“Not on your life, Graves. I’m short, but I pack a punch.”
“I don’t doubt it,” he says.
After learning the luxury of this experience wasn’t the moral gray spot I assumed it to be, I figure it’s not so bad to enjoy it a little.
A flight attendant stands at the top of the stairs with a tray holding two flutes of champagne. He smiles and offers it as I reach him.
“Good morning, Miss Wilde,” the attendant chimes. “My name is Phillip. If there is anything you need to make your experience more comfortable, please let me know.”
My curiosity morphs into awe as I step onto the aircraft.
The interior holds a row of bench seating along one side and four single seats surrounding a polished wood table on the other. The white stitched leather is soft under my fingertips as I pass, marveling at the finery. At the back of the plane, past the bathroom and through a partially opened door, is what looks like a private room with a bed. Doing my best to ignore the luxurious intimacy of it all, I choose a window seat; Noah settles into the one facing mine. He crosses one leg over the other at the ankle, and peeks out the curtained window.
“Not a bad day for a flight.”
“Oh, isn’t it?” I mock, still shocked at how painless this has all been. “Even if the rest of the flight was miserable, it would still beat any other flying experience.”
He chuckles. “I suppose you’re right.”
“I usually am.”
His chuckle deepens as he pulls his phone out again, his fingers tapping against the screen in rapid succession. I don’t ask, but he explains without looking up.
“My mom. She always gets nervous when I fly. And of course she’s wondering when I’ll have time to stop by.”
“She lives in Pala?”
“No, about an hour west. But it’s exactly her style to expect a visit, despite the drive.”
I chew on my lip, wondering if it’s polite to ask about his relationship with his mom. I know if I ask, he’ll surely return the volley of conversation, and I don’t know I want to share those details. The awkwardness of what feels like intentional silence bids me to ask anyway.
“Are the two of you close?”
Noah places his phone into the cup holder on his seat. “We are. More so than any of my friends and their moms, anyway. Though mine wasn’t day drinking and coasting on double doses of Valium like theirs were.”
I tug at my shirt, shifting in my seat. My palms grow damp at his thoughtless joke.Minewere the types of parents who were day drinking and double dosing medications. Though, they certainly weren’t rich housewives coasting on Valium or Adderall. It was more often a rudimentary cocktail of whatever they could find. Memories of the bad habits and the neglect they fostered churn in my belly, my mouth dry as a sandpit and I wish I hadn’t dumped the remnants of my coffee before boarding.
My hope that he won't return the line of questioning is rewarded when he doesn’t seem to notice my discomfort and continues his musings about his mother.
“When she wasn’t onsite for a film, she’d be there when I got home from school, and she always made sure to host the most extravagant end of the school year bash.” He chuckles. “That’s probably where my taste for the best of things started.”
I smile, remembering the way Nan always made sure to have brownies and lemonade for me on the last day of school. Even after I dropped out and worked full time at the diner, she’d whip them up just as the other kids were getting out for summer break. I clear my throat and reach for a scrap of what Noah mentioned.
“On site?”
“Yeah, she is . . . was, an actress. She’s been retired for a few years now.”
“Would I have seen her in anything?”
He blushes. “Probably. Her most famous film is Love Without Fear.”
My jaw drops open. “Yourmomis Vivian Graves?”
Noah’s sheepish grin grows. “Yes.”
“She’s like . . .”
My voice trails off as all the little details I’ve been collecting about Noah start to take on new weight.
