Standing at the end of the last row of chairs at Gate A10, I face away from the crowd so I can breathe and pat my pocket again to make sure I haven’t misplaced my paper boarding pass. In all the chaos of packing, my apartment is basically still one giant pile of cardboard and clothing waiting for me to deal with it as soon as I get home from this trip. I was so worried I’d forget my pass or misplace it in the chaos, I slept in my clothes and put it in the pocket of my pink joggers.
Mandy always teases me for not using my phone to check in like every other twenty-something in this century, but I don’t like trusting technology for things this important. What if I forget to charge my phone and it dies, or there’s a Wi-Fi outage and I can’t access my email? What if I drop my phone in a puddle or it crashes to the floor and shatters unexpectedly? I mean, now that I think about it, I guess half those things could also happen to a paper ticket, but this way I have a backup. Something about being able to hold a physical copy makes me feel like I have more control of the situation. And anything that gives me more control right now is a plus.
Airports are hell. The only thing worse than being here will be sitting in the actual plane, thousands of feet in the air with no way to get out. Could my family have possibly found a more inconvenient time to call us all home? I very much doubt it. I do not need this added stress in my life this close to finals.
I’ve already been to the bathroom three times, but I make another quick trip as they start to call the first boarding group for our plane. I have an assigned seat, and I know it will take a while before everyone is loaded in. Do four bathroom trips count as the kind of “suspicious activity” the announcements keep asking people to report? What if some well-meaning bystander reports me? Will they put me on a list? It’s not my fault I have a nervous bladder, and I need to make sure it’s completely empty before they shut the doors on this dubious aluminum torpedo. I’d rather not squeeze into the tiny, germy lavatory on the plane if I don’t absolutely have to.
After I wash my hands and drag my rolling suitcase back to my gate, I park myself at the back of the line of passengers now boarding. We’re moving slowly, and I take the opportunity to dig out my phone and send one last check-in text to the sisters group chat.
Me:Boarding now. Be there in a few hours. Is someone picking me up or do I need to hail a cab?
Mads:You’re such an old lady. But I’ll get you. I’m tracking your flight. Can’t wait to see your face!
Mandy:Seriously, who says “cab” anymore? See you soon. Hope you aren’t next to a crying baby or anyone with B.O.
Me: Gee, thanks. Turning my phone off now. I love you brats. For some reason.
I see Madison send through a pink heart before I switch my phone into airplane mode, just in time to hand my boarding pass to the flight attendant. As I walk down the long, rickety metal hall to the plane, I try to focus on taking deep breaths and plaster a determined look on my face. No reason for anyone else to know my legs feel like jelly and my stomach is threatening to bring back up the bagel I ate an hour ago. Maybe I should’veasked Dr. Rappon to also prescribe something for my nerves to help me get through this flight.
Shaking my head at myself, I make my way to the back of the plane and find my row, then heave my suitcase into the overhead compartment before sinking down into the aisle seat and putting in my earbuds. This trip is already exhausting, and it has hardly started.
I love my family, but the cross-country trek whenever I want to see them in person is a lot. Unfortunately, there is no avoiding it this time. My mom is beside herself with excitement now that Virginia and Idaho both have major league teams. When she learned that Mikey would be playing one of his first Foxhounds games in our home state, less than an hour from the house, she started planning. Now it’s a wholeMiller Family Event. And those are not optional. My attendance is mandatory.
After everyone has boarded, there’s still a hold-up of some sort. A handful of passengers seem frustrated as a flight attendant points between my row and another one closer to the middle of the plane. When she marches toward me, I remove one earbud to hear her say, “Ma’am, I hate to ask, but would you be willing to move your seat, by any chance? We’re trying to rearrange some things in order for a mother to be able to sit with her four year old. Would you mind?”
I squeeze my lips together. I don’t want to be a jerk. A kid that young shouldn’t be forced to sit with strangers for hours. But the truth is I picked this seat on purpose, and I sort of do mind. I planned my trip carefully and followed all the rules. Why is this my problem? As I’m trying to decide on a polite but firm way to turn down the request, a familiar voice comes from behind her.
