Three
O N FRIDAY I WAKE UP excited.
Alert and stimulated and impatient and excited .
Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure it’s because I get to see the annoying man again on the flight this evening.
Isaac.
I wonder if he’s all jittery about it too. Probably not. He seems like a person who compartmentalizes. When he’s working, he’s likely not thinking about anything else. And if he occasionally reflects on another flight beside me this evening, he’s not going to be particularly enthusiastic about it.
I’m not sure why I am. I guess it feels different. New. Interesting. Like I’m on an emotional roller coaster and never know what to expect around the next curve.
I usually don’t mind my job. As Isaac somehow deduced, I’ve got a mid-level admin job in human resources at the same art school I attended, and in general I’m happy with it. It’s mostly routine paperwork and discussions with new employees. I don’t handle the conflicts or the problematic situations, so nothing taxes me too strenuously. I’m able to go through the steps of my workday while keeping my mind engaged on my own projects and daydreams.
But today the hours drag on. And on.
And on.
Until it’s finally five and I can clock out for the week.
I finished packing this morning, and Cash picks me up from work at 5:05. He’s as happy and laid-back as ever as he asks about my plans for the weekend and tells me he’s going to miss me.
It’s really not good for a relationship when one party leaves town every single weekend for months, but it hasn’t fazed him.
It hasn’t fazed me either.
Probably not a good sign that I’m more excited about seeing the annoying man on a two-and-a-half-hour flight than coming back home to Cash.
I brush those thoughts out of my mind.
This whole situation is new and unpredictable. I might march to my own drum, but I’ve never rested my security on an unstable foundation.
I like my life. I’m thirty-one years old with a decent job and a nice little apartment and plenty of friends and a guy to go out with and extra mental space for crafts and art and pretty things and a family I love who loves me back.
I’ve worked hard to get here. There’s no way in hell I’m going to throw it away on a few stray spikes of interest and attraction.
And that’s all it could ever be with a man like Isaac. And me.
With all that resolved in my mind, I’m only a little bit frazzled as I check my bag and my pockets to make sure I have my phone, ID, sketchbook, and wallet among the rest of the clutter I carry around with me.
“Remember to stop at the bakery,” I say when it looks like Cash is about to pull onto the highway.
“Oh yeah. Almost forgot.”
Fortunately, the bakery isn’t crowded at this time of day. They have my order ready, so I’m able to run in and collect it without wasting too much time. Soon I’m back in the truck with a small box of cupcakes on my lap.
“Those sure smell good,” Cash says.
“They are good. But they’re not for you.” I swat his hand away when he reaches over.
“Looks like you got plenty in there.”
“I have exactly the right number. Raven would let me have it if I gave one away.” At his expression, I add, “I’ll buy you one next week when I get back.”
“Okay. Fine.”
He pouts for a couple of minutes, but he never holds on to grudges for long. Soon he’s back to his normal self, humming along to the country song on the radio, slightly off-key.
I used to find it adorable. Now it’s slightly annoying.
“Okay,” Cash says as he stops in the drop-off area in front of the airport. He’s got light brown hair and blue eyes and a strong, square frame. “Text when you get there.”
“I will.” I lean over to kiss him. He smells like breath mints. I climb out of his big truck and walk back to get my suitcase, which he’s set down for me.
He’s almost a foot taller than me. At first I liked how small I am in comparison since at five six with pronounced curves, I’ve never felt particularly small. But it’s kind of a pain to kiss him when we’re both standing up, and sometimes my neck gets tired from constantly craning up at his face.
He leans down to kiss me again—very briefly since it’s all we can easily manage if I’m not standing on a step—and I wave as I walk into the airport, double-checking I have both my crocheted bag and my purple roller and that I haven’t dropped anything between the truck and here.
All my possessions are securely in place this time. I glance back to see Cash pulling away from the curb without another look at me.
There’s no reason for all these trivial complaints to surface right now. Cash is a good guy. He doesn’t cheat, and he treats me right. We usually have a good time together.
