The miniature TV screen in front of me was playing a bad romantic comedy. I had made sure I memorised the name after the first scene (a comical large wedding being interrupted by the groom's father confessing his love for the priest) so I could watch it again with my mom and laugh at everything together. It just wasn't the same doing it alone.
The flight was long, eight hours. Eight hours of dreading the reason I was on my way to London. Eight hours of bad romantic comedies that reminded me of the pathetic nature of my love life. I had picked my reheated dish of vegetarian lasagne clean of pasta and was looking at the remains. Whoever thought vegetables in a lasagne was a good idea was crazy. This was going to be an excruciatingly long flight.
I was so grateful, though. So grateful of how my mom had taken the news. She hadn't cheered, she hadn't banished me from our home (sorry grandma), she had just sat there silent. It wasn't a painful silence, because I knew that the silence was her ignoring the relevant question that was on both our minds. Instead of letting her suffer, I decided to speak first.
"I'm not sure who the father is."
She let out a breath.
"It could be Logan's. There was a night…"
She bit her lip.
"But for all I know, it could be the Wookie."
She smiled a bit.
I almost started crying right there and then, not because it was so terrible, it just wasn't planned. But so incredibly grateful am I that she just smiled at me, took my hand and said "you are not alone". That's what's getting me through this endless excuse of a trip.
There was no way I was going to contact the Wookie - partly because I had no way of contacting him whatsoever - but I had to tell Logan. I didn't want to do it over the phone, there was no way of telling what he thought if I couldn't see his eyes. And Skype just isn't the same thing. So I had to flew out there to see him. The only fault with my plan was that I hadn't been able to bring myself to tell him about my visit.
So there I was, on my way to see my engaged ex-boyfriend to tell him that he might be the father of my unborn child. The romantic comedy wasn't doing it for me anymore so I turned it off. The next eight hours were spent staring at the black screen infront of me, trying to ignore the loud snores of a man named Steve who sat beside me.