When Locke Foster ditched me again to chase Delphine across the Atlantic, I looked up at the endless stream of jets taking off and landing, and for the first time, I felt utterly, completely bored. This was supposed to be the best time of my life, yet I’d spent so many years stuck in his low-budget romantic drama. I tightened my grip on the plane ticket in my hand and boarded. Ten hours later, I landed. My phone buzzed with Locke’s text: “Ellie, listen, I’m so sorry. Can’t make Milan. Delphine and I worked things out. I’ll make it up to you when I get back.” He always did this, so casually, so openly treating me like his backup plan, always sure that I’d be there waiting. Later, when he inevitably came crawling back, disappointed and expecting me to pick him up at arrivals, he’d try to call, but my number would be blocked. He’d lift his head, and instead, he’d see me sprinting into the arms of a man in a pilot’s uniform, rising onto my toes to press a light kiss to his jaw. 1 Locke kept looking back at me as he approached the security checkpoint. He looked conflicted, wanting to say something, but not sure how to phrase the latest excuse. Finally, his friend, Brody, got fed up and shoved me hard toward Locke. “Come on, Locke, man up. Just break the news to your little spare tire.” Locke caught me, his lips pressed into a thin line. He knew he was in the wrong, and his voice was low, almost pleading. "Ellie, we'll go to Milan next time, I promise. This time..." I tugged at the corner of my mouth, trying to flash the same easy smile I always used, the one that meant it’s okay, I understand. But the sound was stuck in my throat. Brody yanked me away and slapped Locke on the back. "Don't sweat it, man. I'll make sure the Consolation Prize gets home." Locke started to speak to me again, but his phone rang. I watched him answer, his voice instantly shifting to a soft, cajoling tone. “Delphine, I told you I’ll be there in a few hours…” He walked through the security arch without a second thought, his back as straight and final as all the other times he’d abandoned me for Delphine. Brody scratched his head and grabbed my suitcase. “Alright, Little Spare, I’ll take you home.” I pressed my hand onto the handle of my luggage, shaking my head at his irritated expression. “I need a minute alone.” Brody smirked. “Don't tell me you’re still thinking of chasing after him to France, are you? You haven't figured out your role yet? Compared to Delphine, you’re on a totally different plane to him. You’re the ground floor.” When he couldn't convince me, Brody left in a huff. I dragged my suitcase to the glass wall of the terminal and sat down, staring blankly as planes lifted and landed. I tried to pick out the flight that was supposed to have carried Locke and me to Milan today. This wasn't the first time Locke had prioritized Delphine. It wasn't the first time he’d broken our promise. But it was the first time I felt this heavy, soul-deep fatigue washing over me, pooling from my core to my fingertips. Suddenly, I was just so bored. 2 My hands were shaking as I boarded the flight, but the feeling was a strange mix of faint excitement and wild calm. Few people knew that I suffered from such severe acrophobia that the very idea of flying crippled me. Locke had known this about me since childhood. That’s why, after every family trip, he’d describe the breathtaking spectacle of the sky and the foreign landscapes in vivid detail. When he learned I dreamed of Milan, he’d gently run his hand over my hair and promise, “Ellie, I’ll take you. I promise we’ll see it together someday.” I believed him. From the time I was ten until I was eighteen. Then he threw himself into his turbulent, on-again, off-again relationship with Delphine. I silently played the understanding friend, distancing myself whenever they were together. But every time they split, Locke would inevitably come back to me, buy tickets, and say, “Let’s go, Ellie. I’ll finally take you to Milan.” I had a literal shoebox full of those wasted, expired tickets. I managed a self-deprecating smile. It took me until this moment to realize he'd been using that ticket as a dangling carrot, a cheap insurance policy, for years. 