Thirty-Three
Thirty-Three
Ellie?”
Her head snaps up with a jolt before her eyes have even opened. She gasps for breath—a fish on shore—temporarily forgetting her whereabouts and wondering if the whole morning has only existed in her mind. Her eyelids part. Slowly, the scene comes into focus. The shape of the seats in front of her. The flight attendant breezing through the narrow aisle. And beside her: Jonah.
“Are you all right?” he asks, a trace of concern evident in his voice. All around them, the world is white noise. The sound of air rushing past. The low murmur of voices. The gentle hum of electronic parts. Ellie rubs her eyes, taking it in. “You never sleep on flights,” he points out.
Ellie straightens her posture, blinks herself awake. She has her cardigan on, a soft and familiar layer of comfort while she finally let herself rest. “I’m all right,” she decides. Outside the porthole-like window beside Jonah, the clouds have disappeared, and the world has begun to present itself again. Everything appears in miniature. Tiny houses. A tapestry of land. Threads of black roadway. “What time is it?” Ellie asks, unsure if she’s been asleep for minutes or hours, if they’re in the midst of departing or landing. It’s so hard sometimes to determine if what you’re looking at is the beginning or the end of something.
Jonah offers a soft chuckle. “You’ve been asleep for a while,” he tells her and gingerly taps the glass. “Look.” Together, they both peer through the window at the hot, tropical landscape that waits for them. “See?” He smiles. “You slept through the worst part of things,” he notes. “We’re almost there.”
The minute they step off the plane and into the passenger bridge that leads them inside, Ellie feels the heat. Even though it’s early—still morning for all intents and purposes, though she’s already been awake and moving for hours—the humidity is thick. She doesn’t need a mirror to know her hair, which was smooth and neatly brushed when she boarded their flight, is a catastrophe of frizz. She doesn’t care. Her focus right now is exclusively on Jonah, who walks several paces ahead, his head of thick hair bobbing through the crowd like a stylish buoy.
“Jonah, stop!” she shouts out, surprising herself as well as everyone else who navigates this corridor. All around her, a handful of passersby look on, not sure if this woman they see and hear is about to make a scene. “Please.”
Up ahead, Jonah turns, his feet—just seconds ago moving swiftly—locked momentarily in place. Outside the glass, a plane pulls away from its gate, all those souls on board it ready and waiting to arrive someplace new.
She needs to ask him. To know that this day is real.
“Tell me everything you remember,” she says.
Jonah squints, unsure of what she means. From outside, the bold sun and the relentless heat radiate through the glass.
“About the last few days.” She shifts her weight from one foot to the other in her leather sandals, which she slid into before they left. “About everything that got us here.”
Jonah tugs the sturdy handle of his carry-on, the luggage obediently spinning to a stop at his side. “What do you mean, Ellie?”
Nearby, dozens of other travelers—all of them happy to have their feet back on the ground after speeding through the clouds from whatever place they came—zip past. Time is important here. Every minute and small choice counts. They can’t wait and watch.
“I—I don’t know,” Ellie admits, suddenly doubting herself. Close to them, two young children, dressed in the vacation gear typical to this place, run past—both of them screaming and laughing (much to their mother’s audible annoyance) as they wrestle each other onto the public space’s teal-patterned carpet. “You really don’t remember?”
“Remember what?” Jonah asks.
Overhead, an announcement pipes through the airport’s speaker system. A traveler on another flight is running late. The main cabin door on his aircraft is about to close, whatever destiny awaited him in his chosen destination now on a final countdown.
“This week,” Ellie says. “And, you know, anything ... funny?”
“Funny?” Jonah questions. “No, not that I can think of.” He smiles. It’s clear he’s telling the truth. This chapter, she understands, is closed.
Jonah steps forward, wheeling his carry-on at his side. He lifts his arms and begins to wrap them around Ellie in an embrace, though his movements are far from smooth. He can’t find a place to comfortably position himself because of her backpack. He pulls away and laughs.
“What?”
“Your bag,” he says, already sliding it off her. “Give me that.”
Ellie’s shoulders instantly settle, relieved by this new absence of weight, this sudden feeling of lightness. She smiles and watches him slide the pack onto his own back.
“I should have offered to help you with it anyway.”
“This is the final boarding call—I repeat, the final boarding call—for passengers on flight 1180 with direct service to Los Angeles,” a voice announces through the speaker system. “Please procced to gate four immediately.”
Jonah circles his arms around Ellie’s body. “So, what made you ask me that?” He kisses her forehead. “What stories are you spinning in your head?”
“None,” she says, holding him just a bit tighter. “None at all.”
They stay like this for a minute, a sea of other travelers parting around them.
“Well, in that case, what do you say?” He pulls back to meet her face. “Coffee?”
Ellie smiles, though really it’s more of a grin. “Absolutely.”
“Maggie!”
Ellie and Jonah yell out her name in tandem. She stands near the baggage carousel, nibbling on some dehydrated something. She’s so brilliant, like a perfect work of art. Her glossy, sandy-brown hair hangs loosely down her narrow back. This time, Ellie is not the only one who sprints across the airport’s shiny terrazzo floor to get to her.
“Oh, Maggie.” Ellie burrows her face in her daughter’s hair as Jonah stands beside them. But already, Ellie feels her daughter pulling back. She mentally prepares herself, ready to be scolded for this public display of affection.
“Dad?” Maggie adjusts the patchwork bag that hangs limply from her shoulder. “Are you—are you crying?”
“Hmm?” Jonah dabs his eyes. “No, no. It’s from my coffee.” He nods at the cup in his hand. “I, uh—I just took a really hot sip.”
“It’s cold brew, Dad,” Maggie points out. She turns to her mother, gives her a look, and then playfully rolls her eyes. Ellie smiles and laughs, grateful for this brief moment of solidarity between them. “You’re in Florida,” she points out. “You never drink hot coffee here.”
“Right.” Jonah indulges an icy mouthful. “Come here, kiddo.” With one arm, he pulls Maggie in for a hug, wrapping his free arm around Ellie. “I missed you girls.”
From the corner of Ellie’s eye, she sees a man positioned near the baggage claim’s wall of automated glass doors. She recognizes him immediately: the slightly wrinkled dress shirt, the loose slacks. And, of course, his sign. The Baker Family , it reads.
Jonah sees it, too. “That’s us!” he shouts at the man. “We just need a minute!”
Together, their bodies form a tight little triangle right in the middle of this public space. All around them, other travelers hustle to grab their luggage and hurry off on their way to wherever it is that they’re heading. But not them. Not just yet.
Nearby, the doors open and then close and then open again.
Still, they stay put.
Right now, this moment feels like their real destination.
In so many ways, regardless of what is stamped on their respective tickets, it is the only place where they’ve hoped to arrive.