I don’t feel emotionally close to him, but maybe we need more time for that to happen.
None of this has anything to do with a certain smug seatmate.
When I reach the gate, I glance around, but Isaac is nowhere in view. He’s always running at the last minute. He obviously arrives at the airport after a full day of work the way I do.
The cupcakes do smell good. I’m tempted to chow down on one right now.
Fortunately, the attendant starts calling out boarding groups after only a few minutes, so I don’t have to resist temptation for too long.
There’s still no sign of Isaac as I get up and move through the ticket line.
Maybe he won’t be here after all. Maybe he changed his flight to get away from me.
Maybe all the jittery energy surrounding our interactions is only in my mind. Maybe I’ve poured more of myself into these brief crossings of our paths when it wasn’t at all warranted.
That idea makes my stomach drop with disappointment, and the heaviness remains as I focus on the empty seat beside mine.
It takes an act of will, but I shake it off again.
I’m certain now that he’s not going to be on this flight. He’s gone from my life as abruptly as he appeared. It doesn’t matter.
At all.
I set the bakery box on his seat as I stow my suitcase overhead and then organize myself after I sit down. When I push my bag under the seat in front of me, a pack of tissues, three pencils, my beaded coin purse, a tube of lip gloss, and a couple of spare tampons all spill out because I forgot to zip one of the pockets.
Groaning, I lean over and retrieve my items. I bump my head in the process and jerk—so hard I drop a tampon again. I’m grabbing for it before it slides into the aisle when I see a pair of expensive leather shoes less than a foot away from my hand.
I know who those shoes belong to.
My eyes follow the length of his body as I straighten up. He’s in another suit today, carrying his same suitcase and leather bag. His hair needs to be cut. It’s even messier than it was last week.
He’s arching those dark eyebrows at me with his familiar dry expression.
I catch myself before I giggle.
I’ve never been someone who gets embarrassed very easily. Even the fact that he might have seen my tampon doesn’t bother me unduly.
He’s an adult. Surely he already suspected I might use them.
Mostly I’m ridiculously relieved that he’s here.
“I assume you don’t want me to sit on that.” He nods toward the bakery box.
“Oh. No. Sorry. Hold on a minute while I get organized.” I’m flushed but not from embarrassment as I collect myself again, tucking the rest of my spilled items back into my bag, straightening my skirt and making sure my travel mug, phone, and sketchbook are in place before I move the box from his seat and into my lap.
He gives me an impatient shake of his head as he sits, but I don’t think he’s really annoyed.
“You didn’t bake a wedding cake to bring to your sister, did you?” he asks as he fishes for his seat belt. He’s already pulled out his iPad.
“No! Of course not.”
“Smells like wedding cake.”
“It’s not. They’re cupcakes.”
“Ah, perfect.” He extends a hand toward me, palm up. “I’ll be happy to take one of them off your hands.”
I giggle and swat his hand away in the same way I did Cash’s. “They’re not for sharing.”
“What are they for?”
“My sister is having a bridesmaids’ dinner, and they’re for dessert.”
“Why didn’t she get cupcakes in Boston for dessert?”
“These are her favorites.”
“So she demands that you buy them and cart them with you on a two-and-a-half-hour flight and then the taxi ride to wherever you’re heading from there?”
“She didn’t demand anything. She asked and I said yes. It’s not a big deal.”
“You’re going to have to hold that box on your lap the whole flight. It won’t be safe anywhere else.”
“I know that.” I was happy and excited that he appeared after all, but now exasperation is taking its place. “And I said it’s not a big deal. It’s not that big a box.”
“How are you planning to knit or draw with that box in the way?”
“I can manage. And even if I can’t, it’s not a problem. I can amuse myself in my head. I don’t need external distractions to pass the time.”
“I bet you don’t.” His words are muttered—soft and dry—but they don’t sound mean or sharp.
“What does that mean?” I ask, flushing again for no good reason.
