12. Maeve
MAEVE
After the flight attendant takes my ridiculously long order with an unshakeable smile, she leaves and the plane settles into a quiet hum of immense, understated power.
I’ve flown before, although not in a while, and always commercial on the cheapest seats I could find.
This isn’t flying; this is occupying a different reality.
But I’ve seen glimpses of the sort of menus they offer business and first-class passengers, and it’s nothing like this.
There, you get a choice. You get a couple of options for each course, like a meat, a fish, and a veggie, and there’s a variety of snacks and drinks.
This is different. This is a full menu, with so many options it made my head swim, and no prices that I could find. I’m guessing it’s because if you’ve hired a private jet, you don’t care about the food prices, or the pricing is included in the package.
The flight attendant doesn’t argue or even look annoyed when Hayden insists I just get to have one of everything. She just smiles and nods, like she gets crazier requests all the time, and then she takes my menu and promises me I’ll enjoy everything, and heads out.
Our surroundings are so luxurious. Even the chair I’m sitting in feels like a wonderfully comfortable massage chair.
There are settings on the side so I can fully recline it out into a bed if I want, and in the compartment above me there are headphones, a pillow and an incredibly soft cashmere blanket, an eye mask, and earplugs.
There’s a cupboard filled with snacks and drinks, and a flat projector screen that comes down so you can watch movies or television as well as my own personal screen for if I just want to watch something for myself with headphones on.
It’s not just that everything around me is so luxurious.
It’s that everything is stunningly beautiful.
There’s a wet bar that’s built out of real mahogany, and the bathroom is done up in black marble veined with gold.
It’s a beautiful plane to be in. It reminds me of the old movies and TV shows in the 1960s when plane travel was a luxury and new and special.
While we wait for our turn to take off, I walk around the plane and take everything in.
Gabriel is flipping through a fashion magazine, making notes on some pages with an expensive-looking fountain pen.
He seems to be shopping for some kind of new watch.
The ones he’s looking at are gorgeous, one in the shape of a snake and another with a miniature model of the solar system on it, not just timepieces but pieces of art.
I can’t even imagine how much they must cost.
Hayden, now that my food is taken care of, is ignoring me and tapping away on his phone.
Oddly, though, Ford is just staring out the window, his hands gripping his arm rests, his knuckles stark white against the supple leather.
I’ve never seen Ford be anything except calm and cool.
Even when he’s irritated with someone being an idiot, he’s sharp and clinical about it.
He doesn’t ever yell, doesn’t pace, nothing.
It’s like people and emotions simply aren’t worth his time.
Which is why the rigid set of his jaw and the tension radiating from his shoulders is so jarring.
“Not looking forward to going home?” I ask, keeping my tone casual.
It would be nice to know I’m not alone in my nerves, but I suppose if even Ford is nervous about this, that just makes it worse.
Gabriel chuckles and I look over at him. He’s still flipping through the magazine. “That’s not it at all. Ford’s got a phobia of flying.”
I blink a few times. That can’t be right. “Ford’s not afraid of anything,” I blurt out.
Gabriel chuckles again. “That’s adorable. Haven’t you ever noticed that when it comes time to travel for work, it’s always Hayden or myself going? Ford always stays behind.”
I did notice, but I figured that was just Ford choosing to hold down the fort. I don’t have him in my phone as Mr. Freeze for nothing. I thought that was just Gabriel or Hayden being better with clients. I can’t believe that Ford, so imposing and powerful, is afraid of flying.
Ford grits his teeth. “I’m not afraid of flying,” he manages to grind out through his clenched jaw. “It’s just the taking off and the landing.”
“May I ask why?” I can’t help it, I’m curious.
Ford gets even more tense but just stares out the window, jaw set.
“All right, lady and gentlemen,” the pilot says over the intercom system. “We have been cleared for takeoff, so please take your seats and buckle up, and we’ll be in Denver before you know it.”
I sit down and do as I’m told. My seat is across from Ford’s, and I can see just how tense he really is. I’ve seen this man handle million-dollar work emergencies and stare down powerful CEOs without breaking a sweat. But here he is, gripping the seat, skin pale.
The plane starts moving down the tarmac. Ford looks even more tense. He actually even looks like he might throw up.
I never in a million years would’ve imagined Ford could feel fear like this.
My heart aches for him. I understand what it’s like to feel so afraid you’re going to be sick, even if my struggles are different from his.
And I know that if it’s a phobia then no matter how logical you are about it, no matter how many times you know that you’re actually okay, your body doesn’t get the memo.
Before I can stop myself, before my brain can talk me out of the sheer audacity of it, I reach out across the aisle and put my hand over his. It’s a simple, impulsive gesture.
