Seventy Four Days

Seventeen hours and thirty two minutes. Maybe more if  weather kicks in or the flight gets delayed. Then home. That's the plan. Two and a half months. Seventy four days, to be exact, but who's counting. Season's have changed, clock's have sprung forward and her trimesters have shifted. She has to let him know. Ethically there is no option, she understands this intellectually but Kelly's massive fear of confrontation overrides everything, including common sense and self preservation. Her entire life. Years playing flute because a saxophone simply wasn't an option. Fear of rejection, her need for approval at any cost, this defined Kelly's sense of self. Having a kid at her age, alone, with no partner is one thing but to willfully withhold that information, to purposefully avoid telling Stephen he's going to be a father- that's full on Jerry Springer. It's not like they're in a relationship, not according to Stephen. He made that crystal clear from the get go. They kept falling into each other and now, miles apart and moving headlong into a reconciliation by sheer force of proximity, Kelly has to come clean. What is she so afraid of? It will go one of two ways. He was the one always going on about his sister's kids. She never thought she'd have them. Forty one and pregnant with the man of her dreams' baby. He Who Does Not Want A Relationship. A five hour flight then home. She could pray for a delay, some sort of mechanical. Maybe go down in flames, engines burning, oxygen mask deployed, life vest inflated, braced for impact. Mayday, mayday.