“Of course not.”
As soon as she was gone, I had my phone in my hand.
I saved the hardest part for last: convincing James without letting her know what was behind all this scheming.
James
Boarding.
I texted Ford the one word and then took my place in line. After I showed my boarding pass, teensy-tiny goose bumps broke out along my arms. I could feel them peppering my skin under my travel sweatshirt, and I fought off a chill as I placed my work bag in the overhead compartment. I was meeting Ford at LAX and then we were flying to Hawaii together. I kept repeating the plans in my head. It all felt surreal despite the fact I was now buckled in my seat.
“Excuse me,” someone said from above me, and I turned my head to find an unusually tall woman waiting to get in my row.
“Do you want the aisle?”
“No, no. Window seat for me. I need to sleep.”
I nodded and stood, making room for her to enter the row. There were only two seats. It wasn’t first class but some sort of comfort upgrade. Ford insisted on booking my flights since he’d “begged” me to go. That was what he told me when I finally agreed.
He’d called me a week after he’d left, and as soon as I said, “Hey,” he’d launched into his plan.
Filming in Hawaii, off the grid for a few weeks…but great Wi-Fi so you could work from there.It had been a bunch of fragmented ideas strung together. He’d mentioned needing to move the location filming up by a few weeks but got cagey when I asked why.
My tall neighbor interrupted my memories. “Don’t mind me if I pass out for the whole flight.”
“No problem. I’m going to do some work.” I pointed to the laptop in the seat pocket in front of me.
“A work trip, then?”
I tilted my head to see her and noticed her ponytail of braids was almost touching the lights above us. “Not exactly.”
“There’s a story there,” she said with a big smile.
“I’m going with a friend but taking my work along. How’s that?”
“A friend?” She said it with an eyebrow raised.
“A friend.” I mimicked her.
“I have a friend like that too. Except he didn’t bother coming to my Grammy’s funeral, so I don’t think he’ll be my friend for much longer.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I mean both.”
“It happens.”
The airline attendants picked this moment to make announcements and tell us to turn off our phones. I pulled mine out and noticed a text from Ford.
Text me as soon as you land. I want to come to your gate.
I highlighted the message with the thumbs-up icon. There were no words to correctly answer with. Why? The whole arrangement was absurd. Ford and I had as much of a chance of working out as my seatmate had of not bumping her head.
“Was that your friend?” She smirked again. “Sorry, I can be nosy. The team calls me Nosy Nelle. I’m Nelle, by the way.”
“The team?”
“I play women’s basketball. Professionally. I had to miss a game though for the funeral. I’m going back to meet the team in LA. You?”
“Jamie,” I said, clearing my throat. “I’m sorry for your loss. Again.”
