But Andrea was a model, or trying to be one, I argued. You don’t have to stay in shape at a bank.

I had to stop and transfer at Dallas-Fort Worth for the second leg of the flight. And on that second flight, my wild thoughts only intensified.

What if this little girl is a brat? She could be spoiled to death and unruly. But she’s only three years old, I argued to myself. Yeah, but three years old is still old enough to rip up some shit.

I pulled out a copy of Travel magazine from the pouch on the seat in front of me to try and preoccupy my mind with the articles and photographs. And it worked, I made it through the rest of the flight in peace.

But once we landed and pulled up to the gate, my thoughts started up all over again.

What if this little girl doesn’t even like me? I asked myself. Would I feel like a failure before I even got a chance to know her?

So what? She may not be mine anyway, I argued.

It was all an insane process. And since Michelle flew me in first class, I was the fifth person off the plane. I couldn’t even stall for time.

“Thank you for flying with us,” the flight attendant in dark blue told me as I stepped off the plane. I nodded and smiled at her, paying attention to every detail.

I headed up the bridge and toward the baggage claim area on a sunny San Francisco day. It was after two o’clock in the afternoon. I would be there for the rest of the day, Saturday, and Sunday. My return flight to Atlanta was bright and early Monday morning.

I made it to the baggage claim area and rode the escalator down to the bottom floor. I was all eyes and heart, looking for my two hosts. And in the middle of the floor, Michelle actually had her daughter holding up a sign with Terrance Mitchell written on it. Briana stood out with no less than five colors in her outfit: blue, yellow, orange, red, and green. Even her mini bucket hat was multicolored. She looked like a display right out of a children’s clothing store.

Standing tall next to her was her mother, in burnt orange heels and an orange, cream, and yellow summer dress. She had a perfect hourglass shape, with short-cut hair. She looked sharp and efficient, and was clearly a professional woman. She had a stance of organized authority. My eyes were glued on her. She had much more presence than I remembered. Maybe it was because she was waiting for me at the airport. Maybe the short hair did it. Or maybe it was something in the water that I drank on the plane.

“Here he is, Briana,” she told her daughter with a tap on her left shoulder. At that moment, Briana was not looking in my direction. There were too many people walking out at the same time. But then she turned her gaze and locked in on me. When my eyes met hers, I was done; my heart fluttered, my knees got weak, my mouth felt dry. I felt this rush of energy take over my body. It was the weirdest feeling I had ever experienced in my life. There was nothing I could compare it to. A thousand butterflies were all flapping their wings under my skin. I felt as if I was going to fly away somewhere.