Page 98 of The Parent Trap

“Hey, um, ma’am?” A voice to my left, male, elderly, and confused. “Would you mind letting go of my hand?”

I start, and realize I’ve grabbed the hand of the man next to me, in the window seat. He’s about seventy-five or so and seems perplexed. We’re still on our approach to land, and it’s not like I’m scared of flying. But yet I was gripping his hand so hard I left white fingerprints.

“Ohmygod, I’m so sorry!” I yank my hand away and shove them between my knees. “I’m sorry.”

“Not a fan of flying?” he says, sounding sympathetic.

“Actually, I’m fine with flying. It’s more…” I wonder what to say to this random stranger. “I’m just eager to get home.”

He smiles, kindly and understanding. “Someone waiting for you?”

I smile back. “Yeah. My…” I swallow hard when I realize the next word is the truth. “My boyfriend.”

“Had to think about that one, eh?”

I laugh. “It’s new, and still developing.”

“And you’re not sure if you want to put it in that particular box, just yet?”

I look at him in surprise, and he just laughs.

“Things were different when I was young,” he says, “but when I met my wife of forty-two years, we saw each other every day and we’d take drives and do the kinds of things young kids do, you know.” A knowing, naughty wink. “But when she wanted to tell people we were going steady, I balked.”

“What changed your mind?”

He tapped the armrest between us. “I went on a trip. Out east, to interview for college. And when I was gone, I realized I missed her something awful. If you miss ’em, it’s something worth naming.”

“If you miss them,” I repeat. “It’s something worth naming.”

“You missed him?”

“Yeah. A lot.”

“Putting a label on it, putting it in a so-called ‘box’—he puts air quotes around it—“doesn’t reallychangeanything. Just changes your perception. I think it just means you’re scared of committing to it. If there’s no label of relationship, of boyfriend and girlfriend or what have you, then you’re not committed to it. It’s less real.” A shrug. “That’s just you lying to yourself. You can be all the way committed to something—to someone—and not realize it, and not have it in a nice neatly labeled little box. It’s still what it is, you just haven’t named it yet.” He glances at the ceiling as the pilot announces that we’re making our approach for landing and to fasten seatbelts; we both put ours on, and then he continues. “Naming things gives them power. That’s where the fear comes from. If you name it, it feels more real. But then, the flip side is, when you name it, you take away the unknown, to a degree. And that should, once you accept it, make you less afraid.”

I nod. “That makes a lot of sense, actually.”

He pats my hand. “And most of the time, there’s nothing to be afraid of anyway. If he’s worth missing, then he’s worth naming the relationship for.”

“Thank you for the advice.”

He waves a hand. “It’s not really advice, it’s just some things I’ve learned in my life.”

“Well, it’s appreciated, whatever you call it.”

He just nods, and the conversation ends there.

But I’m left thinking, as we land and taxi to the jetway. When we disembark, I wave and smile at my seatmate, and head to collect my luggage. Back to my car.

The drive home is a little over an hour, and I spend it thinking about Thai, about what we are, what we have. What it is.

He’s my boyfriend.

I feel a little giddy, at that. But it’s true. And I like it.

I’ve never been so glad to put my car into park. I sit for a moment, and just breathe. I’m not at home—I’m at Thai’s condo.

I’m going to use the key he gave me, let myself into his house—where I’ve never even been—and I’m going to climb into his bed with him.