Tyler puts down his carry-on suitcase and hugs me one last time before heading into the airport security line. “Don’t forget to send me photos from rehearsals,” he says. “I want to see your costumes. Oh, and the first time they drench you in blood at rehearsal, you’d better Snapchat me that shit or I’ll never forgive you.”

“Only if you promise to send me a selfie when you’ve got your full Dolphins uniform on for the first time. I want to see your name on the back.”

He looks like he’s getting choked up.

I touch his cheek. “Babe, there’s no crying in football.”

He nods.

“I’m just a text or phone call away. Any time you want to talk, I’ll be here. Any time you want to watch an episode of The Office with me on FaceTime, I’m in. Any episode you want, as long as it’s not from season eight or from before Pam and Jim get together.”

“Well, duh. I’m not a complete moron, Zooey.”

We share a sad smile.

I lift my face to him, and he presses his lips against mine. “I love you, beaver,” he whispers. “I’ll love you as long as I live. Always know that.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Please don’t say it like that. It makes it seem like this is goodbye forever. It’s not. I’m coming to your first game, remember? And I’m sure I can make it to games you play on the west coast. And there’s always Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks. This isn’t goodbye.”

I don’t know why I’m babbling like this. We’ve already talked about all this, several times. And when we did, we both came to the stark realization the actual opportunities for us to see each other will be so few and far between, and likely so short and unsatisfying when they do occur, they might actually feel more heartbreaking than uplifting. In fact, after we looked hard at the reality of the situation, it was me who suggested we shouldn’t be exclusive any more. It’s just too hard to make long-term commitments when we know Tyler will probably be in Miami for the next four years at least, and I’ll be here in LA, followed by chasing my Broadway dreams. And so, we’ve made the mature and rational decision to be friends who love each other deeply and who might get to see each other on special occasions and quite happily fuck each other’s brains out when they do. But we are officially no longer in a committed relationship. And we are officially not going to be sad about it, because this new chapter in our lives came about thanks to Tyler’s lifelong dreams coming true. Which is totally and completely awesome.

“You’d better go,” I say. “You don’t want to be late for your flight.”

Tyler nods. “Oh, hey, I almost forgot. Look at this nifty shirt I had made for the occasion.” He unzips his fleece to reveal the phrase I Love Beaver! emblazoned across his broad chest.

I’m aghast. “Tyler.” I look around, half expecting someone from TMZ to pop out from behind a luggage cart and snap a photo. “Cover that up, babe. Someone might see.”

He laughs.

“Thanks for the sentiment, but you can’t wear that. Someone will take a photo, and it’ll go viral and the whole world will think Tyler Caldwell is the biggest douchebag pervert sexist in the world.”

Tyler chuckles again.

“I’m not kidding, love. Your branding is really important now. You’re on a national stage. You have to think about that kind of thing now.”

“Relax, little freshman, I’ve got a change of shirts in my bag. I just wanted to see you freak out over it. Mission accomplished.”

“Very funny.” I bite my lip. “And very sweet. Thank you.”

“It’s yet another instance of our elephant wearing his elephant T-shirt, don’t you think?” He winks at me and zips up his fleece again. “Seriously, I’m a genius with this T-shirt thing. Just watch. It’s gonna be huge.”

“No doubt.” I kiss him. “Text me when you land so I know you’re safe.”

“I will.” He touches my hair. Pulls on a strand and watches it spring back. “God, I’m gonna miss this beautiful hair.”

I take a deep, steadying breath. My only job today is to keep our farewell light and bright so he can walk onto that airplane feeling nothing but excitement about this new chapter of his life. “I’ll miss this superhero chin,” I say, touching his steel chin with my fingertip. “But I’ll be happy knowing you’re doing what you were born to do. No matter what happens, one day we’ll look back on the twists and turns of our lives and say, ‘I wouldn’t change a thing because it got me to where I am right now, and right now is fucking awesome.’ You’ll see. Everything happens for a reason. I firmly believe that.”

Tyler bites his cheek.

“So get on that plane and kick some ass and enjoy every minute of this crazy ride. You’ve worked too hard not to enjoy the fruits of your labor.”

For a split second, Tyler looks like he’s stuffing down tears. But he takes a deep breath and regains control. “I’ll text you when I land.” With that, he kisses my cheek, picks up his suitcase, and strides with purpose into the security line.

For the next few minutes, I stand frozen watching him, even though all he’s doing is standing in a security line with his back to me. I know it’s stupid, but I need to see his face one last time before I can leave, even if it’s just in profile.

Finally, Tyler reaches the front of the line. He shows his ID and boarding pass to the TSA officer and, thank God, as he does, I get a glimpse of his handsome profile. The officer waves Tyler through and he walks toward the screening area. But just before Tyler gets to the entryway to the screening area, he surprises me by turning completely around and searching the crowd.

Our eyes lock.

Tyler flashes me a crooked smile, and I touch my heart. He makes a face like, Can you believe this? and I laugh and nod. Yes, I can. A nearby TSA agent says something to Tyler, and he nods at the woman. But his gaze immediately returns to me. He graces me with one last, heartbreaking smile and a palm pressed against his heart. And then he turns around, walks through the entryway to the screening area, and disappears.

I stand rooted to my spot for a long time, irrationally thinking he might pop through the entryway again. But, of course, he doesn’t. He’s gone.

“O, I am Fortune’s fool,” I whisper softly.

My shoulders drooping, I turn on my heel and begin walking through swarms of travelers, feeling like I’m trudging through molasses. After about ten steps, I stop short, my breathing too ragged and my vision too blurred by tears to continue. I stumble to a nearby bench and plop myself down, a deer in headlights. One more glance at the entryway where Tyler disappeared only moments ago and the bottomless sorrow I’ve been stuffing down for three solid days lurches out of my mouth and pours out of me in the form of racking, wretched sobs.