“I’m a novelist.” He shrugged. “I dream stuff up. That’s what I do.”
Paul closed his magazine.
“But what bothers me is seeing her unhappy. I don’t know why, but that’s just the way it is.”
A steward interrupted their conversation with meal service. Paul declined his meal and announced that Mia wasn’t hungry. She was about to protest, but the attendant had already moved on to the next row.
“What the hell?” she exclaimed. “Why would you do that? I’m starving!”
“So am I. But those little meals are not intended for consumption, just distraction. You end up spending half the flight trying to guess what’s in them.”
Paul unbuckled his seat belt and stood up to remove his bag from the overhead compartment. As soon as he was back in his seat, he took out ten small airtight containers and placed them on Mia’s tray.
“And what might that be?” she asked.
“First she stands me up, now she gate-crashes my last meal.”
Mia took off the lids to find four smoked-salmon sandwiches, two slices of vegetable terrine, two small blocks of foie gras, two potato salads with black truffles, and, in the last two boxes, two coffee éclairs. She stared at Paul openmouthed.
“As I was packing my suitcase, I decided if I was going to die on this flight, I may as well die happy.”
“By eating enough for two, you mean?”
“Give me some credit. I wasn’t going to enjoy this feast all by my lonesome while the person next to me stared at their airplane food contemplating death by starvation. That would have ruined the whole thing for me.”
“You really do think of everything.”
“Only the essentials. Which still manages to take up most of my time.”
“Will your translator be waiting for you at the airport?”
“I sure hope so,” Paul replied. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason, just thinking . . . I suppose we could say I was sent by your publishers to accompany you on the trip.”
“Alternatively, we could say we’re just friends.”
“Your call.”
“And since we’re just friends, maybe you could explain how the hell you ended up on this plane instead of at your restaurant?”
“Mm, this foie gras is delicious. Where did you get it?”
“Please answer the question.”
“I had to get away.”
“From what?”
“Myself.”
“So he did come back.”
“Let’s just say that the opera singer dove back in, and quickly found herself in over her head.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here.”
“Really?”
