My stomach spasms. My heart trembles. But that’s because I’m being called for my first trip as a flight attendant.
I’m nervous about flying. Which pushes all concerns about Nathan and Wyatt out of my mind.
Chapter Four
Nathan
Iflybecause itreleases mymind from thetyranny ofpetty things.
—ANTOINEDESAINT-EXUPÉRY
Air-frying chicken wings reminds me of Claire’s chicken-dance defense.
Turning on a Seahawks game reminds me of how the shuttle driver came at me like a linebacker.
Even Andrew James, the famous quarterback starring in an insurance commercial, reminds me of her “Home, James” quote. Who says that anymore? I’m not even sure where the saying came from in the first place. I just know it’s outdated.
There’s something classic about Claire. Something other than the pearl necklace and old-fashioned Mary Jane heels, because lots of flight attendants wear those, and I usually forget their names.
Claire Holloway is memorable for herself, and I smile every time something reminds me of the day. Which is often.
It’s been a while since the thought of a woman has made me smile. For almost a year now, my thoughts have centered on my former fiancée, and those definitely don’t make me smile. They make me rip down interior walls of my house with a sledgehammer.
Here I sit in my lone recliner, facing a television on a card table,surrounded by the gutted first floor of my house and the chalky scent of fresh drywall. It’s the clean slate I need for rebuilding a life without Joey.
I’m free to remodel my own way since I won’t be getting married. I can choose flooring and fixtures for their function rather than the aesthetic. I can furnish with the sleek designs and leather that she hated. I can replace the typical dining room table with a pool table. Nobody’s here to argue against it.
What I cannot do is fall for another woman who is interested in someone else. There aren’t any more walls here to demolish.
The roar of the crowd on television echoes in my empty home, as if to emphasize my concern. Not that it’s a legitimate concern. The woman on my mind is nothing more than a memory. A stranger on a bus.
I focus on the game to see what everyone is yelling about. Apparently, our kicker missed a field goal that could have given us the lead. I snort in disgust at how the losing score symbolizes my love life.
Maverick lifts his head from where he lies at my feet. His tongue hangs out in the hope that my snort means I’ll feed him leftovers.
I would scratch the golden retriever behind his floppy ears if my fingers weren’t covered in sticky buffalo sauce. “Sorry, boy. Your stomach couldn’t handle the cayenne pepper.”
He watches with tortured black eyes as I rip the last bite of spicy meat from a bone with my teeth, then chew and swallow.
“If it wasn’t raining, I’d take you for a walk.”
He leaps to his paws and charges the front door.
Oops. I’m a horrible pet owner. I used thewword in vain. At least I know my dog gets spoiled when I’m gone.
Joey surprised me with Maverick for Christmas last year and agreed to watch him while I went on trips. Of course, that ended after our breakup, and I thought I might have to find him a new home. What happened next was either divine intervention or God playing a joke. Probably both.
Last January Maverick disappeared from my backyard. I drove the streets looking for him and finally knocked on doors. The neighbor girl, Eliza, sheepishly let me in to reveal that she’d taken Maverick from mybackyard so she could dress him up in her doll clothes. The dog staring back at me wore a frilly red dress. He put the “ruff ” inruffles.
After I stopped laughing and Eliza’s mom realized what had happened, we agreed their family would be my new dog sitters. Hence, Mav’s love of fashion and the reason he’s currently sporting a navy-blue football jersey. Now he puts the “ruff ” inrough sport.
It’s nice to have a pet waiting for me when I come home, and I feel bad for letting him down. I carry my plate to the stainless steel undermount sink in my new marble kitchen island and get him a doggy treat.
I consider taking him on that walk that I accidentally got him excited about. Except it’s nearly dark out, and, you know, the smell of wet dog.
As soon as the bag of doggy treats crinkles, Maverick bounds over, all else forgiven. I feed him and finally give him the ear scratches he deserves.
I wonder if Joey bought her new boyfriend a dog too. I wonder if Claire has any pets back home and if her boyfriend takes care of them while she’s gone.
