Chapter 3 Aurora #2
Uncle Wade’s voice mercifully serves as a stern reminder that we have to take off, so Sav dips her chin in his direction, then gives me a smile.
“Sit anywhere. We can chat later. Oh, and cool plant.”
“Thank you.”
Sav makes her way to a couch-type seating fixture on the side of the cabin with Levi and Brynnlee. Despite the open seat next to Mabel, I choose one of the empty chairs in front of her. I buckle quickly, then drop my head to the headrest.
Shoulders back. Deep breaths.
When the pilot announces that we’re readying for takeoff, I move one of my hands to the armrest and dig my fingers into the plush leather.
My intention was to watch out the window, but instead, the moment the jet starts to taxi, my eyes clamp shut involuntarily.
The wheels rolling beneath me feel different than a car or a bus, and I immediately hate it.
I know what it means to fly. Yesterday, I was even excited for it.
But it’s no longer an abstract event now.
It’s real, and the fact that we’re about to be air-bound suddenly has sweat dotting my hairline.
Forty thousand feet above sea level in a tin can with wings is more terrifying than anything else has ever been.
I should open my eyes to seek out the emergency exits or the oxygen masks or the life vests, but I can’t.
When the jet jostles slightly, I have to bite back a yelp.
It’s official. I hate flying. This was a terrible idea.
“Rossi, sit down!”
“Sorry, Ham.”
I hear my uncle mumble something about grown fucking adults, but then a body drops into the seat next to mine and all my attention zeroes in on it. My eyes fly open to find Mabel beside me. Her sunglasses are still on, but her giant headphones are around her neck.
“My first time flying was scary as fuck, too.”
Her tone is kind, but her words float on a teasing lilt, and heat surges to my cheeks.
“What? No. I’m fine. I’m okay.”
“Girl, I could see your hand white-knuckling the armrest from back there.”
“Oh. I just...”
God, this is embarrassing. My face is on fire. Not only am I the least rock and roll person on this plane, but I’m also a giant baby. I try to force out an unbothered laugh, but it ends up sounding like a choked hiccup.
“I’m fine.”
She smiles playfully. “Let’s not lie to each other. Let’s start our relationship on a foundation of truth.”
There is no judgment in her voice, and it helps to dampen my embarrassment. I work to unclench my teeth and exhale slowly. Lying is useless, anyway. I’m a wreck.
“Right. Okay. Yes, I’m very nervous.”
“It’s okay to be nervous. Want to hold my hand? It might help.”
She turns her hand over, so it’s palm up in front of me. The offer makes my stomach flip, and on impulse I grip the armrest tighter.
“No. No, sorry, but no. That’s okay. Thanks anyway.”
She drops her hand back into her lap, and I can’t help but follow the movement. Her nails are short and painted a dark, glittery black, she has a stack of gold and silver bracelets on her wrist, and a flashy pink diamond ring on her middle finger.
I bet her hand is soft. It looks like it is. I wonder if she has calluses like Sav. Surely, she would. She holds drumsticks for a living, and even though I know she wears fingerless gloves, the pressure from banging on the drums would still take a toll on her smooth, golden skin.
“I like your plant.”
Mabel’s voice startles me, and my eyes jump back to hers.
“What? I’m sorry. What?”
I can feel my cheeks heating once more. When the corners of her lips twitch, I glance away so I don’t stare at them again.
“I said I like your plant. Orchid, right?”
I look at the planter in my arms and nod. I’ve barely let go of it since I left home.
“Phalaenopsis,” I clarify, and then I wince.
“Sorry, I mean yes. It’s an orchid. A moth orchid.
Phalaenopsis is the scientific genus. I always forget not everyone knows those.
” I laugh lightly at myself and run my finger over the smooth edge of the ceramic planter.
“The family is Orchidaceae. It’s one of the largest families of flowering plants.
Over twenty-five thousand species, actually.
That’s through eight hundred or so genera—that’s plural for genus—but this one, Phalaenopsis, is probably the most well-known.