“It means exactly what I said. I have no trouble imagining that you’re capable of being perfectly content in your own head.”
That doesn’t sound too bad. He must not be truly criticizing me.
“And you should learn to push back against selfish asks,” he adds.
Just when I was starting to soften toward him.
“It wasn’t a selfish ask! She’s my sister, and she’s getting married. How often do you think she’s going to get married in her life?”
“That I don’t know. But if she is who I’m visualizing, it could definitely be more than once.”
“She’s not who you’re visualizing. She can occasionally be a little frivolous, but she’s got a good heart. She’s excited about her wedding and making the most of the experience. Why shouldn’t she?”
“I never said she shouldn’t.”
I gape. “You sat right there and told me I need to push back against selfish asks!”
“Believe it or not, one can enjoy the experience without demanding that loved ones go to unreasonable lengths to indulge you.”
I really don’t like that lofty tone he’s using. Dismissive. As if my family and I and everything else about me are beneath him. “I bought five cupcakes and am taking them to her. It’s not unreasonable!”
“If you say so.”
“You really are an infuriating person. Did you know that?”
“I believe that would be a matter of perspective.”
“I bet I’m not the first person to tell you that you are. Am I?”
“It’s been mentioned occasionally,” he admits with a little twitch of his lips. He’s staring at his screen in that focused way he has, but I catch a quick sidelong look at me.
“That’s what I thought. I bet it’s a near-universal assessment of your character.”
“Not quite universal. Has anyone ever told you you’re rather annoying yourself?”
“Very rarely. Most people either like me or don’t think about me at all.”
“And the few who do find you annoying?”
“They’re usually ultra-organized type-A people who pride themselves on their deductive power but are incapable of appreciating creativity.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Uh-huh.”
I bite back a groan and blow out my frustration. “Okay. We haven’t even gotten off the ground yet, and we’re already arguing about silly things. I’ve got better things to do.”
“Like babysit the cupcakes.”
I almost snap back but manage to restrain the impulse. I give him a semblance of his own lofty look and scoot the bakery box over toward the window so there’s a sliver of room for me to set my sketchbook on my lap. I open a clean page and start drawing.
I hear him chuckling softly, but I don’t turn to look.
***
I MAKE IT AN HOUR AND a half without giving in to my desire to peer at Isaac. Talk to him.
He’s been working studiously until he gets a text message that pops up on his laptop screen with a little chirp.
I hear the alert and glance over. I’m not sure anyone could resist a quick look.
The message is from someone named Sophie.
Probably his girlfriend.
I try to keep drawing, but my eyes dart over as he replies and then has a texted conversation with her.
She’s asking what time he’ll be getting to Boston. Her friend has spare tickets to a ballet, and she wants him to go with her.
He says he’s kind of tired and a long ballet isn’t at the top of his wish list for this evening. She says please. She really wants to go.
He says okay. Exactly that. Okay .
He even spells out the word instead of using the two letters.
Okay.
“Well, the ballet might be fun,” I say when he sighs and closes the messaging app.
He jerks his head toward me. “Were you reading my messages?”
“Not intentionally. But they were right there in my eyeline.”
“They were only in your eyeline if you were peering at my screen.”
“Even so.” I feel like giggling. No idea why.
He shakes his head at me.
“Don’t you like the ballet?”
“I don’t hate it, but it’s not my favorite pastime. And I definitely don’t feel like it after a long week of work and a flight.”
“You can just tell her no.”
“But then she’ll be upset, and it’s not worth it. I’ll suffer through.”
“Is she a pouter?”
“Not really.”
“Then why suffer through when you can tell her the truth?”
“It’s easier if she’s happy.”
“That sounds a lot like my dad’s point of view.”
“Is that a warning?”
“Just an observation.” I smile at him, pleased that I’ve somehow managed to get the advantage in this conversation. “Believe it or not, a woman can enjoy life without demanding that loved ones go to unreasonable lengths to indulge her.”
