Dutton: You do know you have to actually get on the plane, right? Like, the airport isn’t going to take you to your final destination.
Blue:Of course he knows that. Our boy is an international superstar, Sparky. He’s a man of the world.
Dutton: That man of the world better not miss his fucking flight because he’s taking selfies while the plane boards. We do not need angry European men named Jan and Oskar threatening to kick our asses because Mick isn’t there for training.
Mickey:Jan wouldn’t do that. He’s totally chill. Oskar, on the other hand…
Dutton:Then get on the fucking plane!
Blue:Yeah, do that. But don’t rush or anything. Go take a piss if you need to.
Ollie:Exactly. Take your time, but do not miss your plane.
Mickey: Uh, okay. Got it. I’ll check in when we land.
Blue:Have a good flight!
Ollie: He will.
Mickey: Thanks for the vote of confidence, Olls.
My friends are a bunch of weirdos, but I’m used to their antics by now. I decide to find my place in line not because I think I’m in actual danger of having the plane take off without me, but because I know myself. I’ll be fine one minute, and then down some random rabbit hole on the internet the next. Then I really will miss my flight, and the last fucking thing I need right now is Dutton Wagner, my future brother-in-law, to say “I told you so”.
Pretty soon, I’m making my way to my seat and hoping I’m not stuck sitting next to someone who wants to yap my ear off. Ironic coming from me, I know, but I’m hoping to sleep for at least part of the flight, if I can. Being in a cramped space sucks, and napping will make the time go by faster. At least I’ve got an aisle seat. That’ll help.
My eyes scan the numbers and I look for 17C. But when I find it, I see that it’s already occupied. By an ass. It’s a small, shapely ass, and it’s one I’d recognize anywhere.
That’s Viv’s ass.
But that can’t be true because Vivian McDonald is not on this plane. This plane is going to Poland. Forever. It’s not coming back. I mean, I guess the actual plane is coming back, but these people aren’t. Okay, some of them probably are, too, but you know what I mean.
Viv’s ass can’t be in my seat because Viv can’t be in my seat because she’s flying to Vancouver in two days so she can cruise around the globe and do yoga. And she graduates tomorrow, which means she’s obviously in Bainbridge now, not at the airport in Baltimore.
Before I can form a coherent thought or speak an actual word, Viv stops digging in the bag next to her and looks up at me, her beautiful hazel eyes drinking me in.
The woman I love is less than a foot in front of me—so close I could fucking touch her— and all I can think to say is, “Why is your ass in my seat?”
32
Mickey
She doesn’t miss a fucking beat. She doesn’t vanish into thin air like the mirage I’m still convinced she is. She just answers me. “I was saving it for you, silly,” she says, scooting over to the middle seat and putting her bag next to the window. “People like to poach aisle seats, you know. Well, I guess you would know that, since you’re tall. In fact, I bet you’ve been a seat-poacher before. Not me,” she says, dangling her feet to show that they don’t quite touch the ground. “I’m perfectly happy in the middle seat. Well, I prefer the window for the view, but either is really fine with me since leg room is not an issue.”
She’s being a-fucking-dorable right now, but my brain still can’t comprehend what’s happening.
“Uh, it’s great to see you, and all, but this plane is going to Warsaw. In Poland.”
“I know.” Her laughter sounds like music. “Oh, here,” she says, reaching for me and pulling me into the open seat—my seat. “There are people trying to get through the aisle, and it’s a tight squeeze, so…” Her voice trails off as we both look down at our still-joined hands.
I should pull mine back, but I don’t, and neither does she. For a second—only one—we’re both quietly taking the moment in.
And then I start talking.
“You can’t go to Poland. We won’t get there until tomorrow, and you have graduation tomorrow, and then you need to get to Vancouver, and?—”
She stills my unstoppable mouth by putting a finger to my lips and handing over her phone. Her flight information is on the screen, and sure enough, she’s my seatmate on this flight. Seat 17B is assigned to McDonald, Vivian C.
“How?” I ask, that one word containing about a million questions.