This particular plant is resting, but I’m—”
The jet picks up speed, stealing my words with my breath. I look quickly out the window, then shut my eyes once I see the world whooshing past in a blur.
“Oh, God.”
“Breathe through it. It will be over fast.”
“Think of England?” I say, forcing a joke to keep from doing what I want to do, which is whimper and squeak with every rotation of the wheels.
And though I’m barely maintaining composure, Mabel’s answering laugh gives me a small chill, anchoring me to the moment before I spiral into a full-blown meltdown.
“Exactly. Close your eyes and think of England.”
I give her a small smile, but then the plane shakes violently, and my whole face scrunches into what I’m sure is a very unattractive expression of terror.
Panic claws at my throat, and I reach desperately for Mabel, grabbing onto her forearm and holding tightly.
She covers my hand with hers and speaks, her voice softer and closer than before.
“This is normal. It’s the jet taking off and the wheels retracting. It’s almost over.”
“Are you sure?”
“Foundation of truth, remember? Only honesty here.”
I jerk out a nod and try to focus on her thumb rubbing back and forth on my wrist. On her forearm under my palm.
I knew she’d be soft. Soft and warm. Mentally, I zero in on each point of contact.
I can feel the pads of her fingers—index, middle, ring, pinky—and the way they curve atop mine. The comforting weight of her touch.
I force a swallow and breathe until the jet has leveled out and the cabin no longer shakes.
“It’s over now. When you’re ready, it’s safe to open your eyes.”
I peek through my lashes until I’m brave enough to open my eyes fully, and then I turn my head toward Mabel.
“Sorry.”
“What for?”
“Um...freaking out, I guess? Making you have to, um, be here.”
She smiles curiously and scans my face, eyebrows slanting just slightly. “Babe, you don’t have to keep apologizing. Not for this, and not for anything else.”
I freeze.
She called me babe.
Mabel Rossi, drummer for the most famous band on the planet, called me babe.
My heart starts racing again, but this time it’s not from fear. It’s from...I don’t even know. Something I can’t analyze right now. My answering laughter is awkward, but I try to act like she didn’t just make me dizzier with one little word.
One little word that means absolutely nothing.
“Oh. Right. Sorry. Thank you.”
“Anytime.” She leans forward, that small smile still affixed to her lips as she whispers to me, “And you don’t have to apologize for apologizing, either.”
Instinctively, I open my mouth to apologize again, but she arches a brow, and I snap it shut.
“Much better,” she says, and her smile grows, stretching across her face and making her caramel-colored eyes crinkle at the sides.
I don’t know when she took her sunglasses off, but I was correct in my earlier assumption. Thick black kohl lines her upper lids, flaring out into expertly drawn wings. She’s calm, collected, and looks like she just stepped out of a magazine.
“Are you always this composed?”
The question slips from my lips before I can stop it, and my eyes widen. Thankfully, she laughs.
“Only when other people are around,” she says, her voice low, like it’s a secret. Her answer gives me pause, but then she turns on a charming smile that halts all deeper thought. “Hi. I’m Mabel.”
“I’m Aurora.”
“It’s nice to meet you officially.”
“You, too.”
I realize as I look at her that there’s green drawn under her lower lashes, giving her an almost ethereal appearance, and I find it difficult to look away. When my chest starts to tighten, though, I drag my attention back to my planter.
“You’re getting some color back. That’s a good sign. For a minute there, you were white as a ghost.”
“Yeah, well, for a minute, I thought I might end up a ghost, so it’s fitting.”
Her musical laughter brings a small, pleased smile to my face, but I keep my eyes on my orchid. I don’t trust myself not to make it weird.
Her thumb brushes over my wrist, reminding me that I’m still holding on to her, so I release her forearm and wrap my hand back around the planter. The ceramic cools my palms, but her warmth doesn’t disappear. It sinks deeper into my skin.
“So anyway. The orchid.”
“Hmm?”
