Once we arrive, I load her luggage onto a cart and lift her suitcases onto the baggage scale, because Bridget is six weeks pregnant. I walk with her to the security gate. I stay with her until the very last moment. And then I hug her until we’re both crying in the middle of the terminal and an elderly woman passes us each a tissue. I tell Bridget she’s my best friend. I tell her that I’ll miss her. I tell Bridget that I love her more than anyone. And then I let go.
