“Wait, Hanoi? When? How much am I allowed to spend? Where do you want to connect through? How—”
“As soon as possible. I don’t care. I don’t care. Please do this now,” I replied, now calm. “Benjamin, I’m leaving the office to go home and get my passport and then I’m heading for the airport. Jillian’s going to drive me so I can make some calls on the way. Find out what you can and call me as soon as you know more, okay?”
“Okay, you got it. You sure you want to—”
“You’re telling me that Simon is unconscious somewhere in the world. What the hell would I be doing right now?” I asked, handing the phone back to Jillian and heading for the door. “I’ll be ready to leave in two minutes. Monica, get me on a plane.”
Five hours later, I was on a plane over the Pacific. One seat left. First class. Do you have any idea how much a last-minute first-class ticket to Asia costs? Just start typing zeros, just line those fuckers up.
I sat in my pod, not watching a movie. Did you know in first class on those Asian flights you get your own damn pod? It’s like a minisuite, but on a plane. When Simon and I went to Vietnam awhile back, we flew business class. Sure, it was super nice, but it wasn’t like this.
Monica had to split it over five credit cards. I didn’t care. I was on my way to Simon. Benjamin had been able to get me some additional information before my flight took off. Still unconscious, he was being tested for what they called TBI, or traumatic brain injury. If there was swelling around the brain from a skull fracture, which Benjamin said they had not yet ruled out, he would likely need surgery to relieve the intercranial pressure.
Let me tell you what you should never do. Never go to WebMD and do a search for any of these terms. You will scare yourself silly. As it was, I was trying very hard to stay off the in-flight wi-fi doing exactly this. I kept checking my phone only for updates or emails from Benjamin, who still had nothing new to report.
So I sat in my pod and I thought. About my sweet Simon. Benjamin had called the hospital and spoken with the staff, letting them know that while I was technically not listed as next of kin or even as an emergency contact (something that would be rectified as soon as possible), that I was his fiancée and should be allowed to see him when I arrived at the hospital. Benjamin had also been given power of attorney when it came to Simon, something that had been established years before, when he was still at Stanford. My sweet Simon, totally alone in the world for years except for Benjamin, as he globe-trotted this way and that, not a care in the world other than his beloved photography. With Benjamin back in San Francisco, managing his finances and his sole contact in case there ever was an emergency, he was truly untethered.
But not anymore. I was his tether. I was his contact. I was his in-case-of-emergency everything, or I should be. I loved him more than any person currently on this planet, and I was terrified that something was going to happen to him before I could get there.
I sat in my pod, high above the ocean, and as my brain kept burning and churning, the thought I kept bumping into was garlic foam. The garlic foam on giant prawns that he wanted served at our wedding, but he couldn’t have them. Somewhere along the line, it was decided that our guests who might be allergic to shellfish were more important than what the groom wanted to eat at his own wedding.
What the fuck? How had this happened? Things become very clear when you’re sitting in a pod over the ocean thinking about your sweet Simon. And the fact was, I didn’t give a flying fuck about any of that wedding nonsense. I just wanted to say the same words to this man that people had been saying for generations and generations. I wanted to stand up with this man and make sure he knew that he was mine and I was his for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall live. And the rest? Bull to the shit.