Nine
O N SUNDAY AFTERNOON , it feels like I’m about to go out on a date.
A good one. With a guy who has a lot of potential.
As much as I tell myself to cool it, I still find myself showering and shaving and doing my nails and blow-drying my hair so it’s smooth and curled into beachy waves instead of its normal wild mess.
I bought a new dress yesterday—entirely incidental to today’s flight—and I put it on merely so it doesn’t wrinkle in my luggage. It’s a dark red that brings out the color in my cheeks and emphasizes the hazel color of my eyes. It’s long and made of a thick, stretchy knit that’s perfectly comfortable for a flight. Yes, it’s got some cool-looking lacing under the breasts that really make the most of my figure, but that’s definitely not why I chose the dress. I pair it with my favorite high boots and then cover the ensemble with a soft, sherpa-lined sweater-jacket since it’s cold outside and it makes me feel less dressed up.
My sister comments on how nice I look. My mother questions my choice of dress for a flight. My dad glances up from his desk to say goodbye and that I look pretty today.
I’m second-guessing my ensemble as the driver from my dad’s car service takes me to the airport, but it’s too late now to make a change.
I button my jacket before I get out of the car. It’s fine. It’s all fine. No one is going to assume I dressed up special to see Isaac. And if they do, oh well.
They’ll be wrong.
Kind of wrong.
Okay, maybe not wrong at all.
Isaac doesn’t show up until I’ve boarded the plane and taken my seat, but he’s not as late as he sometimes is.
I can’t help but smile when his face appears at the front of the aisle and he gives a friendly greeting to the flight attendant who nearly always works this flight.
When he’s halfway down the aisle, I can tell that underneath his jacket, he’s not wearing the jeans and sweater or basic top he usually wears on Sundays. His trousers are black, and his shirt has a collar and buttons. He’s rolling his small suitcase and has his regular laptop bag on his shoulder, but he’s also carrying a large paper shopping bag.
“What’s in there?” I ask, craning so I can see inside the bag when he sets it on his seat.
With a disapproving frown, he snatches the bag away and puts it on the floor instead as he takes off his jacket and stows it above us with his suitcase.
That’s when I discover my suspicions were correct.
Isaac dressed up too.
He’s got on a pine-green oxford that’s tucked neatly into his pants. He’s wearing a belt and nice leather shoes.
He looks like he’s on his way to a date.
I’m having to hide my giddiness as he takes his seat and shoots me a wary look.
“You look good,” I tell him.
“Yeah?” His mouth softens, and his eyes glint with warm laughter. “All my other stuff was in the laundry.”
“That’s what I figured.” I try for serene sobriety as I shrug off my jacket and stuff it under the seat in front of me with my bag. “I had the same problem.”
I’m only looking at him with quick, darting glances, but I see his eyes heat up as they move from my face, down my body, and back up again, lingering on my neckline. Suddenly self-conscious beneath my amusement, I let some of my hair fall forward as a curtain.
Isaac gently pushes it back behind my ear. “You’re beautiful.”
My lips quiver slightly as I try to control the feeling that’s threatening to spill out of me.
“No use trying to hide it. Your dimples give you away every time.”
I try for an indignant huff, but it comes out as a laugh instead.
“There it is,” Isaac murmurs.
“There’s what?”
“There’s the real River.”
I’m flushing but too happy to be bashful. “So what’s in there?” I ask, nodding toward the paper bag that’s now positioned between his feet.
“You’ll find that out eventually.”
“Why can’t I find it out now?”
“Because it’s not time yet.” He glances toward the flight attendant, who has stood up to model the seat belt operation while the recorded instructions play through the speakers.
I relax back into my seat, relenting about waiting until whatever time Isaac decides is appropriate for the contents of that bag.
While I don’t know for sure, I can’t help but suspect it has something to do with me.
“How was your weekend?” he asks as the plane starts to move.
“It was fine. We got the flowers and the menu finalized. And I’ve got all the illustrations she wants finished.”
“Like the guest book you were designing?”
“Yes. And the menu cards and name cards and directions to the reception venue and some signage and all the extra invitations to the prewedding events. It ended up being quite a lot.”
“It sounds like it. So did you do anything this weekend except work on the wedding?”
I consider the question. “Well, I slept. And ate a few meals. And I went on a drive with my dad.”
“You did? A drive where?”
“Just down the coast. We used to do that sometimes when I was growing up. When my mom was really stressing me out or when I was upset about my sister getting all the attention. He’d just put me in the car and start driving. We’d stop for a milkshake and keep going. He’d play my favorite music or get me to talk about things in my life.” I’m smiling as I close my eyes, momentarily lost in the memories. “I loved it.”
“So why did you need a drive with him this weekend? Were you upset about something?”
