There were two and a half hours left until Liz left Pawnee, probably for good. She would most likely finish off the Midwest tour, and if it worked out (and Liz had a good feeling that it would), then get back to work writing low-grade crappy sketches with some of the greatest people in the world. Maybe she'd get another boyfriend and he'd stick around for five, six months. Maybe she'd finally understand how to DVR Game of Thrones, even though her cable was messed up beyond belief. Maybe she'd even figure out how to tell Jack that she wanted a raise, at some point, no need to think about when. Who knows?

Was it so hard to believe that she, Liz Lemon, the head writer of an established sketch comedy series, best friend of an accomplished actress, and good friend of the future president of the United States, could go places?

She felt a rush of relief course through her. Liz Lemon was kind of happy right now, and it wasn't a weird uncomfortable feeling that she knew was all too fleeting. It was a calming contentedness.

She twisted towards Leslie, who grinned at her with a few tears in her very blue eyes.

"Okay!" Leslie began grabbing things from the trunk of her car. "Here's your luggage and your duffel bag and your plastic bag full of adult diapers and drumroll please!"

Liz began slapping her lap in a rhythmic beat.

Leslie pulled out a little green gift bag with polka dots of blue and white. On the handles, a forest green ribbon looped through, tying everything together.

"I couldn't resist getting you a few things," her friend grinned.

Liz feigned surprise. "You shouldn't have!" She rapidly untied the ribbon, and pulled out a wristwatch.

"Because you lost yours," Leslie explained. "It's got Little Sebastian's tail and hoof as the hands! Okay, keep looking."

Liz kept digging through the bag, and took out four packets of Swiss Miss.

"Thanks, Leslie, but we have hot chocolate packets in New York."

"True, but nowhere else in the world will you find Sweetums-themed Swiss Miss. When they came out with it three years ago, I bought four thousand of them and they are the greatest hot chocolate packets. Essentially, they sold out in one day and haven't been made since."

"So these are three years old?" Liz frowned at the hot chocolate.

"Oh yeah, the expiration date is insane. So many preservatives. They're so sweet, and made only with Sweetums sugar."

"I'll take your word for it," Liz tried to smile without being grossed out.

"Oh, and finally," Leslie pulled a crisp white envelope out of her jacket pocket. "You can open it on the plane, or later."

Liz took it and they hugged.

"Thanks for helping me get my life in order, Leslie," she smiled.

"You too." Leslie began to tear up. "I know it's only been three days, but I want you to know that I really appreciate the time I got to spend with you."

They separated, and Liz waved goodbye to her friend as the writer rolled her luggage through the Pawnee Airport gates.

Liz went through the airport security, then bought herself a coffee, and went to sit down on one of the black leather chairs near her gate.

She sipped her coffee carefully in one hand so that she didn't burn her tongue, and in the other hand, zipped open the smallest compartment of her backpack, where she withdrew the envelope labeled simply, For Liz.

The flight attendant holding a microphone hooked up to the PA system announced Liz's boarding group.

Once on the plane, Liz finally opened the letter. There were only four sentences.

You are cordially invited to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW, Washington, DC 20500 on January 20th, 2024. Welcome to the White House! Keep working for what you love.

Yours, Leslie.

Smiling to herself, Liz closed it. She knelt down in the seat to grab her plug-in earbuds from her pink duffel. Fingering with the white zip, she slid it open. She took the white plastic cords and sat up in the leather chair fixed to the floor. As she reached out to link the pods into the headphone slot, she overheard a child-sized gasp.

Without turning her head towards the little girl's voice, she watched out of the corner of her eye as a girl with oval-shaped glasses and mousy brown hair who looked to be about eight or nine grabbed the sleeve of her parent, pulling her guardian's ear down to whisper in awe, "That's Liz Lemon, the writer for TGS!"

The adult responded with a maternal tone, urging her patiently, "Why don't you go talk to her or ask for an autograph? I can get your journal and a pen."

The little girl worried insistently, "But she probably hates when people come up to her."

Liz began to adjust her purple blazer, tucking her white and gray scoop neck tunic into her jeans. Staring at her reflection in the airplane window, she tousled her hair and tucked the hair behind her ears.

Then, "just be nice to her for two seconds," from the mother. "I'll be right here."

Liz waited until she received a light, quick tap on the shoulder. Energetically, she faced the girl, and smiled brightly as she had practiced in her head.

"Hi, Ms. Lemon. I'm Maya Perry, and I think you're the greatest television writer ever," the adorable little girl who she now saw had round, rosy cheeks and eyes full of wonderment.

Liz's cheeks began to warm, and she said, "Hi Maya! It's very nice to meet you. Do you want to be a writer, too?"