“Hey, Melanie,” Reid calls, remembering the name of our server. “Can you grab their check and add it to mine?”
“That’s not necessary,” I say, my voice hushed. I don’t want a fight. I want peace for my daughter first and secondly for me ... although, I’m certain I don’t deserve it.
I brought this on myself.I say it in my mind but don’t want to believe it.
“It’s not a big deal. Then we can see about Gabby sitting near me.”
He’s too good.
Reid pays, and he doesn’t ask when he picks up my carry-on duffel.
“If you liked Universal,” Reid says to Gabby, not me, “you’ll love Disney. I thought of you when I was riding the Snow White and Seven Dwarfs coaster.”
“Do you have a picture of it?” Gabby asks.
That’s pretty much how we walk down the concourse, the two of them engrossed in conversation, and me with my tail tucked between my legs.
At the gate, Reid approaches the ticket counter, motioning toward me and presumably asking about a seat change.
“What’s your seat numbers?” he calls to me, and if his voice weren’t so flat, I’d feel hopeful.
“14B and C.” I walk over while saying it, and then for only the two of us, I whisper, “This isn’t necessary. She’ll be fine.”
“Anything near there?” Reid asks the gate agent, ignoring my plea.
As the agent bangs away on her computer, the sound of the keys clicking grates on my nerves and ratchets my anxiety more than I care for.
“I thought you were the one who didn’t want Gabby to get hurt,” Reid leans in and says to me.
“Reid, I—”
“No, you were right,” he says, cutting me off. “I should’ve never gotten close to her. To Gabby, that is. Because, news flash ... I like her. I’ve come to care for her, and in my mind, I never thought you’d be the one to destroy that.”
Each syllable is a knife through my gut.
“Sir,” the agent says, interrupting. “I have three seats in row nine?”
“Good.” Reid takes the boarding passes I’m holding and gives them to the agent with his.
My feet are glued to the floor. I need to move, but I can’t. I’m staring at Reid’s back and the gate agent’s front, but I don’t see anything. I try to focus ...
“All set,” she says to Reid, smiling, flirting, even though he’s switching his seat to sit near me. Well, my daughter, but she doesn’t know that.
“We board in about ten minutes.” Reid takes a seat and resumes his conversation with Gabby, and I’m long forgotten.
I fiddle with my phone and pretend to have shit to do.
We board the plane without Reid having said anything more to me. He even takes the middle seat, giving Gabby the window and me the aisle.
Reid pretends to be fascinated with our ascent, humoring Gabby and keeping in time with her oohing and aahing.
I want him to put a hand on my knee. Fat chance.
“We saw these Spider-Man balloons, but I couldn’t take one on the plane,” I hear Gabby telling Reid.
“Oh, I forgot, I got you this.” He pulls a plush Goofy out of his bag. “He’s from Italy in Epcot. I know how much you like pizza,” he says to Gabby, and when she hugs the stuffed animal like it’s a million bucks, I feel like less than a penny.
Eventually, Gabby dozes off mid-conversation, clutching Goofy and still holding Reid’s attention.
