Standard Runs Through the Airport

Her flight would be leaving in an hour. Hopefully that would be enough time. She let the TSA officers pat her down while they scanned her bags. Nothing suspicious. She hadn't brought much, anyway.

She moved into the waiting area at her terminal and pulled a small mirror out of her bag, rubbing in some of the foundation that was still wet along her neck. Her fingers traced the red blotches along her throat, and she found herself remembering the way they'd felt in the moment, the kisses and the caresses and the way he'd been so warm...

He'd done things to her that she hadn't realized she'd wanted. She'd originally thought of him in a very high-schooley way...cute and sweet, the kind of guy to bake her cookies or bring her roses. Her gaze had always lingered along his forearms and his jawline and his chest, but she hadn't thought much about what would come afterwards if she'd kissed him, or held him. Her other experiences with sex had been so brief. A boob squeeze here, a "my-parents-are-upstairs" there, a handjob or two in the backseat of her parents' limo. She hadn't gone all the way with anybody.

And, admittedly, it had been nice. She floated a little bit just thinking about it. When she'd kissed his shoulders, when he'd lifted up her thigh, when she'd traced her fingers along his back...she'd felt breathless. If that was how sex was supposed to feel, and if last night was everything she wasn't supposed to be doing, then frankly, she felt a little robbed.

She'd always assumed that at some point, she would be able to do the things her father told her she wasn't able to do. Someday, she would drink. Someday, she would have sex. Someday, she would be CEO of the company. But other people drank, and other people had sex, and other people had careers and apartments and lives they were in full control over. Why did it have to be different for her? When would this huge embargo over all the "real life" things be lifted? It was a feeling she'd always tried not to think about, because it went against everything she stood for. She was a good daughter, and she was the one who did everything right.

But was her dad doing right by her? She wasn't sure she knew anymore. He'd gone off and sold the company without her. What was the point of all these rules, if it meant she couldn't touch and be touched like that again, or drink vodka and get dizzy in the head again? Was it really true that trying alcohol or weed would turn her into a "drunk and junkie?" And if she did turn into one, would it really be so bad?

Across from her, someone was reading the newspaper. Eklund Wants to Retire, Spend Big Paycheck on Bahamas.

Never mind. It was the company that mattered. That was what she had always wanted. And it was probably better to go for what she'd always wanted, than just "some guy" that had popped up out of nowhere and given her a really good orgasm.

Just some guy. That was a little harsh, even for her. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she wiped them away.

"Imogene!"

She jolted at the sound of her name. Someone was at the entrance to TSA. Someone in a button-down, with a little orange backpack and a huge part in their hair.

"Moss?" she exclaimed, and rushed towards the gate.

He smiled a little bit when he saw her, and she wondered if she, too, was smiling. But they couldn't meet for a while, because TSA took forever. She watched him get patted down and remove his shoes, with his typical stiff, awkward gait, and almost remove his pants before being reprimanded by the TSA agents. Moss entered the gate, his chest heaving from how fast he must have had to run there, and she wondered what would happen if she kissed him right there. It would be just like in the movies. Maybe that's where it should stay.

"I brought you a gift," he said nervously.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small plastic package. She reached out and took it from him. Her fingers brushed against his. Her hands must be so cold. His were warm. She blushed a little, thinking about all the places they'd been.

She smiled a little bit. "A snickerdoodle?"

"It's supposed to be chewy," he said. "Even though we both know I find that to be the inferior form of the snickerdoodle." He paused. "I don't find you inferior though."

She looked around. "Are you getting on the plane?"

"Well, I have a boarding pass and a ticket and my passport. It was a bit of a rush to get everything."

"But...why?"

"I thought it would be like in the movies," he said. "But now I might be going to America. Or not going to America. We didn't really think that part through."

They looked at each other. Her fingers were already growing sweaty against the plastic package of the snickerdoodle.

"Do you want to sit down?" she asked him.

"Yeah, that would be nice. I've done a lot of running. Too much running."

He took the seat right next to her. Their shoulders touched. She felt the sleeve of his coat against her cardigan. He was so close she could smell him. The inside seam of a comic book. Coffee. Sweat.

"You don't have to accept my apology," he said gravely. "Because I'm not really expecting that you forgive me. I'm sorry we had sex when you didn't really want to. I should have pushed you away and left if we were both drunk. I just want you to know I don't plan to do anything like that again, with anybody or with you. And...I don't know if it matters, but there really is nothing between Jen and I. It was years ago. I hardly ever think about it."

They stared at each other. Imogene didn't know what to say. She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

"Oh..." said Moss, suddenly whipping his orange backpack into his lap. "I do have another gift for you. I thought you might like something to do on the plane."

He pulled out a thick book. Judge Dredd: The Complete Case Files. Imogene took it gingerly. Her eyes were wet.

"Do you not like it?" he asked. "Because if you don't I can take it back."

"No, it's really nice, I just..." She paused and wiped her eyes. "I don't know what to say."

"That's funny. I feel like you usually do."

"Well, then, you'd be the first to think so."

Moss blushed and bit his lip. "You're the first person to think a lot of things about me, too."

She looked into his eyes. She found herself leaning towards him, deeper into his shoulder. It was strange how much she wanted his closeness.

Suddenly, the flight attendant announced over the radio that the plane was boarding. Moss and Imogene stood up and gathered their things. Imogene looked at him, at the boarding pass in his hand.

"Are we going to America now?" Moss asked.

"I am," she said.

He held a strap of his backpack in each hand, one with the boarding pass. He hesitated. "But...am I going to America now?"

She looked at the line to board. She looked back at him, and smiled.

"I think I'll need some help to stop this merger."