“You were telling me about your orchid before takeoff.”
“Oh. Right. My orchid.”
I sit up straighter, grateful to be back in familiar territory. I can talk about plants. I’ll just pretend she’s one of the ladies from church and not some famous, gorgeous rock star, and it will be fine.
“So, this is Phalaenopsis, also known as a moth orchid. It’s the most well-known of the orchids. This one will be pink when it reblooms. It was my mom’s, but it’s been resting...wait...” I turn to face her. “How did you know this was an orchid? There are no flowers. It’s just stems and leaves.”
Her smile quickens my pulse.
“I know a bit about orchids. I had a guardian who liked plants, and she loved orchids.”
“A guardian?”
“Yeah.”
“Not your parents?”
She arches a playful brow. “We getting personal already, Aurora?”
My eyes widen before I whip them back to my lap. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine. I’m kidding. No apologies necessary.” She bumps my shoulder with hers. “I wasn’t raised by my parents. I grew up in the system.”
The system.
Foster care.
“Oh. That’s nice.” When she laughs, I cringe.
“I didn’t mean nice. I meant...Fine...Good?
I don’t know. I’m sor—” I catch myself before I apologize again and blow out a slow breath, willing the fuzz in my head to clear.
“I’m not usually like this. I’m overwhelmed and tired, and the seats on the bus I took to Los Angeles made my neck sore, so I have a bit of a headache.
And I think I’m hungry. And I’m overwhelmed.
And tired. And, well, it’s all making me more awkward than normal. ”
Not to mention her proximity and all the weird things that seems to be doing to me, too.
“Understandable. Luckily, these seats are much more comfortable than a bus, and they recline into beds.” Mabel stands and steps into the aisle. “Get some rest. If you need anything, just ask. I’m right behind you.”
She gives me one last smile, and then she disappears.
When I take my first full breath since she sat down, I notice a floral scent lingering in her absence.
I don’t know how I missed it before. Gardenia.
I inhale again, deeper this time, filling my lungs with the familiar scent.
Gardenias love the Mediterranean climate out here, but they can be temperamental.
They need specific conditions to thrive, so they’re one of my favorite plants to grow. Every bloom feels like a reward.
My eyes fall to my orchid, and my stomach does another little flip. There are no blooms, but Mabel still knew what it was.
I know a bit about orchids.
My lips fight to curve into a small, strange smile. I shift in my seat. She didn’t interrupt me when I started to ramble, either. And her touch was soft. Her skin was warm. She called me babe. She was so...so...
“Here.”
I jump with a gasp, and Mabel laughs, holding something out to me.
“I didn’t mean to scare you. I brought you these since meal service isn’t for another hour.”
I focus my attention on her outstretched hand. “Shortbread cookies?”
“Do you not like shortbread?”
“No, I do. Sorr—”
She arches her eyebrow again, halting the word before I can finish saying it. I bite my tongue, then fold my lips between my teeth before altering my response.
“I do like shortbread.”
“Much better,” she teases, then wiggles the package.
“Thank you.”
I take the cookies, and when I look back to her face, that curious smile is back, and her caramel eyes sparkle in the soft cabin lighting. They look like amber gemstones. When my skin starts to tingle, I look away.
“You’re welcome,” she says finally. “There should be a blanket and pillow under the seat if you’d like to sleep.”
Then she leaves me once again.
My exhale is audible as I drop my head back to my seat. I need to get it together before I make a fool of myself. I have no idea what’s going on in my head, but whatever it is, it feels too obvious.
I stare at the ceiling for several breaths before I’m ready to move again.
Gently, I place my orchid in the seat beside me, and then I open the cookies.
They’re just cookies, but for some reason, that weird smile returns as I bring one to my mouth.
I take a bite, the corners of my lips twitching with the need to grin wider, and I let out a quiet laugh.
My anxiety is nearly gone, but the nerves swirling in my stomach persist. They feel different, though. Now they almost tickle instead of ache.
Now they almost feel like butterflies.