“Absolutely,” she says with a wink.
I know it’s early but, as usual, I barely slept last night. I was making sure Timantha had full coverage while I’m gone, texting my sister to confirm she got my mother to her doctor’s appointment, and I still had to remind Timantha to change her passwords this morning. Last month, I finally convinced her to let me hire an assistant to help manage everything I do, so this week is Lexy’s trial run to see how she handles pressure…and Timantha…while I’m away.
I’m pulling out my face mask to slip over my eyes once we take off when I’m greeted by the sweetest smile. “Pardon me, miss? I believe that window seat is mine.”
I move my purse from the seat and stand to let her slide in.
She’s older, definitely somebody’s grandmother, but dressed so polished and regal that it’s clear this is nowhere near her first time flying first class.
The flight attendant comes over the speaker with the final announcements, doing the whole security rundown while we taxi. My drink is strong and settling in nicely, and the gummy Timantha’s mom gave me is creeping up behind it. I’m seconds away from slipping on my face mask and knocking out for the entire flight.
Then I hear it.
A soft, frustrated sigh. A muted thump. The rustle of a tablet case being opened, closed, and opened again.
I try to ignore it. I press my mask to my face like that alone will transport me into unconsciousness. But the little old lady beside me is wrestling with her tablet like it owes her money, and every tap, swipe, and muttered “Oh goodness” scratches at my brain like a loose thread begging to be pulled.
This is not my business. She is grown. Grown-grown. She is fully capable of asking a flight attendant for help if she needs it.
I close my eyes because my therapist keeps reminding me I do not have to be the one to come to everyone’s rescue all the time and I’m really trying to listen.
I breathe.
I tell myself to mind my damn business.
But the longer I sit there pretending not to notice, the more it gnaws at me.
I let out a long breath and peel off my face mask.
“Something I can help you with?” I ask, already knowing sleep and the gummy just lost this round.
I can practically feel the relief rolling off her. “Would you, please? I’m traveling with friends, and they insisted on making me fly first class while they fly business class. But they kept the teenager who helped me load my favorite show onto this thing, and she’s not here to help me findSightUnseen!”
I smile and gently take the tablet from her. “Here, let me see what I can do.”
I open the movie app, scroll through the menus, and within seconds her show pops up on the screen, ready to play.
“Oh, thank you so much!” she says, and I can tell she truly means it.
“It’s my pleasure. I’d want someone to help my grandmother if she were struggling with something as important as watching her favorite show.”
We both laugh at that, and I start to pull my face mask back over my eyes, ready to drift off at last.
But before the fabric even touches my lashes, Meemaw starts in with the questions. Where am I headed? What do I do for a living? Am I married?
I lower the mask back into my lap, fighting back a tear. I just want to go to sleep.
“No, I am not married,” I tell her after giving her a carefully edited version of my answers to the other questions. I don’t care how sweet Meemaw looks, I am not giving out my personal details while traveling. That is how people end up robbed, kidnapped, or starring in somebody’s Dateline episode.
“You’re such a pretty young thing. I would think you were good and married by now,” she says.
“You and me both. But something about a brilliant Black woman with a mind of her own seems to be a turnoff to men these days.”
She chuckles, low and warm. “A turnoff to simple men, yes. But the right one will appreciate that fire you’ve got in you.”
“From your lips to God’s ears,” I say just as the pilot switches off the seatbelt sign.
“Just wait and see,” she says, and the confidence in her voice is enough to make me believe her.
