She steps up, and I tilt the pass towards her. She nods, a bit amused. “Yep, five A. This one.”
I’m only going to hold things up trying to clarify, and the seat is clearly empty, so I stammer thanks and put my backpack in the bin, then slide into the seat.
It’s a whole recliner, with a thirteen-inch TV and a clear view out of the window.
I guess first class doesn’t have to pick between window and aisle.
I’m bewildered, still expecting someone else to step onto the plane or emerge from the bathroom and inform me that I’m in their seat. It’s not until the plane is sealed, the flight attendant has checked my seat belt, and we’re taxiing onto the runway that I accept it. Ticket upgrades sometimes happen if they overbook a flight, right?
I snap a selfie and send it to Mom with the message,first class, baby! Before switching to airplane mode.
The other people in first class are typing away on laptops and smartphones, or scrawling in notebooks, vaguely disinterested in their surroundings.
The air is already dry on the plane, and I remember what I forgot—my water bottle. Shit.
But there’s a bottle waiting in the cupholder. I figure I’ll have to pay for it at the end of the flight and it’s going to be super overpriced, but I’ll refill it and make it worthwhile.
Leaning against the window, I stare out as we take off. The first few moments of flight always feel strange, when the airport structures seem eerily close. Soon, the plane banks out over the city, which now appears like a charming model town. Spring is in full swing with no trace of the winter’s snow left, trees once again a bright emerald, bushes plump with flowers, sunlight bringing out all the golds and reds in the city’s historic districts.
The harbor glitters brilliant blue like liquid sky, and then the coast shrinks to a tan streak as we make our way out over the Atlantic.
I put on a podcast and keep staring out the window for the next few hours. The ocean ripples with infinite shades of blue until sunset takes it through a violent scarlet then down into dusky purple. I take a thousand pictures to send to Mom later.
The sky has become deep, inky black when a savory aroma tickles my nose, and I slip my headphones out.
There’s no food cart in first class. The flight attendant from before walks out with full plates of food, and as she drops it off for the person in front of me, she asks, “Chicken, veggie, or beef?”
“Chicken,” I say, mostly because it was the first option and I’ve already forgotten the other two.
“Anything to drink? Wine? Cocktail?”
“Uh—no, that’s fine.” I’m stretching out my water bottle, trying to avoid buying a second, but I’ll be alright.
“It’s complimentary,” she says, a twinkle in her eye. She has fully clocked that I do not belong in first class, and I’m sograteful for it.
“Oh, um… White wine?”
“You’ve got it, sweetheart.”
She brings me the chicken, a mini bottle of wine, and a plastic cup with a stem. It’s almost too cute to open, but I’m thirsty, and it really goes perfectly with the chicken.
This might be the best chicken I’ve had in my entire life. Maybe it’s the thin air or the wine getting to me, but it’s juicy and herbal and definitelynotthe same as economy-class food.
After dinner, I accept an herbal tea and a cookie—also complimentary. I’m pretty sure economy is charging for pretzels these days.
I’m getting tired, and the cabin lights are dimmed, and the attendant brings around blankets and pillows. I ask for an extra pillow, enjoying a thrill of naughtiness. The flight attendant is happy to oblige.
My chair reclines all the way flat, and it’s so nice to stretch my legs out. I’m not tall—five foot six—so I know I don’t have that much to complain about with coach seating, but still, this is a million times better.
I snuggle in with my blankets, pillows, and a movie. Before I know it, I’m asleep.
Hours later, the cabin lights brighten. Excitement combats my jet lag, and even though it’s six am back home and I’m distinctlynota morning person, I’m soon wide awake.
Outside the window, the azure Atlantic washes along the coast of Ireland as I accept a glass of champagne and turn to appreciate the view.
The houses look like they belong in a little train model, cute and small and colorful. The plane shudders as we approach the runway, and there’s a little lurch as we touch down, but it’s overall a smooth landing.
I turn off airplane mode and send Mom a millionpictures, then open the email that Morgan’s assistant, Eileen, sent me. I was so focused on getting this far that I actually have no idea what’s next.
