Chapter One
Three years ago…
Today was supposed to be a great day.
Personally, I think every day offers an opportunity to make
it great, but today was supposed to be a little extra dazzling because I’m
flying back to Los Angeles for an audition. I had a great time visiting my
family in Tennessee, and knowing I was heading back home for a potential role
made leaving a little easier. I’ve been living on my own for a couple of years
now, but I truly believe this is my time.
The year of Ella.
I giggle to myself because it’s kind of silly. But I have
worked so hard to get where I am as an actress, and I’m ready for the next
step.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re sorry for the delay,” our
captain announces. “We are currently waiting on a couple of passengers on their
way from their connections. They’re running to the gate as we speak. Once they
arrive, we’ll be ready for takeoff. Thanks for your patience.”
Great.
Delays are totally normal, but I was psyched when it looked
like everything would be on time. I’m a nervous flyer—always have been—and
sitting here on the ground waiting just gives my anxiety more time to kick up a
notch. My flight from Memphis to Dallas was completely uneventful, and I hoped
my good luck would continue on through to LA.
Sighing, I give the empty seat beside me a cursory
glance—another thing I was psyched about. The empty middle seat means I can
stretch out a bit and relax. And believe me, if there’s ever been a time for me
to relax, this is it.
Because my ex is sitting in the row directly in front of me.
With his new wife.
And their baby.
Luckily, they didn’t see me. I boarded first, and I’ve got
on my favorite baseball hat pulled down low to hide my face a bit. But I saw them.
I hear them cooing affectionately to their baby, and the whole thing makes me
feel like an awkward voyeur.
So not my day…
With nothing to do and in desperate need of a distraction, I
pull out my journal and decide that a bit of mindless doodling might work. I
could watch a movie or play a game on my phone, but I feel like I need to be
actively doing something. With my notebook open in my lap, I draw my favorite
number.
Twenty-two.
That may seem juvenile to some people, but it’s very calming
to me. The number twenty-two makes me happy and gives me hope whenever I see
it. Call it my lucky number or just a positive sign from the universe, but the
number seems to randomly find me wherever I go. You see, I was born on
September 22 and am turning twenty-two in a few weeks. It will be my golden
birthday—when the date of your birth coincides with your age. In fourth grade,
my teacher explained that concept to me—well, to the entire class—and said that
something special would happen on that day. And I’ve basically been waiting for
thirteen years to find out if that’s actually true.
It is, I tell myself. It has to be.
Just thinking about it and all the possibilities makes me
giddy.
I continue doodling my number, over and over—big and blocky,
script, ornate—until someone plunks down loudly in the seat beside me. I give
him a brief look, but his back is to me as he gets himself settled.
I go back to my notebook, silently praying that we take off
soon. I’m in the middle of a rather adorable twenty-two when my new seatmate
bumps into me, causing my pen to slide across the page, ruining all my hard
work of the last few minutes.
He mumbles, “Sorry,” but goes back to getting comfortable.
He’s fidgeting a bit, and I have to wonder if maybe he’s a nervous flyer like
me. I’m not sure I want to open that dialogue, though. You know, sometimes, you
get lucky and sit next to someone awesome, where you can chat the entire flight
and feel like you have a new best friend.
Other times…
You get that person who’s totally not into making friends—or
being polite—and you’re left feeling awkward for even starting a conversation.
Do I really want to take the chance? Between the flight
delay and my ex in front of me, I’m not liking my odds. So, rather than risk
disappointment, I opt to pull my hat down a little farther and settle against
the cabin wall.
Out of the corner of my eye, I steal another glance at the
guy sitting beside me. Dark hoodie. Strong jawline. He’s reading something on
his phone, completely absorbed, his brow occasionally furrowing like he’s not
happy about whatever’s on the screen.
I shift slightly, adjusting my legs and angling my body just
enough to get a better view. I don’t know why I’m doing this. Maybe because
we’ll be sitting next to each other for the next few hours. Or maybe because he
barely acknowledged me when he sat down. He taps the phone with a quiet flick,
and I catch a glimpse of his hand—clean, neatly trimmed nails, and a giant gold
ring on his right ring finger.
My eyes dart back to my drawings before he notices me
staring. Although he seems really engrossed in what he’s reading, so I doubt he
even noticed me.
Within minutes, I’m listening to the flight crew preparing
us for takeoff.
Finally.
“At this time, we ask that you please fasten your seat
belts, stow your tray tables, and ensure that your seatbacks are in their
upright positions.”
