What am I even saying? The man doesn’t need help. Helivesout of a tent!
He slams the tailgate shut and dusts his palms together.
“It’s okay. You don’t need to come. I don’t know how much fun you’d have anyway.”
Gah, he’s making this as painful as possible.
“I know I don’tneedto come. I… want to.”
His expression twists. “Oh.”
Did he really think I was offering because I feel bad for him? The only way we’ll ever have a relationship is if we spend time together.
I slowly back away. “But if it’s a guys’ trip, it’s fine.”
“How about we take a rain check,” he offers.
Not “I’d love to have you there,” just “another time.” I’m some scheduling obligation he’s resigned himself to.
I’ll admit, it doesn’t feel good. I’m used to needing to be the bigger person to keep this relationship afloat. I try not to let it bother me and think of the positives instead.
He didn’t sayno, justlater. Which means, deep down, there is a world where he doesn’t find me repulsive to be around.
I convince myself that there’s still hope for us.
Present Day
This is my nightmare.
The Boeing’s tires grind over rough gravel with their sudden rotation, and I’m trapped in a human pinball machine with nowhere to go. Not even my armrests act as reliable support. They rattle with the motion of the cabin. I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Are you okay?” Reed says, and covers my hand with his. The hot center of his palm sends an electric current up my arm. I jump at his touch.
“I’m fine.”
I lie to him for the second time in a few minutes. The first was telling him that I’m okay with him remaining in the seat next to me. I think Dolores might be more sympathetic about my fear. I have a feeling he’s more likely to skydive from this plane than know how to secure my oxygen mask if I can’t do it myself.
As if I weren’t already a stressed-out mess, my iPhone chimes. I forgot that I left it wedged between my knees. When I flip it over, the text reminder flashes on the screen. What compels me to open it now of all times, I have no idea.
You don’t need to come, it reads.
I messaged him late last night. But instead of telling him I took the job, I said I’d visit him on R&R. That was his reply.
I pinch my eyes shut.
It stings just as much as the first time he said it nine years ago. Can’t he see that Iwantto come? That I don’t particularly love going a solid year without seeing him in person, let alone four?
I planned to respond to him before we took off. But that doesn’t seem to matter now that we’re barreling down the runway. It’s not like I’m turning back.
I hold the side button, powering down the device. The intercom dings, and a woman with a Delta branded vest andcurls piled on top of her head pulls out a radio from the wall next to her. Her knuckles are nowhere near the same shade as mine when she presses it against her lips.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome aboard Delta Airlines flight 3994 bound for Boise, Idaho. All carry-on items should be stowed securely in an overhead bin or beneath the seat in front of you.”
I sacrifice my safety for a split second to stuff my phone into the front pocket of my JanSport backpack.
“All electronic devices should be turned off at this time. If you’re seated in an emergency exit, please review the responsibilities for emergency exit seating on the back of the safety information card located in the pocket of the seat in front of you.”
The nose of the plane careens forward as she wraps up her speech and takes a seat. My chest constricts with every pull of air into my lungs. My vision tunnels and my ears ring.