“Not really. But I went shopping with my mom, and that usually leads to a certain amount of stress.”
Isaac wraps one hand around his armrest as the plane shakes through takeoff, but his eyes never leave my face. “What kind of stress?”
“Just normal mom-daughter stuff. She wants me to wear much more stylish and upscale clothes. She wants me to cut my hair or at least pull it back so I look more put together. She wants me to get expensive manicures. She wants me to lose about fifteen pounds. And I want to be left alone.”
“That doesn’t sound like normal mom-daughter stuff. That sounds like an inappropriate amount of picking on you.” His tone is very cool in a way I don’t hear much from him anymore.
“Oh, it’s just normal. She doesn’t mean it to be as bad as it sometimes feels. She does love me. But she learned from her own mother to channel that love into a kind of control over my appearance and behavior. Not my real behavior, you understand. She doesn’t give a crap about my moral and ethical choices. It’s just how others view me that she cares about.”
“The fact that she loves you isn’t a particularly good defense of her treatment of you.”
“I know.” I sigh, slightly heavy for the first time since I arrived at the airport. “She’s not always so bad, but there’s only so much of it that I can take. That’s one of the reasons I live so far away.”
“She wants you to move back?”
“Of course she does. She wants me to set up a nice, pretty life like Raven is making for herself, moving in the same social circles and accessorized by the same superficial luxuries. It’s just not me. It’s never been me.”
“You’re the least superficial person I’ve ever met.” Isaac hasn’t pulled out his iPad from his bag like he normally does. He’s leaning back against his seat, but his head is turned in my direction. He’s fully listening. I can feel it as well as see it on his face.
“That’s a compliment I really appreciate, so thank you for it. I’m not sure it’s because I’m somehow better than my mom and Raven. It’s simply my nature not to really care about designer shoes and fancy nails and trendy decorating schemes. I do like pretty things. A lot. But I like them for themselves rather than for what they say about me. I don’t know if that makes sense.”
“It does make sense. You get emotionally attached to things. You don’t use them to show off. It’s one of the very first things I noticed about you.”
“Oh.” I lick my lips, suddenly slightly nervous.
“What was the first thing you noticed about me?”
“Honestly?”
“Of course.”
“Well, the truth is the first thing I noticed is that you’re very good-looking.”
He lets out a sharp burst of laughter. I clearly took him by surprise.
“I was expecting you to say something bad about me. I really annoyed you at first, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did. The second thing I noticed is that you use your work to try to block out things that make you uncomfortable. Something about me made you uncomfortable. And for a while you would barely turn away from your computer to acknowledge me.”
He’s quiet for longer than I expect, which worries me.
“That wasn’t supposed to be an insult,” I say.
“I know. I didn’t take it as one. I was thinking about it. And you’re right. Something about you made me uncomfortable, so I did what I always do. Focus on what I’m good at so I don’t have to think about the things I’m not good at.”
“Sports?” I ask with a lilt in my tone.
“Not in this instance. No. The thing I’m not good at that I was trying to avoid is...” His face twists briefly.
I wait. Until finally I prompt, “Is what?”
“Is being... real.” He’s slightly hoarse, like it’s hard for him to get it said. “Authentic. The real me. With someone else. And something about you made me want to.”
There’s no way to hold back either the flush or the smile. I’m reveling in the feeling when a bong signals the pilot turning off the seat belt light.
“Aha,” Isaac says, smiling as he pulls his paper bag from between his legs and into the aisle.
“Aha, what?”
“It’s time.”
“For the bag?” I’m so excited I actually clap my hands a few times.
“Yes.” He leans over and pulls down my tray table. Then he draws out a pretty bouquet of bright pink gerbera daisies and places it in front of me.
“Oh, they’re beautiful! How did you know they’re my favorite?”
“I didn’t know. I just thought you would like something a little different, and they look so vivid and bright they made me think of you.”
I ooh and aah over the flowers and the thoughtfulness of his choice until I realize he’s pulling something else out of the bag.
It’s a small battery-operated light that’s shaped like a candle and flickers like one. He turns it on and sets it on his tray table. “You weren’t sure about going on a date with me,” he drawls, “so I figured I’d bring the date to you.”
I giggle helplessly but then make a squeaky sound when he pulls out two sealed plastic meal containers of scallops and pasta with cream sauce. He has cloth napkins and real silverware.
I hug myself, thrilled by the fact that Isaac put so much thought and effort into this. If I was nervous and uncertain on Friday, I’m not anything of the kind right now.
I’ve never—never—felt like this for anyone before. Not once in my life. Like I could fly free and grip him with all my strength at exactly the same time.
Isaac is trying for a calm, lofty expression, but he can’t stop smiling either. He ends with two wineglasses into which he pours red wine from a mini screw-top bottle.
“How did you get that past the TSA?”