I glance around and see who’s disregarding the rules. I’m
always a little surprised by how many people wait until the flight attendant
tells them to do this stuff.
“We’d like to take a few moments to go over the safety
features of this aircraft, even if you fly with us often. Please give us your
attention.”
So, I do.
I’m a rule follower, mostly. I mean, I’ve been known to push
a few boundaries here and there, but only if it’s for a good reason. Like the
time I lied about my age when I auditioned for the role of a much younger girl.
The thing is, I look young for my age. Always have. So maybe that wasn’t an
actual lie. More like a lie of omission.
Maybe.
“Thank you for your attention. We wish you a pleasant
flight.” Our flight attendant finishes her speech, and we start taxiing to the
runway.
I shift slightly and go back to my drawings. I could turn on
a movie or something once we’re in the air, but for now, I’m perfectly content
doing this. Besides, it’s sometimes nice to unplug and be creative.
Even if it’s just doodling.
I pause and peek out the window because we seem to be barely
creeping along. The runway queue is stretched farther than I can see.
Well, that’s disappointing.
Returning my focus to the paper, I’m about to start another
blocky twenty-two when the guy next to me gently clears his throat.
I look up and meet a pair of piercing blue eyes.
“Excuse me,” he begins quietly. “I don’t mean to be nosy,
but…are you drawing the number twenty-two?”
I look up from under my hat and smile shyly as I nod. “I’m
just trying to pass the time until we get in the air. I wasn’t ready to watch a
movie or anything yet. But, um…yeah.”
His eyes go a little wide, but he doesn’t say anything else
right away. Just when he seems about to, the captain interrupts with an
announcement.
“Hey, folks, this is your captain speaking. Just wanted to
let you know we’re all set and taxiing out now. We’ve got a couple of planes
ahead of us, and we’re currently number four for takeoff. Shouldn’t be too
long—maybe ten, fifteen minutes tops—and we’ll be on our way. Sit back, relax,
and we’ll get you up in the air shortly.”
“We are never going to take off,” I murmur, more to myself
than the guy next to me. “It’s just been one delay after another.”
“Yeah. Sorry about that.”
Looking over at him, I frown and whisper, “Excuse me?”
“That first delay was my fault. Well, mine and another
guy’s. Our flight from Atlanta was delayed, so we landed late. I honestly
didn’t expect them to hold the plane, but I’m really glad they did. The next
flight to LA doesn’t leave for something like four hours, and I would have been
on standby.”
“That would totally give me anxiety,” I tell him. “I need to
know that I have a seat and will get where I’m going.”
“Same.” He nods at my drawings again. “That’s your favorite
number, huh?”
I smile. “It is!” I say, and then immediately lower my
voice. “It may seem silly, but it’s more than my favorite number. I guess you
could say it’s my lucky number.” He’s looking at me, his expression completely
neutral, and I wonder if he thinks I’m unhinged. “What about you? Do you have a
favorite number?”
He nods again but doesn’t answer. Instead, he quietly asks,
“Why are you whispering?”
It’s a valid question. After all, plenty of people are
speaking in normal tones all around us. But I’m purposely keeping my voice down
so I don’t draw attention to myself.
I nod to the seats in front of us and silently mouth, “That’s
my ex and his wife. I don’t want them to see me.”
Now, he’s frowning. “What?”
I mouth it slower this time. “That’s…my…ex…”
He shakes his head, and I realize I’m either going to have
to say it aloud or just let it go. But then inspiration hits, and I write it
down on the paper in my lap instead.
That’s my ex and his wife with their new baby in front
of us. I really don’t want them to see me, so I’m trying to stay quiet.
“Ah, got it,” he murmurs, giving me a thumbs up. His smile
is sweet, but I can tell he’s not comfortable with this conversation. After a
small nod, he shifts in his seat—like he’s putting some distance between us—and
just like that, we’re done talking.
I’m about to ask again about his favorite number, but I see
that his arms are crossed, his head is back, and his eyes are closed.
Yeah. Conversation’s over.
Oh well.
I’m mildly disappointed because he seems like a nice guy. He
has kind eyes and a sweet smile. I wouldn’t have minded chatting with him to
pass some time on the flight. But…it’s obviously not meant to be.
Eventually, we take off. Once we reach our cruising
altitude, I put my notebook away, pull out my phone, and take advantage of the
complimentary Wi-Fi to find something to watch. I have three hours until we
land at LAX, so I make myself comfortable and settle in quietly for the rest of
the flight.
Back in LA, my life is as chaotic as usual.