Margo and Angel's Breakup Story

The blackberries are tart and bursting with juice. I shovel them into my mouth, wincing as the sourness echoes through the insides of my teeth. The berries have been sitting in a plastic container in my carry-on bag all day, stewing in their own flavor. It’s almost seven in the evening and I usually would have had dinner by this time, but I couldn’t risk missing my flight. Now I’m seated in the window seat, the wing of the plane visible against a backdrop of peach-colored sky. I try to fish out a blackberry seed from between my teeth with my tongue and pray that I don’t get stuck next to some crying child or worse, someone who thinks they “get” teenagers and doesn’t shut up the entire flight. I’m on my way to my best friend Margo’s in Texas, and I want everything about this to be perfect. I still have service, and a text comes through from Margo:

AHHHHHHH! BITCHHHHH I’M SO EXCITED TO SEE UUUUUUUU

I feel the corners of my mouth tugging outward. Before I can respond, I see another bubble with three dots. Another text:

YOU’RE GONNA LOVE JUSTIN!

Hold up. Who? 

I groan inwardly. Of course, Margo has some new guy to obsess about. It can never be just her and me. I think back to that night five weeks ago, after Angel dumped Margo. It was on the Fourth of July, and I remember the crack of fireworks in the background as Margo ugly-sobbed in front of the camera, one false eyelash dangling. 

“What if no one else ever loves me? It’s not like I’m Taylor Swift, I can’t afford to go through a million relationships!”

I remember that groggy daze after pulling three all-nighters in a row on Facetime to comfort her after she said she didn’t trust herself to be alone. Then July 7, when I texted her in the morning to check in before heading off to my job in a local day care, and received no response by the end of the day. That feeling of choking panic as I called her twenty three times, then her mom, then every mutual contact. Debating whether to call the police. Her text at 1:03 AM as I lay in a sweat on the floor of my room, the ceiling spinning:

i fine babe superrr druk at cris i think we had sex mayb!!

A flash of anger burns my chest.

I refocus my attention on picking a movie for the flight, browsing through a couple that I downloaded on Netflix.  I don’t want anything to ruin my perfect week with Margo. It will be much harder to find time together after the school year starts. I’m debating between Inception and The Menu when I see someone in the aisle out of my peripheral vision. I glance to the left, then do a double take. No no no no no no no. It’s Angel. What could be more awkward than being stuck with your best friend’s ex for a three-and-a-half-hour flight? What is he even doing in New York? I’m aware that I’m staring, and I clear my throat. But before I get a chance to speak, he responds as if reading my mind.

“Hi, I was visiting my cousin over summer break in Bushwick. I wasn’t expecting to see you here. Is it okay if I sit?”

I gesture towards the aisle seat. 

“Go ahead, you don’t need my permission.” My voice is as frosty as a snow cone, and I don’t understand myself. Angel has been nothing but nice to me. Behind him, a middle-aged woman taps Angel on the shoulder. 

“You’re in my seat.”

“Oh, sorry.” Angel moves to the middle seat, and I can tell he is trying to keep his right thigh from touching my left, which makes the whole thing more awkward. Great.

I actively ignore Angel and put on my headphones and the flight attendants go through the safety instructions. I know this stuff inside and out. My dad was in the military, and planes are as familiar to me as the inside of an AMC movie theater. As I’m settling into the opening scene of The Menu, I see Angel take out a book. The Wonder Spot by Melissa Bank. I can’t mistake the red cover with the two silhouettes of elephants. My favorite book, and I don’t know anyone else who has read it. Margo is more into paranormal romance, and her large bookshelves are always spilling over with YA bestsellers that she tries to pawn off onto me when she is done with them. I want to say something to Angel about the book, but I hesitate, picking out my cuticle. Oh, what the hell. Margo will never know. It’s not like they still talk to each other.

“That’s my favorite book,” I say. 

The middle-aged woman pulls up her eye mask and glares at us, but Angel doesn’t notice. His face lights up as he turns towards me, and he pauses before speaking. 

“Mine too. It’s so underrated. I think books like this are misperceived as having no plot, but it’s just like real life. A lot of us are just ordinary people, and there’s no turning point or grand resolution that makes it all make sense. There is something comforting about fiction that acknowledges that.” 

