1. One
One
Four Months Ago
DYLAN
Saturday
T he flight was turbulent, mirroring my life. I gazed blankly out the window, acting like I wasn't scared shitless as we descended into a thunderstorm. I tried not to think of the turbulence, but the bumpiness was shaking my anxiety awake.
Pretending to be hypnotized by the dreary landscape below and not paralyzed by fear, I watched as rivulets of rain raced down the glass, tracing intricate patterns. The thought of being stuck in a cylindrical tube, thousands of feet above the earth, in a storm, was terrifying. Ultimately, my fate was completely out of my control.
Both a blessing and a curse.
I pictured the plane going down, and wondered what image of me the newspaper would choose for their tribute to the victims.
Hopefully a hot one.
As the plane prepared for landing, a flight attendant's voice crackled over the speakers, gently reminding passengers to stow away their tray tables, return seats to the upright position and elevate the window shades.
Feeling slightly less anxious then a few moments ago, I hastily finished the last few mouthfuls of my white wine, because I was totally fine, completely normal and not freaking the fuck out . At least, that was the vibe I was going for.
My headphones blared the Pixies “Where Is My Mind?” and honestly, I wondered the same thing. I needed this week away more than I cared to admit. The relief I felt when we took off, soaring away from White Point, had been poignant. Although it was a work trip, leaving felt like freedom. I was already dreading returning.
Leaning back into my seat, my thoughts were dominated by Zack. Our relationship had become exactly what I feared it would: Cookie-cutter. Just like everybody else’s.
Did he even remember I was going for a week?
My thoughts were interrupted by the woman seated next to me. She’d been silent the entire flight, choosing to read her book instead of having a mid-flight meltdown like the rest of us. Mid-to-late seventies, with a gorgeous silver bob, her blue eyes were wide with curiosity.
“Coming home or going away?” she asked.
“Away, on a work trip,” I answered, removing my headphones. I was semi-interested in starting a conversation with a stranger, if only to help keep my mind off the rocky descent. “What about you?”
She smiled peacefully. “Coming home. I’ve been away visiting one of my sons.”
“How nice.”
“What do you do for work?”
“I’m an interior designer.”
“Oh, how fascinating. Have you got a project in the city?”
“Yes, but I’m also here for the Building and Design Expo,” I explained. “Actually, it's more like a conference. The industry comes together over a week to discuss trend forecasts, tech enhancements and development projects. That sort of thing.”
“Sounds interesting.”
"It's boring as hell," I laughed. I had a buzz on from the wine. "I’m more excited to catch up with one of my best friends who is flying in too."
“How fabulous,” she chuckled. “Bet you two get up to mischief on these work trips.”
“Not enough.” I smiled, wondering what this woman did before retirement.
“So what exactly does an interior designer do?”
“It depends on the project, but usually I work closely with the client on their vision. It could be for a new build or renovation. I manage the interior design of the entire space, ensuring it’s functional and practical.”
“What kind of project are you working on in the city?"
“Well, it's the biggest project of my career," I offered. "It’s a designer bridal store called Studio Pase."
The silver haired woman looked impressed. "That's exciting for you."
It really was. This was the project that could cement me as a leading interior designer on the East Coast. I needed this in my portfolio if I was to ever open my own interior design consultancy.
A few moments of silence passed. I thought maybe I’d bored the shit out of her with all of the work jargon.
“Are you married?” she asked, keeping the conversation flowing.
I flashed her my left hand, sans ring.
She appeared slightly surprised. “Boyfriend?”
I scoffed. “For now.”
She looked at me with a cocked eyebrow. “Oh?”
I couldn’t believe I was about to open up to a complete stranger, but there I was, about to verbalize my deepest, darkest thoughts. “I don’t think he is the right one.”
The wise stranger turned in her seat to face me. “Honey, if you don’t think he is, then he most definitely isn’t.”
My eyes shifted to a young couple sitting on the other side of the aisle, a row ahead. Giggling and smitten, they took selfies together. They looked like a couple of French-kissing, horny teenagers just discovering each other.
Lucky them.
“What about you, are you married?” I decided to ask her, purposely steering the conversation away from my relationship problems. That topic was about as depressing as the weather outside.
“Yes, for 49 years.”
“Wow. That's a long time. Congratulations.”
“Oh honey, don’t congratulate me. If I had my time again, I wouldn’t be married,” she muttered. “Not to him anyway.”
My jaw dropped wide open. “Why?”
“Back in my day women didn’t have the choices they have now. If you wanted security, or a comfortable life, you needed to be married. Career women weren’t really a thing. It was all about being the best homemaker.”
She looked downcast. Almost as if she was mourning what could have been.
“That’s entirely the problem with my boyfriend. He wants a domesticated housewife,” I admitted to the blue-eyed stranger. “He’s pressuring me to move in. Probably to begin my indoctrination as a Stepford Wife.”
The nameless woman laughed while my mind drifted back to my last few encounters with Zack. They hadn’t exactly been pleasant. I hadn’t seen him since the day before yesterday and the conversation had been strained. Forced and riddled with tension. We’d been together for a year, and lately, the cracks in our relationship had been hard to ignore.
“He’s a traditionalist,” I continued. “But he didn’t say it outright, you know? The man I first met is not the man I’m with now. That's been slowly made clear to me over time.”
“Death by a thousand cuts.”
“Exactly. These past two months he's been trying to convince me that I should want the same things as him. And because I don't agree… somehow that makes me the worst person alive.”
The woman remained silent, giving me space to unload while looking at me with knowing, sad eyes.
“In the last argument, his mother got involved,” I told her, as she winced.
Zack's mother, Jennifer, was so fucking nosy, always poking around where she shouldn’t. Apparently the sun shines out of her sons ass and I should be thankful to bask in the glow of it.
