The Duets

by Quinn, Meghan

  That was until you came along.

  When you were with me, holding my hand, sitting next to me on the couch, sleeping in my arms, it was the first time Nellis didn’t feel like a station, because it felt like a home.

  You’re my home, Ryan. Wherever you are, you are my home.

  I love you.

  Your man,

  Colby.

  * * *

  “Tell me more about your mom.”

  I sarcastically laugh. “How much time do you have?”

  Playfully, Samantha smiles. “Give me the down and dirty. Describe her in three words without using the word fucking.”

  I draw circles on the arm of the couch with my finger, truly thinking about the words I want to choose. “Manipulative. Condescending.” I pause, thinking about the last one, and finally land on the one word I really hate, “Perfect.”

  Looking up from her notepad, she lifts an eyebrow. “Perfect?”

  “Yeah, perfect.”

  “Okay, let’s dive into that little revelation. What makes your mom perfect?”

  “It’s what she strives to be every day. Her clothes are perfect for the day and weather. Her hair is always perfect, not a stray strand out of place. Her makeup is always perfect, never melting or smearing. And the way she speaks, presents herself, her body, everything about her is so perfect it’s sickening.”

  Samantha taps her pen. “What standard of perfect is she following?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, there are all different sides of perfect, wouldn’t you agree?” My thumb rubs over my tattoo on my left wrist. Colby’s encouragement to always stay on the left side brings raw emotion I’m not ready to show in a therapy session.

  “Yes,” I answer softly.

  “So who really is the judge of perfect? What scale are you measuring your mom on?”

  “Um, society’s scale?”

  She clicks her pen and sets it on her notepad. “Did you know in different societies, perfect is measured differently? A woman’s perfection can be measured by how many children she has, how many rings around her neck, or even how much she provide for her family. You could be perfect in one society, but a hot mess in another. There is no way to measure perfect, not in this world, not when everyone is imperfect in their own right.”

  I swallow hard and say, “Colby always tells me to be on the left side of perfect.”

  “What’s the left side?”

  I hold up my wrist and show her my tattoo. “The left side of perfect is the kind of soul-baring perfect that shows your every flaw for the world to see . . . the imperfect.”

  A large smile grows on Samantha’s lips as she makes a note. “If that isn’t one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard, I don’t know what is.” She looks at me. “Be on the left side, Ryan, always be on the left side.” I’m trying, Samantha. So hard.

  * * *

  Dear Ryan,

  When I was young, when my dad was still alive and my gramps was a constant visitor at my house, I laughed and enjoyed life. We were the three amigos—flying planes, talking about them, living and breathing anything that belonged in the clouds.

  And then my dad got sick. I watched the joy slowly evaporate from his body with each passing day. It was as if there was a slow vacuum hooked up to him, taking his life, turning him into a man I barely recognized in the days before he died.

  He died on my birthday. I still remember how cold my mom sounded when she told me he’d died. I can hear Gramps crying in the distance, and I often recall the feeling of absolute despair knocking the breath from my lungs.

  My life changed after that. It became harder, challenging, and not in a good way. I can’t quite remember many happy times after my dad passed, only a few moments with Gramps.

  I walked through life with tunnel vision, never really experiencing anything around me.

  And then you came along. I thought Rory was the one who breathed color into my life, but boy, was I fucking wrong. You’ve made me see colors I never thought existed.

  You make me laugh.

  You make me smile.

  You make the world around me come alive with a small kiss from your beautiful mouth.

  You brought me back to life after I spent years walking a desperate and lonely path.

  I love you.

  Your man,

  Colby

  * * *

  “Mascara, that’s it?” Samantha asks, seeming more surprised than I expected.

  I nod. “That’s it. Only mascara.”

  “Four weeks in therapy and my girl is only wearing mascara compared to the full face you wore on your first visit. I don’t think I could be more proud. How do you feel?”

  “A little self-conscious, but also free. It was nice not having to do the whole routine today. But I also feel like I might look silly wearing only mascara.”

  Samantha studies me, her eyes wandering over my face and then my body, taking in my simple leggings and sweater. “You look comfortable in your skin. That’s what you look like to me. Like someone who couldn’t care less about what others think.”

  “But I do still care.”

  “And it will take a while for that feeling to die down, so give it time and be patient. But know you took a huge step today, and I’m proud of you. Not that you need the reassurance from me, but you are beautiful, Ryan. I need you to be able to see the same person I see, though, and that’s on you.”

  Standing, Samantha goes to her desk where she pulls out a handheld mirror from the bottom drawer and hands it to me. She sits next to me on the couch and forces me to look at my reflection.

  “Tell me three things you find beautiful on your face.”

  Ugh, I hate exercises like this, but knowing Samantha isn’t going to let me off the hook, I sigh and say, “Uh, eyes, lips, freckles. There you go.”

  She chuckles and keeps me from lowering the mirror. “Okay, so we have our three things you think are beautiful on your face. Now tell me why. Start with your eyes and give me detail, none of this rushed bullshit.”

