This isn’t a sad story. There’s a happy ending, I promise. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.

When was the last time you traveled alone? Is it something you do often? Do you go to exotic places, on spontaneous solo adventures? Or is your travel purely business, an inconvenience, a means to an end?

Or do you go to someone you love? Someone you long for at night, someone you see when you stare out the window, someone you look for in every stranger you pass by? That’s such a cliche, but you know… Sometimes it’s true.

I sat on an airport bench, my hand clutching the phone that was held fast to my ear. What were we saying? What did it mean?

—I booked my flight to LA. I leave the 18th. Get back the 9th.

—I’m not going with you.

—I know.

pause

—Well, you have until the 18th to decide. Are you going to give this a chance? Are you going to try? Are you going to give 100%, just like I’ve been?

pause

—If not, I’ll go. And when I get back, we can start again. Separately.

I travel alone. All the time. It’s never been scary or stressful, but adventurous and freeing and fairly fulfilling. I can’t remember the last time I traveled with him. It was probably right around this time, the last set of holidays. We flew to LA.