36. Jo
Chapter 36
Jo
T he strap of my backpack digs into my shoulder as I walk the boarding bridge towards our plane. I say a silent prayer that it gets us both to Sacramento in one piece. Cold air seeps through the cracks and crevices of the metal enclosure, chilling me to the bone despite my wool-lined coat. The woman in front of me chooses a seat up front, but the notes I took during my YouTube marathon include choosing a seat over the wing.
Less turbulence, I guess.
A man behind me huffs loudly when I stop to choose my row. The vibes to my left are better, so I shimmy myself to the window seat, holding my backpack tightly on my lap as I slide down into the seat.
Air from the vent blows strands of my hair loose and I glance up, trying to figure out how to get it to stop. As passengers file in, the ambient rumble of mindless chatter fills the cabin.
Okay, this is okay.
I’m on the plane. I’m in my seat.
Isaac will be here soon.
My phone vibrates in my palm. A message from Isaac incoming.
I tap on the message and a photo fills the screen. The man’s white hair peeks out from the sides of an American flag baseball cap and his entire index finger is shoved up his left nostril.
I snort as a second message comes in.
Save a seat for this guy. He’s super rich.
Wait, how do you know that?
Clearly, he’s got gold.
Oh does he have jokes, or what? A fresh wave of passengers crowds the aisle, scoping out the seats remaining. I stifle a laugh again as the man from Isaac’s photo approaches, eyeing the open seats next to me. The woman behind him stops and grabs the back of his shirt.
“Here,” she says, handing her carry-on to the man who hoists it up into the overhead bin. “She’s small enough.”
I reach out and place my palm on the chair next to me, trying to meet the gaze of the man as he lifts his own bag up over his head.
“Excuse me, I—” My voice just barely competes with the chaos of the onboarding process, but they ignore me. “I’m waiting for someone.” I speak again, louder this time. More assured.
“Sounds like a personal problem.” The man finally responds, letting whom I presume to be his wife—based on the way he’s pushing her forward with his hand on her ass—climb into the middle seat.
“Uh, excuse me?” Dammit, there goes my heart rate again.
“These seats are first come, first serve. And my lady says we sit here. So here we sit.” Cocksure and confident, they both plop into the blue pleather seats.
I glance down at my lap and notice blood has started to accumulate where I’ve been mindlessly picking at the skin on my thumb.
“Shit,” I whisper, unzipping the front compartment of my backpack and pulling out a hand wipe. I wrap the wipe around my thumb, clamping it in my fist to attempt to stop the bleeding.
Where the hell is Isaac?
I set my backpack down on the ground in front of me and stand, careful not to whack my head on the overhead. I glance around, resting my knee on my seat for support, and check for open spots. Most are already accounted for, and nowhere do I see two adjacent open seats.
“Sit down, you’re ruining the air flow.”
Before I succumb to the pressure of Mr. and Mrs. Crotchety, a third round of passengers enters the cabin, and I spot Isaac with his carry-on thrown casually over his shoulder. He’s confident in an effortless sort of way, just smiling at everyone he passes like they’re old friends.
Our eyes meet, and his smile fades. I shrug, gesturing to the couple next to me.
When Isaac reaches the end of our row, he stops, silently waiting for the couple to look up from their phone screens. It takes a few moments, but they do, meeting his unabashed gaze.
“Can we help you?” The man says, setting his phone down on top of his protuberant abdomen. Isaac glances to me and then back to the man in the middle seat.
“You’re in my seat,” Isaac quips.
A dramatic gasp falls from the mouth of the woman next to me. I’d bet if she was wearing a string of pearls, she’d be grasping them. A small line of group C boarding pass holders accumulates behind Isaac, but he pays no mind, keeping his gaze fixed on Southwest enemy #1.
“Nice try, kid,” the man scoffs, picking up his phone once more. I slump back into the seat, wrapping my arms tightly around my core as Isaac continues his stakeout. I prepared to get myself to the airport. I prepared to get myself on the plane. I did not prepare for this.
“What’s the problem, sir?” A flight attendant approaches from the rear of the plane, her eyes bouncing from Isaac to the couple to me and then back to Isaac. “We need to keep the line moving.”
Oh dear. Here we go. My thumb has seemingly stopped bleeding, so I toss the wipe into a side pocket on my bag, replacing the space in my now empty palm with a stress ball shaped like a brain.
It’s only four hours. I can just sleep. Or read. Or have my longest anxiety attack to date.