“I’ll switch. The mom is already assigned to my row. The little guy can take my seat. I’ll sit here.”
“Jordan?” My stomach jumps.
“Thank you, sir. That’s very kind.” The flight attendant shuffles away to deal with the kid situation.
“Hey, Shelley. I decided to take your mom up on her invitation.” He smiles too politely. It’s the kind of smile you’d give in passing to the guy behind you in line at the store. Not the wider smile I’d become accustomed to, the one that assured me we were really friends. I miss the smile that reaches his eyes and makes them shine, like seeing me is a bright spot in his day. When his face returns to neutral, a twinge of disappointment joins the nerves already pooling in my belly, along with something warm and familiar, now that he's close enough for me to feel his body heat.
Why didn’t my mother warn me he was coming?
Jordan seems guarded as he starts making small talk, and I wonder if he’s as bothered as I am about the way our last phone call ended. I told myself I was overthinking, but maybe I wasn’t. Did I hurt his feelings?
“I was curious if you’d be on this flight, but I didn’t see you at the gate,” he says. I’m sure that has something to do with my constant bathroom trips, but I’m not about to offer that information willingly. “Looks like we’re getting cozy for the next few hours.” He points at the seat next to mine, and I stand to let him scoot into the middle chair. I hold my breath to avoid breathing in his intoxicating scent as he brushes past me.
A tiny bit of relief hits. I’m grateful I get to keep my carefully planned aisle seat, and I won’t have to sit with a stranger or babysit a small child for the entire flight. But I still don’t know if I’d say I’m happy to see him. The vibes between us are off, and I’m still irritated with him about all the mixed signals that annoyed me in the first place.
Once the seating arrangements are sorted and everyone, including the mother and child duo, is on board and buckled, we can finally pull away from the gate. As our flight crew begins thesafety demonstration, I follow along and review the card in the seatback pocket in front of me, just like they suggest. I can sense Jordan’s eyes on me, maybe mocking just a little, the same way I can feel the heat radiating off his leg, which is way too close to mine in these tight quarters. He’s also hogging the armrest between us, so I have to work hard to squeeze my elbows into my sides so I don’t touch him.
“What?” I say, defensively. “Safety is important to me.”
“I can see that.” He nods, an infuriating yet annoyingly adorable smirk playing with his lips. It’s as though he doesn’t want to let it out because he can see I’m being serious, but he can’t help himself. “I’m impressed. I feel very well-protected with you as the fearless leader of row thirty-two.”
I return the card to its place in the seat pocket and cross my arms. Like I said, this man is infuriating and annoying. Unfortunately for me, my ovaries haven’t gotten the memo that they aren’t supposed to find his playful smile adorable. My brows pinch as I attempt to ignore him while the captain informs us that we’ve been cleared for takeoff. As the plane roars to life and starts its assent, Jordan moves his hands to his lap to give me more space. I close my eyes and grip the armrest for dear life, whisper-counting to myself until I get to one hundred and the plane is well above the ground.
When I open my eyes again, I see Jordan glance at me sideways, but he doesn’t say anything. He seems unaffected by the terrifying fact that we’re defying gravity in a huge metal tube. I take long breaths in through my nose and inhale his warm, woodsy scent. It sends me straight back to the wedding, when we stood together facing the water with his jacket wrapped around my shoulders.
As the fasten seatbelts sign goes off, Jordan pulls a pouch from the backpack he stored under the seat in front of him.It looks like an extra-large pencil case. I’m intrigued when he unzips it and removes a crochet hook and a ball of yarn.
“What’s that?”
He turns those disarming hazel eyes toward me again. “Just a hobby. I read that crocheting helps with dexterity and hand-eye coordination, so I picked it up a few years ago thinking it might improve my game. I make these.” He reaches into the backpack again and produces a crocheted baseball with a silly, smiling face, then another one that looks angry. They’re just like the one I saw on the TV console in his living room.
