Page 92 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

“First time flying ever,” she corrects, eyes still scanning the ticket.

Her fingers tighten on the boarding pass like it might float away. She keeps glancing up at the overhead signs, whole place moving too fast for her to feel in control.

I lean closer. “Okay,” I say quietly, counting it off on my fingers. “We go through security. We find the gate. We sit. We board when they call us. That’s it.”

Lucy’s mouth twitches like she’s fighting a smile. “You just made it sound like a training plan.”

“It is,” I say, dead serious. “Step one: don’t panic. Step two: try not to lose your shoes.”

She laughs, and some of that tension leaves her shoulders.

She keeps choosing something new even when the familiar would be easier.

At security, I remind Lucy to have her ID and boarding pass ready. The line takes a while, but not as long as it looks. Lucy slips off her shoes carefully, sets everything in the gray bins, and glances back at me once before stepping into the scanner. I give her a reassuring nod.

A few minutes later, we’re putting our shoes back on, zipping our jackets, and reorganizing our bags.

“We survived,” I say.

She smiles, more relaxed now. “That wasn’t as bad as I thought.”

“See? Professional traveler already.”

We follow the signs to our gate, weaving through the crowd. When we reach ours, I find two empty seats and drop our bags at our feet.

“Hungry?” I ask.

“Maybe just water,” she says.

“I’ll grab it.”

When I come back with two bottles and a couple of snacks, she’s already pulled a book from her bag. I love that she takes books with her everywhere.

I brush my thumb over her knuckles. “My mom’s going to love you.”

Lucy exhales, the nerves still there but softer now.

As I sit beside her, shoulder touching shoulder, watching the planes taxi past the window, the trip suddenly feels larger than a Thanksgiving visit.

It’s about seeing if our worlds can fit together outside of campus.

A plane lifts beyond the window, and Lucy’s book lowers into her lap. For a moment, the nerves leave her face entirely, replaced by quiet wonder.

She turns toward me. There’s a thoughtful look in her eyes.

“So,” she says softly, “what are your family’s Thanksgiving traditions?”

The memories come easily. “My mom goes all out. Like… all out. Every dish you can think of, and probably a few you didn’t know existed. Turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce, three kinds of pie. She starts cooking days in advance.”

Lucy laughs, her fingers brushing against mine. “She sounds intense.”

“She is,” I admit, grinning. “But in the best way. And football’s a big thing, too. My dad and I always try to watch at least one game together. Even if we’re not in the same place, we’ll text through the whole thing—trash-talking teams we don’t even care about. It’s kind of our way of staying connected.”

Her smile softens. “I like that.”

“After dinner, it’s usually board games or cards,” I continue. “Nothing fancy. Just everyone hanging around, talking, arguing over rules. It’s… comfortable.”

“Cozy,” she says, nodding. “That actually sounds really nice.”