3 The plane started to taxi and pick up speed. My hands clenched the armrests, my body rigid against the seat back. The sense of lost gravity made my heart race, and cold sweat broke out on my forehead and back. Suddenly, the plane shuddered violently. I gasped, instinctively grasping the hand that was nearest to the armrest, shutting my eyes tight and trying to breathe. After what felt like an eternity, the hand I was white-knuckle gripping gently shifted its fingers. "Ma'am, are you okay?" I snapped my eyes open and turned my head. A handsome, smiling face was inches from mine. He held up our hands, which were still tightly clasped, and gave them a little shake. "Just a bit of expected air turbulence. It's over now." I realized I’d been squeezing his hand so hard it was pale, and I quickly let go, mumbling an embarrassed apology. He laughed softly, flexing his hand, and turned sideways to face me, instantly familiar. “Small girl, big grip. You’re afraid of flying, but you decided to come alone?” I stared at my still-trembling hands, remembering the name 'Locke' that had almost screamed itself from my mouth during the shake. A bitter ache rose from my fingers to my chest. I forced a tight smile. "I have to get over it. Being dependent on someone to conquer your fears is too heartbreaking." He gave a slight, understanding nod and opened the window shade next to him. "Well, your bravery rewarded you with luck. Look, the sky is rarely this beautiful." I blinked my stinging eyes and looked past him, out the window. The twilight was a brilliant, violent display of color, a bouquet of deep reds and hot oranges, blooming across the vast expanse of the sky. The sheer beauty of it shocked me, and tears streamed down my face. I couldn't stop the silent, ugly sobs. What had I been doing all these years? What had I been waiting for? I had let someone convince me that my prime was secondary, that I didn't deserve this kind of glorious, terrifying beauty. A jacket was gently placed over my head, shielding my moment of raw vulnerability. I finally felt it: I was free to let Locke go, completely and utterly. 4 When we deplaned, I learned the man was Miles Kennedy, a pilot who usually flew this route but was currently taking some time off. I nervously glanced at the jacket in his hand. “Captain Kennedy, thank you for the jacket.” Miles shrugged it off with a casual smile. Then, after a moment’s thought, he turned back to me. “As an apology for startling you, would you join me for lunch?” When I hesitated, he put on a look of mock distress. “There's this one place I’ve wanted to try for ages, but eating alone seems so depressing. I keep missing it.” I’m still not sure how it happened. I had just resolved to enjoy a solo trip, yet the next thing I knew, I was sitting across from him in a chic Italian restaurant. Miles scanned the menu and asked if I had any dietary restrictions. I sadly shook my head. But all the sadness melted away when the beautifully plated food arrived. I took a few photos and, for the first time in ages, posted to social media: "The place I always dreamed of. Finally made it." I wasn't ready for the explosion. Brody, Locke’s obnoxious wingman, was the first to screenshot the post and tag both me and Locke in their group chat. “Locke, man, your Little Spare got smart? She’s playing mind games now, using reverse psychology.” “Wait, Little Spare, whose hand is in the fifth picture? That’s a dude’s hand, right?” Replies poured in: “She probably just found it online. Not even in the States. Bad lie, Ellie.” “Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. The Consolation Prize finally snapped. Been a doormat for too long.” Locke himself finally chimed in, tagging me: “Ellie, this is getting ridiculous.” “I messed up. I’ll bring you a gift when I get back.” I smiled thinly, calmly exited the group chat, and muted it entirely. Back in the chat, Brody’s jaw must have dropped: “The Little Spare went nuclear! She left the group!” Someone else posted: “Guys, this looks legit. I think that’s L’Osteria in Milan. And her backpack charm is visible.” Brody: “Photoshopped. She's desperate. She’ll do anything.” Locke tagged Brody: “Did you take Ellie home like I told you to?” Brody: “...Yeah, man.” Locke: “Let her throw her fit. She’ll get over it. I’ll make it up to her when I’m back.” Brody: “What if it’s real, though?” Locke, stopped at the security gate in the Paris airport, took a deep breath and typed: “It can’t be. She has an issue. She can’t fly to Milan.” But as he sent the message, Locke felt a profound, chilling sense of anxiety, and the hand hovering over his screen trembled.
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