  “You’re the devil, you know that?”

  She pats my knee. “Yup, well aware. Now go.”

  Exhaling my displeasure, I take in my eyes. “Okay, well they’re a pretty shade of blue.”

  “What kind of shade? Describe the color to me.”

  “Uh, like one of those oceans you always see in magazines. Like Tahiti. The ocean in Tahiti. They almost seem neon with how blue they are. Electric.”

  “And your lips?”

  “They’re full, have a nice heart shape to them, and they’ve belonged to one of the most important men in my life, making them completely and utterly beautiful in my eyes.” And yes, I have always liked the shape of my lips. But I loved them more when Colby kissed them.

  “Mmm, I love that. And your freckles?”

  I smile to myself. “I don’t know if Colby knew, but early in the morning, when he thought I was asleep, I felt him tracing my freckles with his finger, gently touching me, connecting the dots. I never thought my freckles were cute until he helped me appreciate them. Now they’re a reminder to me that sometimes the simplest and under-appreciated things can be pretty.”

  “Seems like Colby is an incredibly smart man.” She winks and returns to her chair.

  * * *

  Dear Ryan,

  I’m a strong believer in the journey you take to become the person you are today… the steps, the trials, the tribulations, the success, and the people who come and go in your life. I believe there are people who are meant to stick with you because they’re a good influence, the type of person who brings out the best in you.

  And then there are people in your life who are short blips on your journey, the ones who teach you a lesson of life, the people who are dispensable. These are the people who positively or negatively shape us.

  I’ve been lucky to have a lot of positive people in my life. People who took me to the next step in my journey, from instructors to mentors, to
Gramps and my dad. But when it comes to my love life, two women brought me to you.

  Rory is the reason I know you. If it wasn’t for her, not only would I never have had the chance to meet you, but I never would have come out of my shell. She was the woman who showed me there was more to life than flying a plane. And as she wisely said, we were a steppingstone for each other to bigger and better things.

  And then there was Sage. And even though it was painful for you to see me with her, I know she came into my life as an eye-opener. She helped me see exactly who I needed by my side, cheering me on. She made me see that the love I have for you is more powerful than any love I’ve had before.

  You were made for me, and it might have taken us a while to realize it, but now that I’ve had you, I know deep in my soul you are meant to be mine. And I will die trying to make you believe the same thing.

  Just like there is a right and left side of perfect, there is a right and left side of forever. The left side of forever represents the relationships that come and go in your life but have had an impact on the person you’ve become. The right side of forever provides the relationship that stays with you, the relationship that’s imprinted itself so deep into your bone marrow that you live and breathe for that person.

  You’re my right side of forever, baby.

  I love you.

  Your man,

  Colby

  Chapter One Hundred Twelve

  RYAN

  “What’s this?” Samantha holds up an envelope.

  “It’s a thank-you card.” Two months later and I’m ready to say thank you.

  “A thank-you card?” she asks, surprised.

  “Yup.” I lean forward. “I gained ten pounds and guess what, I thought I looked pretty in my jeans today. They look more filled out, less baggy, and it’s because of you.”

  She shakes her head. “Nope, that’s on you, girl, and the hard work you’ve put in. You can also thank Stryder for all the boxes of Amy’s Donuts. I’m sure that’s helped.”

  “The guy has a terrible addiction, but it has helped. It’s also helped working with Stryder at the gym, filling in for Rory. Working with the special needs athletes has really helped me see the many different versions of perfect.” I start to get emotional. “They’re beautiful, Samantha. The athletes’ disabilities range from developmentally delayed, to autistic, to having Down’s syndrome, and every single one of them hold a piece of my heart. I’ve been so caught up in achieving an unattainable level of perfect, polishing women with masks of beauty, that I’ve forgotten to appreciate the simple beauty around me.”

  “And when you look in the mirror, what do you see?”

  “I see a girl who used to hate herself, as if there are two versions of me. The girl on the right who is polished and pristine, and then the girl on the left who can be a hot mess at times, forget to shave when she should, and who can’t cook a meal to save her life.”

  “And who do you like best?

  “The left, one hundred percent the left.”

  * * *

  “Hey, what the hell are you doing in there? Lunch is on the table,” Stryder calls down the hallway.

  I take one last look in the mirror and smile to myself. Not an ounce of makeup, my hair tied up into a messy bun, and leggings and an oversized sweatshirt cover my body. I stroke my tattoo, a sense of pride shooting through me.

  I am beautiful.

  I love the woman I’ve become.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and take a few deep breaths. I’ve come a long way. I still have baggage with my mom, the type of baggage I’ll possibly always carry no matter how hard I try to shake free of it. That’s partly because she won’t acknowledge her role in my self-hatred. It’s almost impossible to forgive someone who doesn’t believe they did anything to need forgiveness for. But, because I can look at myself in the mirror and know I’m not that imperfect girl anymore, I’m okay.