“My apologies, ma’am,” Isaac lets his bag slip from his shoulder, “but my wife and I are on our honeymoon, and we got separated.” He gestures to me. “And I just need to be near her.”
The flight attendant clasps her hands together and rests her chin atop them. “Oh my gosh, how exciting!”
Republican Santa lets out a loud, sardonic laugh. “You’re going to Sacramento on your honeymoon? My ass!” My chest tightens watching the flight attendant’s expression fall into skepticism.
“If my girl wants to see the California Auto Museum, my girl gets to see the California Auto Museum,” Isaac retorts.
I know he’s lying, but why does hearing him say that make my brain implode?
The commotion catches the attention of many of the passengers in our vicinity, including a middle aged woman in the seat directly behind me. “C’mon asshole, let them sit together,” she chimes in.
A chorus of collective voices rings out in agreement.
“Don’t be a douchebag, man!” A masculine voice behind me yells over the crowd, and I can’t help but laugh.
Both the man and woman next to me begin mumbling under their breath in a tizzy. When they finally look at each other in defeat and stand, the plane erupts into rowdy applause. I smother my face with my hands, attempting to suppress the inevitable redness with the chill of my palms. The woman who started the ruckus also stands, leaving a space for them to sit together in the row behind us. She follows Isaac into our row, taking the aisle seat as he secures his spot next to me.
The flight attendant smiles, albeit a little less thrilled than before our dramatic scene unfolded. “Is it actually your honeymoon?” she asks Isaac.
“Yes, of course, who would lie about that?” I choke on the gum I forgot I was chewing, but he grabs my hand firmly in his own, yanking me back to the present. “My wife took her ring off. Her fingers always swell on planes.”
He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small gold band and holding it up for the flight attendant.
Okay, be cool. He must’ve planned this.
A ring though?
The flight attendant turns her attention to me and nods, pulling a necklace out from under her blouse. Two rings dangle from the end of the chain. “My fingers swell too! What are your names?”
“Isaac and Jocelyn Britlyn,” Isaac responds, and my gut flips again. The excitement returns to the flight attendant’s face as she turns on her heel and heads towards the front of the plane.
“Oh my god?” I whisper to Isaac. “What the hell?”
He drops my hand, but smiles, passing the ring from one hand to the other. “It’s a fidget ring. I thought it might help you this weekend. Less picking at the skin on your fingers.” He chuckles, holding the gold band out to me. “It’s stupid.”
“Are you kidding me?” I take the ring from him, examining it closely. There is a band of stones atop a gold base. I tap the stone band gently, watching it spin. “It’s so perfect!”
“Ideal for this situation, to be honest.” I grasp the ring in my fist, willing my stomach to stop the ascent into my throat.
“Ladies, gentleman, and non-binary friends, welcome onboard flight 90, non-stop to Sacramento, California.” The male voice is 90% static as it rattles through the cabin speakers. “This is Captain Jeff speaking. Our flight time today will be four hours and thirty-five minutes.” I push the band onto my left ring finger, spinning it with my thumb over and over as he continues. “We have clear skies ahead, so turbulence should remain at a minimum.”
A flight attendant begins her pre-flight safety demonstrations. I lean to my left, close to Isaac’s ear and whisper once more. “You know I could’ve definitely sat alone, right? I’m fine.”
“Before we begin our ascent, Southwest Airlines would like to congratulate Isaac and Jocelyn Britlyn on their recent nuptials. Let’s give a round of applause for our newlyweds!”
This is my actual worst nightmare.
Applause begins once more, and Isaac grabs my left hand, lifting it up into the air above us.
“Kiss her!”
No.
“Yeah, lay one on her!”
No.
“Seal the deal, man!”
No.
Isaac’s grasp on my hand tightens.
No.
No.
This is my worst nightmare.
He lets our hands fall as the chants continue, but doesn’t let go. Pulling me towards him, he turns to face me. Oh my God.
We’re too close now, and he’s smirking. A confident, knowing smirk. The mischievous sparkle in his eye is one I’ve seen before, so many times so many years ago. Then his lips are on mine.
Hoots and hollers explode around us.
He’s gentle, not searching or prying for more. As much as I want to part my lips and let him take all of me, it’s just a silly lie. He holds my hand against his chest as he lets his lips break from mine, lingering with our noses touching. Before he pulls away completely, he plants another soft kiss on my lips, really playing to our audience.
The fasten seatbelt lights flash.
What. The. Fuck.