Rule #2
BEWARE OF GUM AND TURBULENCE
CAI
I must have actually dozed off. The exhaustion from crying and the adrenaline crash are finally winning out.
The gum is still there, still minty and extra sticky, lodged somewhere in my cheek, feeling like a bad decision.
Then the plane drops. Not a gentle dip; a hard, stomach-lurching slam that feels like the floor vanishes.
My body jerks against the seatbelt, and the gum shoots straight into the back of my throat.
I choke. Hard. Eyes watering, hands flying to my neck. The world narrows to the burn in my airway and the panic that this is how it ends, choking on Extra spearmint while chasing a guy who ghosted me. Poetic.
I freeze, unable to figure out what I should do next.
Can I use the Heimlich maneuver against the fold-down tray?
I need help, but aside from some guttural noises and the initial coughs, I can’t seem to get anyone’s attention.
My eyes dart around, but I can’t seem to find anyone to make eye contact with.
Suddenly, strong hands are on my shoulders. The guy next to me, Mr. Downgraded-First-Class, twists toward me, one hand patting my back firmly, the other reaching to loosen my seatbelt a fraction. “Easy, easy. Spit it out if you can,” he says, his voice calm but urgent. “Breathe through your nose.”
I hack once, twice, and the gum flies out into my palm.
Mortifying. I’m gasping, tears streaming (from choking, not crying—mostly), and he’s still holding my shoulder as if I might keel over.
I inhale deeply, and the warm smell of ginger and soap I noticed on him earlier hits me again, this time soothing me from the inside out while simultaneously making my heart race.
The plane shudders again, lighter this time, but enough to make me grip the armrest instinctively. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, face burning. “Thanks,” I mutter, my voice hoarse. “I’m fine. Really.”
He releases me slowly, eyes scanning my face. “You sure? That looked scary.”
I nod, crumpling the gum in a napkin. “Just… bad timing.”
He pulls a bottle of water out of his bag and hands it to me. “Here, take small sips.”
The cold plastic in my hand isn’t enough to distract me from his warm fingers brushing against my hand.
“What are you, a doctor?” I say, but take a drink from it gratefully.
He smiles and says, “Nah, nothing like that. I’m Sonny.”
I give a small wave and say “Cai” before unscrewing the bottle.
“You sure you’re good, Cai?” He looks like there’s genuine concern behind his eyes.
“Yeah. Thanks for…not letting me die on a plane,” I say with a shaky laugh.
“Would’ve been a dramatic way to go. You still have tears. Is that still from gagging, or… something else?”
I take a big swig of the water, small sips be damned, and answer him maybe too honestly; I don’t know why.
Maybe it was the near-death experience. “Oh, probably a lot of things. My life’s a mess right now.
” I wipe my face with my sleeve again, willing the tears to stop, and the look on his face seems to be urging me to keep going.
“My boyfriend went to Puerto Rico for like a week, and now he says he’s staying.
It’s going to be ok. I’m going to win him back. He’s like ‘the one,’ you know?”
“You must love him a lot, huh?” he says.
I hesitate for a second. Sure, I love him. I hadn’t stopped to consider how much I love him. I know I don’t want him to end things; isn’t that the same thing?
I nod, and he adds, “So why’s he staying in Puerto Rico?”
I swallow hard, not wanting to tell him. “Umm… I’m not like 100% sure.”
“He didn’t explain?”
“Well, no, not exactly…”
“You didn’t ask?” he looks at me like I’ve grown a second head.
I can feel my face redden.
“I mean, I did, but I don’t know; he didn’t respond. The texts didn’t go through. Something bad must’ve happened.”
I don’t really believe that. I can totally envision him just getting annoyed and blocking me. It wouldn’t even be the first time. Trevor was quick to avoid people, conversations, and things he finds annoying.
When Trevor and I first met at a bar about a year and a half ago, I was avoiding my coworkers, while he was surrounded by a large group, all hanging on his every word. Despite all that, he chatted me up. Asked to go home with me. The high from him choosing me that night still lingers.
Sonny pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay, so this guy ghosts you over text, then radio silence, and your plan is to fly to another country and… what? Show up with a boombox and a sign?”
When he puts it like that, it all sounds really bad. But he doesn’t get it. He chose me. So what if I have to work harder to keep him? That’s what love takes, right? I just need to remind him. “No, you don’t get it. You don’t know him. And technically Puerto Rico isn’t another country.”