“She brought up our ages, stating that we should ‘at the very least’ be living together, and that it was ‘time to consider the future,’ because my biological clock was ticking.”
At the time, I'd made a passive aggressive joke about my ovaries shrivelling and drying up like dried raisins now that I was thirty. The joke went down about as well as this plane… rough.
“Then all hell broke loose as the argument went from my supposed lack of commitment, to my utter lack of respect.”
Something that is not sexy? A man who allows his mother to get involved in his relationship. I swore to myself then and there if I ever had a son, I would not be the type of mother Jennifer was.
“Zack would never tell me this, but I get the sense he wants a woman just like his Mom.”
Someone content to play Suzy Homemaker and raise the kids like it’s 19-fucking-50. I guess to some, that’s a happy life.
But not for me. That’s a living hell.
And right now, my skin felt scorched from being too close to the flames.
“That’s a shame, honey. But good for you for standing your ground. It’s not easy.”
“I guess. But, according to the world, I should be settling down, embracing the possibility of getting married and having kids. But the truth is, I can’t summon a flicker of enthusiasm for any of those things,” I said, picking at my fingernails. “Not with him anyway.”
The flight attendant swept the cabin for rubbish, tidying up after the in-flight service. I faked a smile as I handed her my empty plastic cup, before stowing away my tray table.
Unblinking, I resumed my blank stare out of the window. Below, the approaching city unfolded into controlled chaos. Tiny cars darted across the overlapping highways. I wondered where they were all going.
How many of them were living their lives on autopilot? How many were stuck in shitty relationships? How many of them were like me?
Turning towards the woman seated in 6F, I quietly asked, “You said if you had your time again, you wouldn’t have married your husband. Can I be nosy and ask why?”
Giggling to herself, she tucked her book into the pouch on the back of the seat.
“Don’t tell my kids this,” she smiled, knowing perfectly well that we'd never cross paths again. “Now my Jim, he is a great husband. He has provided a wonderful life for me and the boys, and I love him dearly,” she stated as she glanced down at left hand. She twirled her gigantic diamonds around. “But, he wasn’t the one.”
Wasn't the one?
I studied her closely, aware this could be a valuable life lesson for me. “You love him, but he wasn’t the one?”
Make it make sense.
“Honey, you can learn to love anyone if you spend enough time with them,” she placed her hand across her heart. “But you can’t force connection or desire if it’s not there.”
The plane continued its turbulent descent, banking to the left, causing the loved-up couple to squeal, before going back to making out.
“That,” the stranger nodded towards them. “That is what you can’t force. That undeniable attraction. That insatiable need for one another.”
I knew what that felt like. I'd had it once before. Years ago. It had been a long time since I'd felt anything remotely close to that.
Reaching into my bag for some chewing gum, I wondered if true romance was just the stuff of fairytales, taught to us when we’re young and impressionable so we embrace domesticated life with less resistance.
Or maybe true romance did exist and I was just a cynical brat.
Was that what I was longing for though, really? True love?
My thoughts were scrambled. Everyone always told me I was a fussy person; with food, music, relationships and lovers. But was that a bad thing? Didn’t I just know what I wanted?
The brutal truth was I wasn’t in love with Zack. He was nice, in a golden retriever way.
But I'd never been a dog person.
The energy I craved? Something wild. Territorial. Protective. Someone who would get his knuckles bloody and scorch the earth if anybody wronged me.
I wasn’t going to get that with Zack.
But I knew that type of man existed, because I'd had him once. And I'd walked away from him and regretted it ever since.
“If you could live your life again, what would you do?” I asked the stranger. Thinking about what could have been was a joy killer, but I had to know what this woman would have done if she'd had her time again.
“Are you familiar with the saying ‘once you’ve tasted fire, you crave it, no matter how badly it burns your tongue’?”
Shaking my head, I wasn’t familiar, but I fucking loved it.
“Well, I’d go and find that fire. And let it burn me to ash.”
I felt a smile dance across my lips. It was poetic in a medieval, dramatic way. That was what I wanted, I realized: a love that set me on fire, and burned me from the inside out, forever and ever until my last breath.
The hum from the aircraft's engines had given me a slight headache. Honestly, though? It was probably the pre-midday vino that was making my head throb.
I wasn't a religious person, but as the plane touched down, I sent a silent prayer of thanks to all of the gods for the safe arrival. I retrieved my phone from the depths of my bag and immediately switched it off airplane mode. I opened my messages and hesitated, my thumb hovering over the keyboard.
I sensed the lady lean towards me.
“Make him wait a little longer sweetheart," she said, grinning.
She was right. Zack could wait a little longer.
With a sigh, I tucked my phone away, and leaned back in my seat, returning my attention to the gloomy scene outside. Now that we’d landed, I could see just how bad the weather was. Despite it being the middle of the day, the sky was shrouded in darkness, the rain a heavy downpour. It seemed to have worsened since our descent. I was secretly thrilled about the weather now that I was safely on the ground. I'd always considered myself a midnight girl in a sunshine world.
“I know you haven’t asked for this, but can I impart a slice of wisdom on you?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t settle for a love that doesn’t engulf you,” she reached over and patted me on the leg. “Forever is a long time to make small talk.”
As the plane pulled into the terminal, the seat belt sign switched off. People frantically stood up around us, jostling for the overhead luggage compartment. I watched them with a mixture of amusement and disgust.
Impulsive, impatient humans.
I wondered why I wasn't standing up too considering I was both of those things.
I need a sign, I silently begged the universe. This couldn’t be it. Could it?
Show me there is more to life other than this.
Turns out, the universe was listening that day.
And I didn't have to wait too long for my sign.