Page 12 of In Flight

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?”

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