He narrows his eyes at me. He’s not happy about my very astute comeback. “Wanting me to go the ballet isn’t unreasonable lengths.”
“At the last minute? After you’ve been out of town all week and just stepped off a plane?”
“It’s fine.”
“Okay. It’s your life and your relationship.”
He’s silent for a minute. I hear the click of his fingers on the keyboard. Then, “What about Cash?”
“What about him?” I blink, surprised that he remembered the name. And also surprised because I briefly forgot all about Cash’s existence.
“What kind of demands does he make on you?”
“None! None at all.”
“What do you do with him?”
I shrug, confused and self-conscious about the line of questioning even though I recognize that it’s retaliation for my comments on Sophie. “We hang out. Watch TV. Go out to eat. He likes sports. His family likes to have big cookouts.”
“And what do the two of you do that you like?”
“I don’t mind any of those things.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Does he take you to art exhibits and museums? Flea markets? Does he find cute out-of-the-way bistros and tea shops? Does he plan picnics in gardens for you? Does he take you to craft fairs or pottery classes or silly tours through Savannah’s most haunted spots?”
“N-no.” For no good reason, I’m trembling. Shaking inside and outside. “Why would he do all that?”
“Because you would enjoy it.”
I lick my lips and try to pull myself together. It’s deeply unsettling that he described in only a few seconds so many outings that would have thrilled me had Cash offered to do even one. “I don’t need all that. We do normal things. I have a good time with him.”
“Okay.”
Rallying, I give him a good glare. “Is it entirely necessary for you to be so snide?”
“You’re the one who brought up relationships. I’m only saying you don’t have any surer footing in yours than I have in mine.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Yes, maybe. And I’m not the one having to go to the ballet tonight while I’m dead on my feet.”
He chuckles softly. Without a real smile. Raises one shoulder in his half shrug. “It’ll be fine. I’m not that tired.”
He says the words with confidence, but I don’t believe them. He looks really tired to me. Heavy. It must be exhausting to have to be away from home for so long.
At least it’s only the weekends I’m away, and even these trips will only be for a few months.
“If you’re not happy in your relationship, you should break up,” I tell him. “It’s not fair to her to string her along when you’re not all in, just because you want the status she offers you.”
He turns his head toward me, colder than I’ve ever seen him. “That’s not the reason I’m dating her. You made that up in your imagination.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I’m just saying what I think. How long have you been dating her?”
“Almost a year.”
“That’s too long. Last week you said three months was too long for me to be dating Cash when I wasn’t really into him. How do you justify a year?”
“I’m not like you. I don’t lead with my heart.”
“In a relationship, you should.”
“Do we really need to be having this conversation right now?”
He’s not bantering right now. He’s stiff. Genuinely annoyed with me.
So I drop the topic and turn back to my sketch.
I stew over his infuriating nature and habits for the rest of the flight.
When we’ve landed and reached the gate, we have to wait for everyone else to deboard before we can. I’m ready to get out of here.
Maybe sharing these flights with Isaac every week won’t be as exciting as I was thinking.
He’s halfway out of his seat, waiting to stand up until the people in the rows in front of us have cleared out. His shoulders are hunched. He’s not looking at me.
He’s so tired that I can feel it radiating off him.
Despite my annoyance, it touches me. Makes my heart ache.
Traveling so much for work would really suck.
When he’s able to stand up, he gets his suitcase down and then mine. He pulls out my handle and sets it down in front of his so I can go first.
That’s it.
I open my bakery box and pull out one of the cupcakes. “Here,” I say, thrusting it at him.
He stares down at it—it’s pretty and white and topped with a pink iced flower. Very slowly he accepts it. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Try to stay awake during the ballet.”
I’ve started to walk when he stops me, handing me my phone, which somehow ended up stuck in the crack of my seat.
I slide it into my bag with a nod and keep walking without looking back at him.
We’re now one cupcake short for Raven’s dinner, but that’s okay. One of those cupcakes was mine.
That can be the one I gave Isaac.