like I was narrating a Nicholas Sparks scene.

His face fell. “Damn.”

I could tell he was disappointed, and that somehow made me love him more. But instead of sulking, he just took a deep breath and said, “Alright. I’m gonna cook chicken livers and rice.”

“For us?” I asked, hopeful and delusional.

“For Nacho. He deserves a proper welcome.” Honestly, that made me melt.

The man was preparing a home-cooked meal for my dog.

If that wasn’t love, I didn’t know what was.

Meanwhile, I got in line at the airline’s version of purgatory—customer service—and was informed the next available flight to Idaho Falls would be at 10:30 a.m. the next day.

Perfect— I’m spending the fucking night in fucking Denver airport.

So I mentally adjusted to the idea that I’d be spending the night in this shithole airport.

I ran to the only bar open to grab dinner and of course — an old-fashioned and FaceTimed Jon .

The bar was an hour from closing so I ate an overpriced steak, cashed out and headed towards the overnight sleeping area part of the airport, Jon in my pocket as I bought a neck pillow, 3 airport blankets, some soda and water for nacho with a cold cut sandwich.

I made our bed by the window portion of the gate and cuddled up with Nacho and the overpriced vending machine snacks.

It wasn’t the glamorous reunion I’d envisioned.

No soft snowflakes drifted down as Jon lifted me off the ground in an airport rom-com swoop.

No dramatic kiss at baggage claim. Just me, my tiny chihuahua, and a night under the fluorescent lights of gate seating.

But even in all that chaos, I knew one thing for sure: Jon—and the chicken livers—would be waiting.

The worst part about tonight is — I couldn’t stop thinking about this man’s dick — was it big, what if it’s tiny …

oh god I need help, well technically I needed to know what Jon’s cock felt like and at least I was halfway to finding out.

I stayed on the phone with him until I passed out as usual, he was so loving and protective I probably wouldn’t put it past him if the man watched me sleep in the airport on FaceTime all night.

After passing out I woke up at around 2 am and looked up, only to see the most beautiful view of snow coming down heavily against the window wall of the D gate area in the most picturesque scene ever as I lay there staring at the snow in an attempt to distract myself from the noise around me.

A voice echoed through the airport every now and then, announcing delays and cancellations, and I felt a pang of frustration every time.

But I couldn’t afford to waste time being upset.

I had to push through. After all, it wasn’t the end of the world.

I just needed to get to Idaho Falls. And then, finally, I would be with Jon. That chatty fucking man.

Hours passed in what felt like a haze. I barely noticed when the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a long shadow across the airport.

I sprouted up immediately and saw the time — 7:38 AM.

I decided to head to the ladies' room to freshen up and change into a new Denver, Colorado T-shirt I bought at the gates so that I wouldn’t smell like the airport when I got to Idaho Falls.

I rushed to Jonny Rockets to grab one of those famous omelets, finish some apartment work I had and FaceTime Jon before my 10:30 flight.

It wasn’t until I opened my email did I see the lease for the highrise in Minnesota I applied for months ago came back approved, what the fuck?

I forgot about applying to that place but I’m a sucker for a highrise apartment in the sky, well move-in wasn’t until June 1st so that gave me enough time if things didn’t work out with Jon.

I sat there dumbfounded for a second then I called Jon, I decided not to tell him about the lease approval in Minnesota, I didn’t want that to interfere with how this was going to play out.

“Good morning, beautiful” his eyes just as bright as the sun glaring through the airport glass.

We talked about how in just a few hours, we would be reunited and of course, for me all I could think about was this man’s dick but it wasn’t until the final boarding call for my flight rang out that I snapped back to reality.

I put Jon in my pocket, Nacho on my back and bolted towards my promised trip for penis.

As I made my way to the gate, a sense of anticipation washed over me once again.

Finally. After what felt like an eternity, I was going to be one step closer to him.

I could almost see Jon’s face as I boarded the plane—his smile, his eyes, the warmth of his presence.

And, just as I settled into my seat, my phone buzzed with a new message.

Jon: I’m here waiting for you. See you soon, babe.

I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE THIS MAN!