He raises an eyebrow, fighting a grin. “Fair, but when he looks at you like you’re the crazy one for showing up, are you going to hit him with the ‘technically not international’ defense?”
“Or,” I shoot back, “he’ll be so impressed by my grand romantic gesture he’ll forget he ever wanted to leave. How about that?”
He puts his hands up in surrender. “Touché. You win the optimism award.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t keep my voice from cracking on the last word. “It’s not optimism. It’s… persistence. And like fighting for what you want. Guys like that, right?
“Yeah, sure. We love that,” he says, smirking. “Just maybe skip the gum next time.”
SONNY
One second, she’s choking, pleading with me to save her, and the next, she’s spilling her life story to me. I don’t understand. Why is she chasing this guy? Why is she chasing anyone? I’ve only known her for a few minutes, and even I don’t want to walk away from her.
I try to understand, but she’s gotten defensive. Her face is red, and she’s crossing her arms. She looks so cute with her little pouty face, but I suppress a smile, not wanting to push her over the edge.
She is looking at me, wanting an answer to her question about what guys like.
She doesn’t want my little jokes or cute responses.
She wants me to justify her cause. Her expression isn’t performative or rehearsed.
It’s raw and genuine. I get the urge to protect her; do whatever I can to comfort her, even if it means pushing her towards this jerk she’s chasing.
“Sorry, I default to jokes, even if the timing is bad. But seriously… he’ll probably appreciate it. Ignore me.”
This seems to soften her, and she uncrosses her arms and says, “No, it’s ok.
I probably need to hear it. I just don’t like to.
He’s not perfect, far from it! He’s lazy, never lifts a finger around the house, and wastes entire days, hell, weekends even, obsessed with those stupid video games.
Like, grow up already. It’s not a hobby; it’s an addiction that turns him into this immature, checked-out man-child who would rather ‘grind levels’ than deal with real life. Or me.”
I swallow hard, averting my eyes. Great, she despises gamers, and my entire empire is based on playtesting all-nighters, min-maxing, and energy drinks. If only she knew, she would probably end the conversation right here. I’m not ready for that.
I can hear my mom’s voice in my head, yelling at me as a teen, “You need to put down those games! If you spent even half the time you spent on that Nintendo studying or playing outside, you’d be spending your weekends with friends instead of in study hall!”
The plane jolts. Passengers murmur; a few gasp. Cai looks at me with nervous hazel eyes, then exhales, still clutching the water I gave her. The silence stretches awkwardly, but the turbulence keeps us pinned together. There’s no escaping.
“You’re not worried?” she says.
“Well, we can’t both be scared,” I say. I find I’m always calmer and more confident when others are freaking out.
The plane dips again, and she reaches for the armrest but instead grips my hand. Hers feels cold, and I do my best to keep mine steady, fighting the urge to thread our fingers together to steady us both.
She freezes, then mutters, “Sorry. Cold hands. Very attractive.”
I keep my voice low. “I’ve had worse seatmates. At least you’re not screaming.”
She snorts softly. “Give it time.”
I want to tell her more. I want to return to the topic of her boyfriend and tell her he’s a tool and she deserves better. But I know she won’t thank me for it. She wants validation, not a reality check.
“So what do you do?” she asks, knuckles white on the armrest, face showing strain as if she’s trying not to look scared.
I don’t want to tell her. I don’t want her to think I’m like her douchey boyfriend.
I don’t want her to despise me. Sure, maybe I won’t see her again after this plane ride, but I still don’t want her to think badly of me, even if it’s just for a moment.
More than that, I want to impress her. So I say, “Product development,” which is somewhat true.
I can see her next question poised on her lips.
The captain cuts in before she can get it out: “Ladies and gentlemen, due to rapidly deteriorating weather in the Caribbean and Hurricane Olive shifting faster than expected, we’re diverting to Miami International.
We’ll be landing shortly. Apologies for the inconvenience. ”
“Oh no,” she whispers, eyes wide again.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I say, trying to comfort her. “Probably just an abundance of precaution.”
She looks at me. “That’s not what’s worrying me. I’ve been through many hurricanes. I could literally write a guide.”
“Oh? Then what?”
The look on her face is like she’s confessing an untold horror.
“I’m from Miami. I haven’t told my family anything.
Not about Trevor, about the flight, about…
any of it. My family is Cuban, world-renowned for their talents in gossip and shaming others.
The guilt trip coming is scarier than the hurricane and twice as loud. ”