His mouth twitches. “I bought it and the glasses in an airport shop.”
I clap again. I can’t help it. “It’s perfect! I can’t believe it!”
“You’re not allergic to shellfish, are you? That worrisome thought occurred to me as I was getting to the airport.”
“No, I love scallops. I love everything. You couldn’t have planned it better for me if you’d already known all my favorites.”
“Okay. That’s good then.”
We stare down at our plates and then slant sidelong looks at each other.
“I guess we can start now,” Isaac says at last.
“Sounds good to me.”
The food is delicious and still fairly warm. The wine, despite the convenient size and screw top, isn’t cheap. I eat and sip the wine and occasionally pet my flowers. I’d be worried I was being silly had Isaac not visibly been pleased by my enjoyment of his efforts.
I ask him about how his parents are doing after his grandfather’s death, and he asks me about my job. He wants to know whether I’ve seen Cash since the breakup. I haven’t. And I in turn ask if he’s heard from Sophie. Also a no.
Eventually the food and wine are gone. Isaac puts the trash back in the shopping bag, which the flight attendant kindly takes to throw away. She’s obviously been watching us back there and looks delighted by the improvised date.
I’m feeling good. Warm and pleased and full and ridiculously happy about every single thing in the world when the plane jerks unexpectedly.
Isaac has been happy too. Visibly so. But he stiffens slightly at the jerk.
“Maybe it was just a random air pocket,” I say softly, holding my breath to see if the plane is going to shake again.
It does. Again and then again. And then a violent series of rattles that wakes up everyone in the plane and causes a couple of drinks to tip over and spill onto the floor.
The seat belt light dongs loudly as the pilot tells everyone we’re moving into a storm.
And I hate it. Hate it. Not because the turbulence has ever bothered me unduly but because I know it bothers Isaac.
We’ve been having such a good time, and this is going to ruin it.
Isaac doesn’t say anything. He holds both his armrests and looks at the back of the seat in front of him.
“At least we finished the meal,” I murmur, reaching over to rub his forearm.
“Yeah. That’s something, I guess.” He’s trying to sound natural and relaxed, but a big jolt of the plane turns the final word into a stifled mumble.
“Shit,” I breathe out as the shaking gets even worse. It’s such a strange feeling. Such intense fear and helplessness that’s not my own. That’s entirely empathy with him.
After a minute I can’t stand it any longer, and I reach over to take one of his hands in mine, squeezing it.
He’s not going to want me to fuss, but I have to do something.
To my surprise, he doesn’t immediately pull his hand away from mine. He lets me hold it until eventually he shifts its position so that he’s holding my hand instead. Holding it tightly. Not painfully but definitely tight.
We hold hands as the plane jerks and rattles for several more minutes. Then there’s a sudden shift, and the direction of the momentum changes. We’re descending.
It’s certainly because we’re getting close to Boston, but after all the turbulence, going down with so much speed is unnerving.
Isaac adjusts in his seat. His expression is characteristically stoic, but there’s a white line around his lips and his hand is still gripping mine tightly.
“We’ll land soon,” I murmur.
He nods and breathes through his nose.
My heart races, and I’m chilled to my bones—as if the fear and tension are my own—when the wheels finally connect to the landing strip with a bump.
There’s a mutual exhale through the plane. No one much enjoyed that final leg of the flight.
Isaac drops his head back and releases a long breath, only now loosening his grip on my hand.
He still doesn’t pull his away.
We sit holding hands during taxiing and connecting to the gate ramp and while everyone else gets off the plane.
Then he finally turns his head to look at me. “Well, that was an embarrassing end to an otherwise very good date.”
“It was still a good date,” I tell him, double-checking my bag to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything.
My phone isn’t there. Isaac retrieves it from the crack between the seats.
“Sure it was,” he says dryly.
“It was.” I stand up in the aisle beside him, gazing up at him. “I loved it.”
His expression softens. “Did you?”
“I did. I wish you hadn’t had to go through that last part, but it didn’t change my feelings about anything. In fact...”
He waits, but when I don’t conclude the sentence, he says, “In fact...?”
I let out a pent breath. Smile up at him. “Do you have any plans this evening?”
He blinks. “No.”
“Me either.”
He swallows visibly. “Did you want to do something?”
“If you’re interested.”
“You know perfectly well I’m more than interested.”
I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I am. And it’s somehow inevitable. “You can come back to my place for the evening. If you want.”
With a throaty sound, he lifts a hand to gently smooth some of my hair back from my face. Then he caresses my cheekbone with his knuckles. “ Want doesn’t come close to describing how I feel.”
I gulp again, but it’s a done deal now. Already decided. There’s nothing that will stop this from happening. “Then come over. To my place. For the night. Our date doesn’t have to end yet.”