  And I’m strong because of the people I surround myself with, which is why I have a giant suitcase packed, ready to be rolled down the hallway to the curb where I’ll wait for my Uber driver.

  Taking one more look around the room I’ve called a temporary home, I say a silent thank you and wheel my suitcase to the living room. I peek in the kitchen to find Stryder and Rory at the table, Hailey next to them in a bouncer. They eye my suitcase, and without me saying a word, their eyes light up.

  “I can’t join you for lunch. I have a flight to catch.”

  Stryder wipes his mouth, his famous BLT with mayo caressing his face. “And where do you think you’re going?”

  I toe the carpet. “My dad gave me some money. I decided to do some international flying.”

  “Going to Korea, are ya?” Rory asks, clearly excited.

  “I am.”

  “Do you realize we’re a few days away from Christmas?”

  I nod. “I planned it this way. You three need family time, and I need my man.”

  Finally Rory squeals and jumps from her seat, clapping excitedly. “Ah, I knew it, I could feel it in my bones. You’re going to go get Colby. Oh, I might pass out I’m so happy right now.”

  “Whoa, settle down, babe.” Stryder stands and grips his wife. “No passing out allowed.” He then turns toward me. “You’re going to need some help getting on base. Do you know how to get there?”

  I shake my head, completely clueless. “I have a ticket. I need you to help me with the rest. Clearly I didn’t think this out all too well.”

  “Oh, this is so romantic. Are you going to surprise him?”

  “I’m hoping to, which means you guys can’t say anything to him.”

  “Oh God, Stryder, we need to fly to Korea so I can see this play out. I’m too invested to hear about it over the phone.”

  Leaning over and pressing his hand on the back or Rory’s chair, he lays an incredibly soft kiss across her lips. “I love you so much, babe, but I’m going to need you to calm your crazy, because we have to help your friend figure out how to surprise Colby.”

  “But . . . Korea.”

  “Yeah, you’re not going, but you’re cute.” Stryder takes me by the arm and leads me into the living room where he grabs a sheet of paper and his cell phone. “How much time do we have before your flight?”

  “Four hours.”

  “Then we better get to work.”

  * * *

  Sixteen cramped and uncomfortable hours in the air, an hour-long and very scary drive to base, a ten-minute interrogation about my intentions for being on base—scaring me a little more than I wanted—has brought me to the tarmac, where I wait. I’m standing next to a very nice man named Mike, who went to school with Colby. We’re both wearing earplugs, staring at the sky.

  When Stryder said I’d need help, he was right, and thank God for him, because there is no way I would have been able to pull this off on my own.

  And when he said he could help me get on base, I never thought he meant this far. My suitcase is in the fighter pilot locker room as I stand outside, waiting for Colby to come back from a mission.

  He’s always talked about flying, and he’s tried to describe it to me, but I never thought I’d see him execute his skills. See him land the behemoth he calls my plane.

  Not only am I beyond nervous about seeing him, but I’m excited to see him hop out of his cockpit, wearing all his gear. It’s an image I’ve always dreamt of, and I finally get to experience it.

  It’s taken many sessions with Samantha, and many rereads of Colby’s beautiful words to get me here, to instill enough confidence to take the plunge, to feel mentally healthy and confident to not only be in a relationship, but to be the rock for someone else. I’ll no longer rely on Colby to protect me, but it will be my privilege to protect him.

  With a smile on my face, I take a deep breath and keep my eyes fixed on the sky above me.

  This is a brand new day, a new start, an exciting chapter about to begin in my life, and I couldn’t have picked someone better to spend it with.

&n
bsp; Mike nudges my shoulder and yells loud enough so I can hear him. “They should be here any second.”

  Butterflies erupt in my chest and just as I’m about to ask him a question, I hear the roar of jets, and from the corner of my eye, I spot a formation of four.

  My heart takes flight, skipping a beat, and propelling itself into the sky, searching for its match. He’s up there. He’s coming home.

  To me.

  Chapter One Hundred Thirteen

  COLBY

  I keep the nose of the plane high as I touch down. I even out, brake, and taxi toward the flight crew waiting for me to deplane.

  I release the mask to my helmet and maneuver the plane around the tarmac. What a mentally exhausting mission.

  We worked on aerial maneuvers where an intense amount of Gs rocked my body. As a fighter pilot, you’re trained to breathe a certain way when taking in a large amount of G-force so we don’t blackout while flying. We wear g-suits, which help pump the blood that pools at the bottom of our legs up through our body, but we’re also required to perform our breathing technique, which I spent a good amount of time mastering. It feels like second nature now.

  After a long mission like today, my lungs are exhausted, and my body is ripped from the pressure placed on it. I want nothing more than to skip the debrief and crawl back to my apartment to spend the next three hours vegging on my couch.

  Once the jet is parked and the cockpit is opened, I remove my helmet, running my hand through my wet hair, and detach myself from everything as I make my way out of the airplane, my flight crew welcoming me back from another safe flight.