Seven
A LL DAY ON FRIDAY, I’m in a tizzy of excitement.
A tizzy . There’s no other word for it.
Breaking up with Cash went as I predicted. It was awkward and uncomfortable and rather painful because he didn’t want it to happen. Isaac was right about one thing, however. It wasn’t a surprise to Cash. He must have been expecting it for a while because his response was closer to accepting his doom than being hit by a blow out of the blue.
When I think about our last conversation, I still feel bad, but ever since I woke up on Tuesday morning with the breakup finally done, I’ve been excited. Jittery.
Like something good can finally happen now.
No matter how much I lecture myself that there’s no realistic future with Isaac—we live in different cities, we’re far too different, our being together would never be smart—my heart simply doesn’t believe it.
My heart is flying high.
I leave work a few minutes early and zoom through the normal traffic, so I arrive at the airport earlier than usual. I’m not sure why I think Isaac will be waiting at the gate—he has never once beat me there—but I’m still scouring the faces of fellow travelers as I get through security and then hurry down the crowded hallways.
No Isaac.
Of course not.
He won’t have been anticipating our flight all week the way I’ve been. He’s a reasonable, logical thinker who always keeps his emotions in check. He’s not like me. While I’m sure he’s enjoyed our time together, he’s not about to get carried away by hopes and dreams that have no sure grounding the way I do.
I really need to pull myself together, or I’m going to be crushed at the end of a fall.
After I board and take my normal seat and there’s still no sign of Isaac, I continue reminding myself of a basic truth.
The world isn’t what I want it to be. Daydreams only exist in my mind. Real life can’t offer everything my heart leads me to.
Everyone is on board and in their seats.
Everyone except Isaac.
His seat is still empty beside me. All this giddy anticipation has truly been for nothing because he’s not even going to show up today.
It’s a bleak, heavy recognition, and it sinks down on me as I drop my head to stare at the fabric of the pretty floral dress I wore today. My favorite with a smocked bodice and a fun ruffle on the hem.
For nothing. All of it for nothing.
One day I really need to learn my lesson.
“Hey.”
The familiar voice surprises me so much a squeak escapes me as I jump into an upright position.
He cocks his head to one side with a quizzical expression as he stows his suitcase above us.
“Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“I saw that. You were miles away. Is everything okay?” He’s still scanning my face with what looks like real concern, but something is missing behind his eyes.
A warm light that’s always been there. Even in his annoyance with me on the very first day.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just stuck in my own thoughts. I wasn’t sure you were going to show up today.”
“Yeah. I’m running late.”
Now that the searching concern has gone, he’s visibly subdued as he takes off his jacket, loosens his tie, and sinks with a sigh into his seat.
I frown and peer at him. “Is everything okay with you?”
“What?” He blinks like I woke him from sleep. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
I don’t believe him. Something is different. Something has changed.
Something is wrong, and I need to know what it is.
Because I have a tendency to dramatize my intuitive recognitions, I bite back an immediate demand for information on his mood and life situation and whether a loved one has died.
It might be nothing. It might be work stress or a generic bad day.
He’ll probably perk up once he relaxes.
So when he looks over to check why I’m staring at him, I smile at him and then focus on my knitting. “How was your week?”
“What?” It feels like he’s blinking again, but I don’t turn to verify. “Oh, it was fine. What about yours?”
“Mine was fine too.”
I wait, but he doesn’t ask about Cash. About whether I broke up with him.
The omission worries me. A lot.
Either he doesn’t care about it as much as I believed or something is so wrong that it’s blocking everything else in his mind.
It’s not right that something is the matter with Isaac. And that he won’t tell me what it is.
“Are you feeling okay?” I ask lightly, keeping my eyes on my needles so I don’t appear too pushy or presumptuous.
“Yes. Of course. Why?” He sounds confused.
And slightly bad-tempered.
I don’t ask anything else as the plane starts taxiing and the seat belt and mask instructions sound through the speakers. Takeoff is a little bumpy, and I check covertly to see that Isaac is gripping his armrest with a stony expression on his face until we reach a cruising altitude and the turbulence smooths out.
We’ve been flying for thirty minutes without speaking, and it’s really upsetting me. My heart is racing like there’s a crisis. My stomach is twisted in knots. My eyes feel swollen like I could start crying at any moment.
Isaac is staring at his laptop screen, his fingers occasionally moving on the keyboard. But I know—I know—he’s not really working. He’s focused on whatever is wrong rather than the spreadsheet in front of him.
I’m not sure he shaved this morning. He’s got more stubble than usual. And his hair needs to be cut again. Or at least smoothed down. It’s an absolute wreck.
I hold out for ten more minutes before there’s no way to hold it back. “Can’t you tell me what’s wrong?”
He stiffens. Turns his head slowly to face me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters, soft and brittle.
“Yes, you do. Maybe we’re not best friends, but we’ve flown together enough for me to recognize the difference. Something is wrong with you. If you don’t want to tell me what, that’s your choice. But at least do me the courtesy of not lying to my face.”
His eyes narrow. His jaw tenses.
I’ve made him angry and defensive now. My heart sinks.
Without answering, he turns back toward his laptop and taps away on the keys.
When I check the screen to see if he’s actually writing something coherent, he adjusts the angle so I can’t see it.
I let out a gusty sigh and roll my eyes.
Fine.
It’s all fine.
He doesn’t have to share with me or open up about what’s wrong. If he was a decent person, he’d at least admit something was going on that he’d rather not talk about. I would accept that.
I wouldn’t like it, but I’d accept it.
But no. He has to act like he’s an invulnerable superman who never cracks or flinches when life comes at him.
