As I sit in the private VIP lounge at JFK, it’s as though my heart is trapped on a roller coaster with no controller and I can’t see any way to get off. I’ve just got to ride it out, no matter how sick it makes me feel. A crazy jumble of thoughts and emotions tumbles around in my mind, like odd socks in a dryer. Happiness at the prospect of finally seeing London and Squirt after so long. Apprehension, wondering why she finally reached out to me in her own strange way. Real fear that she has news and it’s not good.

The many permutations of what that could be are enough to induce nausea. I used to be fearless. Nothing scared me. Nothing in life, and not even death. Now I look back and see that I had nothing to fear because I wasn’t really living. It turns out that only when you truly live do you give a shit about dying.

I sent London a bunch of frequent flier points to upgrade her flight because I didn’t want her flying cattle class all that way while she’s carrying my baby. Our baby. I also pulled some strings using my invitation-only lifetime blue-diamond-level frequent flyer privileges and celebrity status to allow her access to the restricted VIP lounge.

Not even a first-class ticket will get you in here unless you’re an invited VIP member, and traveling by private jet. The big advantage of the lounge is that after clearing customs, instead of leaving the airport via the normal departure door, she gets to come out through a private exit, thus avoiding the paparazzi hordes bound to be out in force.

Me in the open arrivals hall is not a good idea unless we want our reunion live-streamed across the world, and to cause a riot of epic proportions. I think I’m safe in acting on London’s behalf when I assume that she wouldn’t want that kind of attention and commotion any more than I would. The only alternative would have been for a driver to meet her at arrivals while I waited in the car. I didn’t want that either. It seemed too impersonal, and I want to be able to hug her properly as soon as I see her, if she’ll let me. You can’t easily do that in the car.

So here I sit on the edge of one of the supposedly comfortable lounge chairs, wringing my hands until I have shooting pains. This follows more than half an hour of pacing the small space. After what seems like an eternity, the glass doors at one end of the room swish open to reveal London on the threshold. I’m paralyzed waiting for her next move. She hesitates, looking uncertain, and I hold my breath. A beat… two… three. At last she moves, slowly at first as her eyes scan the room, then faster as they lock with mine. Tog. My nickname for her is on the tip of my tongue, but I resist the urge to call out. I need to let her make the first move.

As she walks across the room, I take in her appearance. She looks… well. She’s glowing again. I’m glad she appears to be so much healthier and better rested than the last time. Her slightly sallow complexion, sunken cheeks, and dark-ringed eyes have been replaced by rounded cheeks and bright tan skin. She even seems well-rested despite her epic flight from Australia.

Best of all, where the last time I saw her, her clothes hung loosely from her frail frame, she has now filled out. I love so clearly seeing evidence of our baby growing inside her.

Being near her again is like stumbling across an oasis in the desert. She’s so out-of-this-world beautiful, and I’m hoping she’s no mirage. My breath catches in my throat. It’s not that I had forgotten her beauty, just that every time I see her, especially after an extended absence, she seems even more gorgeous than the last time. In a word, she looks like a fucking wet dream.

She picks up her pace, abandoning her carry-on as she moves toward me, running the last few steps before jumping into my arms. I hesitate, momentarily floored. I’m especially shocked at the feel of her bump between us but recover quickly. Tog. I can’t believe I have her here in my arms. Her and Squirt. I squeeze her tight, perhaps a little too tightly, but I can’t help myself. I need to check that she’s real and not a figment of my desperate imagination.

As she burrows her face into the crook of my neck, I feel dampness on my skin and her body quivering against mine. Her sobs are silent. My girl is here and she’s crying. No, she’s bawling. In my arms. As much as I want to cling to her for dear life, I force myself to pull back so I can see her face. Sure enough, huge tears cascade down her cheeks.

“Hey, hey, Tog, baby, what’s the matter?” I swipe at her tears, but it’s to no avail; they continue to spill from her eyes faster than I can wipe them away.

“London, c’mon, sweets, you’re killing me here. What’s wrong?”

She pulls in a ragged breath, clearly trying to regain control. I wait, wanting to give her time. I know when she’s ready to talk, she will.

Moments pass, and finally she speaks.

“I saw the gig.”

Of course you did. Everyone saw the gig, which was totally the plan.

“Oh. Did you like it?”

“I loved it.”

Thank fuck!

“And it made me realize that I owe you an apology for a lot of things, but first and foremost for taking off and leaving the ultrasound image the way I did. I don’t know what came over me. It was a horrible, selfish, and childish thing to do, and I’m so ashamed of myself. In my defense, I was crazy hormonal at the time—pregnancy really wreaks havoc with all that. Poor Marko, I think he was a little freaked out for a while there—it was like living with Mary Poppins one minute and Freddy Krueger the next. He never knew what to do for the best. He was so good with me though. I love him.”

I wince. I get the feeling it’s never not going to sting when she talks about him that way.