I’m sure that he’ll shake me off, maybe even say something cutting, but instead, after a moment that stretches for an eternity, Ford flips his hand over and grips my hand tightly. His palm is warm, his grip strong, almost crushingly so.
I squeeze his hand reassuringly and let him hold on as tight as he needs while we take off. Ford breathes slowly and deeply, clearly doing breathing exercises. I don’t say anything. I just keep a tight hold on his hand so that he feels grounded.
Ford keeps his grip on my hand until we level off and the pilot announces that we’ve reached cruising altitude. Then he lets go, clearing his throat as he turns to stare out the window.
I retract my hand. I don’t want him to feel embarrassed about his fear of flying, but I don’t know what to say that won’t just add to that. My hand tingles from where our skin touched.
The flight attendant enters the main cabin a few minutes later with a cart laden with food. “Here we are!”
She passes the meals to the three men, then stops the cart in front of me and helps me set up my table.
There are so many options, and everything smells wonderful.
My mouth waters at the sight of it all, but I can’t help glancing over at the others before I take a bite.
I’m not some skinny Minnie, and I’ve gotten cruel comments before when I eat too… enthusiastically.
But Gabriel just cocks a brow, gesturing to the food. “Bon appétit.”
Ford glances over, looking a bit less tense as the corner of his mouth flickers upward briefly into a smile.
Hayden’s not even paying attention. He’s back on his phone now that we’re allowed to use electronic devices.
Satisfied that none of them are going to judge me, I tuck into the food.
It really is amazing, and I end up sharing some with Gabriel, who seems curious about some of the things I ordered.
I mentally take notes about everything, what worked, what I might do differently.
I know that my dream of owning a restaurant might still be far away, but if I can pull off this little charade with Ford, it could actually happen, and I want to be prepared.
Besides, it’s always just a good habit, to be aware and know what recipes I might like to try for myself.
After eating, I’m exhausted from not sleeping all night, so I recline my chair back all the way, grab the pillow and blanket, and try to take a nap. As I drift off, I hear Ford say something quietly to the flight attendant. A moment later, the lights dim.
That was thoughtful of him , I think. It’s my last thought before I slip under.
When I wake up with a yawn some time later, I feel incredibly refreshed. Honestly, this plane seat is almost more comfortable than my own bed.
As I sit up and stretch, I notice that the cabin has been cleaned up. Ford and Hayden are passing a tablet back and forth, apparently silently arguing about something that’s probably work related. Gabriel is reading some book in French.
“Are we almost there?” I ask.
Hayden jolts a little as if I startled him, then gets up, handing the tablet off to Ford and heading for the front of the cabin.
“Yes,” Ford says. “We should be landing shortly. You have good timing.”
I nod, then frown as I glance down at my phone. It’s much later than I expected. We were supposed to have landed a couple of hours ago.
“Did we get re-routed or something?” I ask. “And where did Hayden just go?”
“Bathroom,” Gabriel replies, putting away his book.
I narrow my eyes. “The bathroom is at the back of the plane. Hayden went to the front.”
“Thank you all for your patience,” the captain says over the intercom before either of them can respond to that. “We are beginning our descent into Denver. Please return to your seats and put on your seatbelts.”
My nose wrinkles up as my mind races. It’s a crazy thought, but I can’t help myself, so I have to ask, “Did you guys just… not let us land? Did we get delayed somehow?”
Hayden walks back in and seats himself, ignoring me.
Ford shoots Gabriel a look, and Gabriel shrugs casually.
“We asked the pilot if we had enough fuel in the jet and if the air traffic control would allow us to circle, just for a little while. The pilot charted out a new flight plan in conjunction with the airport so that we wouldn’t interrupt any other incoming flights, and we stayed airborne. ”
My brows shoot up as I blink in shock. I can’t think of anything to say, not even thank you, because I’m too stunned. That is an insane, extravagant, impossible amount of effort to go through just for me. “Why?” I finally blurt out.
“You said you didn’t sleep last night,” Hayden says, sounding irritated, like I should have figured that out on my own.
I look over at Ford. “But you hate flying.”
“Take-off and landing,” Ford mutters, as if he’s had to tell this to people a million times. “We already went through take-off, and anything to delay the landing is fine by me.”
I could see Ford using my lack of sleep last night as an excuse, and I really must’ve been exhausted if I didn’t hear them talking about this and the pilot arranging everything. I clearly needed the rest. But I still can’t get over what a thoughtful, considerate, and over-the-top gesture that was.
Then again , I think as we settle into our seats and begin landing, these are three billionaires .
They’re used to getting whatever they want. Maybe asking a pilot to see about changing an entire flight pattern and getting permission from ATC is like ordering something from the menu at a restaurant for them. Maybe, to them, it really was nothing at all.
Still, I can’t help but feel oddly touched.