Just like he refuses to admit he’s not a fan of flying.
Whatever.
It’s not my worry. He’s not my worry.
I can go through my regular life without letting his moods and whims affect me. It’s a good life, and it’s mine. I don’t need to mess it up for a man. For any man.
Not even him .
Despite my mental pep talk, I’m still more upset than I should be as another half hour passes in silence.
How stubborn can a man be?
I’m sitting right here, and he knows I want to hear about whatever’s wrong.
Why can’t he open up just the tiniest crack and let me in?
It hurts that he won’t. Hurts far more than it should. Eventually it hurts so much that the tears welling in my eyes simply won’t stay put.
One and then another slide down my cheek.
I sit motionless as one of the tears clings to my skin and slides all the way down my throat into the neckline of my dress. Isaac doesn’t appear to be paying attention to me right now, but if I start wiping away tears, he’ll notice for sure.
That thought upsets me even more. Three more tears slip out before I can stop them.
I lean down to fumble in my bag like I’m searching for something and use that opportunity to give my face a quick wipe.
When I sit up, I’m proud of my success at hiding my silly breakdown.
Isaac closes his laptop with a sigh, leans over to reach for something in his case, then straightens up with a paper napkin in his hand.
He hands it to me without a word.
A little sob escapes my throat as I take it and wipe a couple more tears and my nose, which has started to run.
He gives me a sidelong look.
“I’m fine,” I grit out, scowling at him.
He gives a dry huff of unsmiling amusement. “I’ve got to admit that it is very annoying for someone to say they’re fine when they’re obviously not. No wonder you’re so pissed at me.”
“I’m not pissed. I’m worried.”
“I know.” He rubs at his face and slouches in his seat slightly. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I’m not expecting some sort of outpouring of feelings. I just want to know what’s wrong with you. Why won’t you tell me?”
“Because...” He doesn’t finish the thought. “It doesn’t matter why now. My grandfather is really sick. They took him to the hospital this afternoon. I’m not sure what I’m flying back home to. I should have just told you earlier.”
“Oh no.” I’m still sniffing and mopping at my face with the napkin. It’s one of those big, softer kinds—a luxury version of a paper napkin. “I’m so sorry, Isaac. Do you know what the health issue is?”
“Something with his heart. He’s had some trouble with it for the past ten years. But my mom... She didn’t sound hopeful this time.”
“I’m so sorry. No wonder you’re not yourself. Are you really close to him?”
“Yeah. Pretty close. My grandparents lived right down the block from us while I was growing up, so they were always a big part of my life. My grandmother died five years ago, but Grandpa always seemed so healthy. I thought he’d...” He shakes his head and closes his eyes, resting it back against the headrest.
I reach over and squeeze his forearm. He’s pushed the sleeves of his shirt up, so my hand closes over his bare skin.
He doesn’t pull away, so I keep my hand there, needing to comfort him however I can.
“The worst thing...” he begins in a hoarse murmur. “The worst thing is that part of me doesn’t want to go home. Doesn’t want to... to go through this. I’d rather stay away and pretend the whole thing isn’t happening. What kind of person does that make me?”
“It makes you a normal person!” I squeeze his arm again and shift in my seat so I’m facing him directly. “Isaac, stop beating yourself up for a normal reaction. Everyone probably feels that way in similar situations. At least a whole lot of us would. Of course you want to avoid going through something that is likely to be incredibly hard. But you’re not running away from it. You’re on this flight right now. You’re heading home. And you’ll go to the hospital and see your grandpa and do what your family needs you to do. It’s okay to want to avoid something that’s going to hurt you as long as you don’t act on it when other people need you.”
I’m crying again, which is ridiculous. But I’ve always been an easy crier, and I feel so deeply for Isaac right now that there’s no way to hold it back.
Isaac is not crying. That’s not any sort of surprise. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s never cried in front of other people since he became an adult. He’s the kind of man who believes he should always be strong.
He is strong, but he’s still human. And he needs me right now. I know it with a certainty I’ve rarely felt before.
So I mop my face and blow my nose and pull myself together. Then I raise the armrest between our seats so I can scoot closer to him. He’s not likely to let me pull him into a hug, so I take his whole arm and hug that instead, leaning my head against him.
He doesn’t say anything. I’m not sure he’s capable of it at the moment.
But it doesn’t matter.
Because he needs me, and I’m here.
***
H E’S QUIET FOR THE remainder of the flight, but he squares his shoulders when we land and tells me he’s going to head right for the hospital.
I’m tempted to ask for his phone number so I can text and check in to see how things are going and how he’s doing, but that’s a big step, and this isn’t the right time for it.
He’ll tell me on Sunday evening how the weekend went.
We deboard together, and I give his arm one more squeeze as we turn down the hall that leads to the exit.
“Okay. I’ll be thinking about you. I hope he’s okay, and if he’s not, I hope you and your family hold up okay.”
“Thank you.” He makes a weird, jerky move, like he was starting to do something but stopped himself. He turns. Takes a deep breath. “I can do it.”
“You can do it.” I rub his shoulder. Remind myself he’s not mine to pull into a hug. “I’ll see you Sunday.”
“See you.” He starts walking away from me but stops and turns back around. “Oh. Did you do it?”
I blink for a moment until I realize what he’s asking. Then I flush. Duck my head. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”
His face changes slightly, but he only nods and starts walking away again.
Now is not the right time to process what it means. That I broke up with Cash. That Isaac is pleased by the news.
That can wait. Until later.
Maybe by then I’ll have figured out exactly how I feel about it myself.