“You know I don’t mean it like that, but he’s my best friend and my rock. He’s been there for me time and time again.”

“I know.” But I want to be her rock, and the alpha dog in me will probably always want to kill him. I pull her down onto the couch next to me.

“I was monstrously sick in early pregnancy. I had just passed the worst of it the last time we were together, but the exhaustion had taken a toll. You saw how run-down I was.”

I did. It worried me at the time, but I never would have guessed why—I had no reason to suspect she was pregnant. Not least because I associate pregnancy with gaining weight, not losing it. I just assumed that the situation with Marnie was getting to her. It was a fair assumption under the circumstances.

“Still, none of that justifies my behavior. It’s all just excuses, and really, there is no excuse. It was a low act, and I’m truly so, so sorry. When I arrived in Sydney and told my parents what had gone down, they were absolutely disgusted and horrified at my behavior. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my father so enraged. To the point where I’m actually surprised they didn’t turn around, drive me back to the airport, and bundle me onto the next flight home, that’s how ashamed of me they were. Rightly so.”

I angle my body toward her, bending one leg up on to the sofa, my side pressed against the back cushion. As though on autopilot, she mirrors my action so we’re facing each other. I literally can’t stop looking at her. I slide one hand along the back of the seat. With the other, I reach out and tuck some stray curls behind her ear that have escaped from the messy bun on top of her head. She hesitates as I lower my hand to rest on hers in her lap.

“I’d like to say I was big enough to see the error of my ways as soon as they pointed it out to me, but unfortunately, that’s not the case. You know how stubborn I am.”

Ha! Nobody knows it better than me. It takes one to know one, after all.

“The only people I know who are worse than me in that regard are you and Marko. Even when it did sink in just how wrong I had been, I couldn’t admit it, not even to myself. I was crippled with… I don’t know… fear? Shame? I didn’t know how to get out of the corner I’d painted myself into. I read each of your messages to ‘Squirt’ over and over, and I really wanted to respond, but I didn’t know what to say. How the fuck do you explain to someone else what you can’t even fully understand yourself? How do you apologize for something as hideous as that from so far away?”

It’s obviously important to her to clear the air and set things straight in her own way. As difficult as it is for both of us, I let her continue, silently offering her my support and reassurance by gently rubbing the back of her hand with my thumb. As I listen intently, my mind is dominated by one thought, repeated over and over: I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care. I don’t care what happened to bring us to this point, I just care that she and Squirt are here now. Everything else is just noise.

“It took me watching that gig, seeing the emotion on your face and hearing those lyrics, to see what a raging bitch I’d been. I had to put my big girl panties on and fix it before there was nothing left to fix. I played this so badly—to think I’m going to be somebody’s mother in a few months, and here I am behaving like a selfish child myself. I’ve woken up to myself now, and I really I hope it’s not too late.” She searches my face, so desperately in need of reassurance. She looks so fucking defeated. I want to comfort her but can’t get my shit together enough to organize the thoughts going through my mind. Instead, I shake my head mutely. It will never be too late.

“You got the tattoo of the hummingbird in the summer.” It’s a statement, not a question. Her voice is little more than a whisper.

“Yeah.” I stroke the spot where it sits on my chest. Even fully clothed, I know exactly where it is—over my heart. I’ve traced my finger around it more times than I could count.

“You don’t have it in that video.”

“No. Here.” I keep stroking her hand, reaching into the inside pocket of my leather jacket with the other one to retrieve a piece of paper. Withdrawing my hand from hers to unfold it, I pass it to her. Her eyes scan it quickly, and she looks at it quizzically, then back to me.

“I have to admit I had no idea specifically when that footage was taken, but I always knew it was before you and I were together. Look, I know I’ve said it before, but I want to confirm it to you again. I broke things off with Marnie as soon as I realized I had feelings for you. Once we were done, I never thought of going back there, even for a second.”

London opens her mouth to speak, but I press my fingers to her lips, shaking my head, and continue.

“In fact, she was the first person I told I was in love with you. I am in love with you. The whole time you’ve been away, I’ve had lawyers and a private dick on the case trying to get to the bottom of what the fuck happened, and….” I point to the piece of paper in London’s hand.

“What’s this?” A deep frown settles on her face as she searches mine again.

“It’s a report from the private detective looking into the case.”

She looks down at the paper again. She clearly still has no idea what I’m talking about.

“To cut a long and boringly technical story short, every photo or video we take on our phone has its own set of unique identifies like fingerprints that are saved in cyberspace. Clever techy people can access that data and tell a whole lot of stuff about the image or video, like what device it was taken on and exactly where and when. The piece of paper you’re holding is the metadata for the video of Marnie and me. The lawyers have had this information for a while now, but I only thought of it again after the gig and after I knew you were coming home. Look at the date.”

She scans the paper again, frowning even more. I see the exact moment she zeros in on the date. “It says it was recorded on October 21, last year, at 2:38 a.m.”