Wow. I didn’t expect such an eloquent response. I feel like the elephant on the cover of The Wonder Spot, suddenly clumsy.

“Yeah, that’s… How I feel too. Even though you’re still at the top of my enemies list for dumping Margo.”

I see Angel’s face darken as I realize my mistake. Crap. Why did I bring that up? Things were just starting to be less awkward. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Angel nods and opens his book. I feel like a terrible person. I know I should let this go, but I keep talking.

“I’m sure that whatever went wrong, you tried to be nice. I mean, Margo can be a bit much sometimes. Don’t tell her I said that. Not that you could. She blocked you. What I’m trying to say is…”

I’m digging myself in deeper, but I don’t know how to cut my losses. I keep going.

“You seem like a nice guy. I’m sure you had your reasons for breaking up with her, maybe your own stuff going on. Not that it’s any of my business.”

“I didn’t break up with Margo.” His voice is quiet, and I feel like I’ve just been berated by a school principal.

I stare at him, but he avoids my gaze.

“What do you mean? Fourth of July, she called me in tears…”

“I didn’t break up with Margo. Margo broke up with me.”

The words are like a stab to my stomach. None of this has anything to do with me in the first place, but Margo has a way of sucking people into her drama. 

Angel closes his book. 

“I don’t know what Margo told you. But I–”

His eyes widen as the plane starts to shake. He reaches out and squeezes my hand in a death-like grip. 

“Sorry, I hate flying,” he says. I marvel at his ability to apologize when I was just so insensitive to him. 

“It’s okay,” I say. “Just breathe in deep for four seconds. Good. Hold it for four seconds. Out for four seconds.” This was a technique I learned from the school counselor when I started having panic attacks after my dad’s cancer diagnosis. Angel follows my instructions, and eventually the flight goes back to normal and the seatbelt sign turns off.

“Thank you,” says Angel. 

“Yeah. No problem, dude.”

Angel cringes and looks away. I guess he’s still thinking about how I insulted him.

There is a heavy silence.

“You don’t owe me an explanation for what happened,” I say. “I won’t mention anything to Margo. I won’t even tell her that I saw you on the flight.”

“You’re flying out to see Margo now?” Angel looks concerned.

“Well, yeah. Why else would I go to Texas?”

“Ouch. I guess that’s fair.” Angel looks like he wants to say something more, and I wait for him to continue.

“I think you should be careful,” Angel says. “Of Margo.”

“Thanks, I think I know how to pick my own friends.” I turn to stare out the window, feeling like my throat has a stone lodged inside. 

“I’m not trying to overstep. It’s just… I’m… I’m trans.”

My face whirls back to the left so fast that I feel a pinch in my neck. 

“I told Margo about it in July. I thought that she would understand, I’m not sure why. She was the first person I told after my parents, and… She just started crying.”

“What?” My whole body gets cold as the pieces start to fall into place.

“She made it all about her, and it was just… So exhausting. She kept using the wrong pronouns, and every time I corrected her, she would start crying again, saying that her whole world is turning upside down and she felt like she couldn’t do anything right anymore.”

“How long have you known?” I ask.

Angel looks down. 

“I’ve always known I was a girl. When I was little, I used to imagine that I could go into a spaceship and fly around in space on little adventures, and everyone would see that I was a beautiful woman.”

I look down at my lap, and I see that my legs are shaking. I don’t know what to say.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “For Margo, and for the way I acted. For assuming that it was all your fault. Margo sucks.”

“She kind of does.” Angel laughs, but there is no happiness in the laugh. “By the way, my pronouns are she/her.”

“Cool. I'm sorry again. Thank you... I know I don't deserve an explanation.”

Angel just nods, her attention back on the book. The conversation is over. 

We don’t speak to each other for the rest of the flight. The silence is neither comfortable, nor uncomfortable. Like Angel said, in real life there is no turning point or grand resolution. There are just the moments we share that have value all on their own. The little lessons we teach each other that make us stronger but also make us realize how vulnerable we really are. I probably won’t see Angel ever again, but for now I realize that Angel has been more of a friend to me than Margo ever was.