“Yeah. It was before we even met.”

Her expression clouds over. Uh-oh. I thought this would be good news.

“Listen, Arlo, what I was trying to say before you stopped me was that you don’t owe me an explanation. The video was a shock, of course it was, but I was totally out of order in my reaction. You were right when you questioned my trust. I told you I trusted you. Told you I loved you. Then at the first hurdle, I threw it all back in your face, then didn’t even have the guts to admit that that’s what I was doing. I shouldn’t have needed anything other than your word to believe what you—not some metadata, not a court case. Your word should have been enough. You’re right, you’ve never given me any reason to doubt your love or loyalty. In fact, you’ve shown me time and time again with your actions that you love me and are here for me, no matter what.”

None of it matters. “It doesn’t matt—”

“No. Stop. Don’t let me off the hook. It totally matters. If I were dealing with me, I’d have kicked me to the curb by now and walked out the door. I can’t believe you’re still here.”

“I’m right here, Tog. There was never an option of me being anywhere else. This is where I’ll always be, for as long as you’ll have me.” Longer.

“Well, I had to go all the way to Australia to figure out it’s where I want you to be, so I guess you’re one step ahead of me.”

Ha! Not even close. London’s been holding all the cards since this thing of ours—whatever we’re going to call it—started. I might be the one with the means and opportunity to pull out the grand gestures sometimes, but she’s the one who calls the shots, and I have a feeling that’s the way it’s always going to be. Honestly, as long as she’s in my life, I’m happy with that.

I look down, getting my first proper view of London’s baby bump. I felt it pushing against me as we hugged before, but I haven’t had a chance to really take it in until now. Wow. That’s definitely a bump, all right. Either that or she swallowed a basketball. The rest of her looks more or less the same, but there’s definitely no mistaking that belly. I’m amazed at how much it’s grown in the weeks since she left, and I love seeing the physical evidence of the new life we created growing inside her.

“So how’s everything?” I point to Squirt.

“Everything’s fine. Better than fine. We’re both doing great. Now that I’ve stopped puking up a lung several times a day and am no longer falling asleep at the drop of a hat, I feel good too.”

I can’t help but smile.

“That’s amazing, Tog, well done.”

“Thanks. I haven’t really done anything, but I’m so happy and relieved. I don’t know what I would do if everything wasn’t okay.”

You and me both.

“Can I?” I point to Squirt again, hands outstretched. London nods slowly, and I reach out farther, placing my palms on her rounded stomach. Holy. Motherfucking. Shit. I’m hit with the most intense wave of emotion I’ve ever experienced. Pride, love, fear. Who knows what else? I briefly wonder if that hormonal shit can affect fathers too, because right now I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I look to the side, not wanting London to know how overcome I am, but even with my head turned, I’m sure she can’t miss the shit-eating grin spreading across my face.

The seconds tick by, and just as I’m about to remove my hands for fear of making London feel awkward, she lightly presses hers down on top of mine. I turn back to look at her and see similar emotions to mine reflected in her features. I truly don’t know what to think about that, but I know I really fucking want to kiss her. I remove my hands from beneath hers before I do something we’ll both regret.

“I have a car waiting. Shall we go?” I can’t bring myself to break eye contact.

“Uh. Yeah, okay, let’s do that.” She looks away. What’s on her mind?

I pick up London’s abandoned carry-on and lead her out to the waiting car, where our driver has already loaded her checked baggage. As the car wends its way to the city, the two of us sit in the back in amiable silence, neither feeling the need to fill the space with inane chatter. There is so much I want to say to her, and to ask her, but I decide to take things slowly. I don’t want to spook her.

In the end, it’s London who breaks the silence.

“Umm… we just missed the exit. Where are we headed?”

“Home.” I keep my tone neutral and my eyes straight ahead.

“So, like I said, we just missed the Brooklyn turnoff.” Her frown deepens.

“I meant to Rosemond House. Our house. I asked you to move in, and you said yes, remember?” I tell myself to act as normal and casual as possible. We haven’t discussed our living arrangements now that she’s back in the country yet. I don’t want us to get into a fight straight out of the gate, but there’s no way in hell I’m accepting anything other than the two of us, then the three of us, living under the same roof. On the other hand, now that I have her back in the same hemisphere, I don’t want to spook her. Gently does it.

“Of course I remember, but that was before….” The sentence hangs in midair.

Before the video. Before her already flimsy trust in me was shot to pieces.

“Anyway, I know I said I want you in our lives, and I do, but I’m not ready to move in at this point. Not even close. I mean, my feet have barely hit the ground. I need time… I think it’s best if I go to my place. I can settle in, get back on track, and we can take it from there.”

“Yeah… um… about that.”

“What, Arlo?” Suspicion weighs heavily in her tone.

“It’s a surprise. Just a little while longer, and all will be revealed.”