Page 43 of In Flight

“So why did you need a drive with him this weekend? Were you upset about something?”

“Not really. But I went shopping with my mom, and that usually leads to a certain amount of stress.”

Isaac wraps one hand around his armrest as the plane shakes through takeoff, but his eyes never leave my face. “What kind of stress?”

“Just normal mom-daughter stuff. She wants me to wear much more stylish and upscale clothes. She wants me to cut my hair or at least pull it back so I look more put together. She wants me to get expensive manicures. She wants me to lose about fifteen pounds. And I want to be left alone.”

“That doesn’t sound like normal mom-daughter stuff. That sounds like an inappropriate amount of picking on you.” His tone is very cool in a way I don’t hear much from him anymore.

“Oh, it’s just normal. She doesn’t mean it to be as bad as it sometimes feels. She does love me. But she learned from her own mother to channel that love into a kind of control over my appearance and behavior. Not my real behavior, you understand. She doesn’t give a crap about my moral and ethical choices. It’s just how others view me that she cares about.”

“The fact that she loves you isn’t a particularly good defense of her treatment of you.”

“I know.” I sigh, slightly heavy for the first time since I arrived at the airport. “She’s not always so bad, but there’s only so much of it that I can take. That’s one of the reasons I live so far away.”

“She wants you to move back?”

“Of course she does. She wants me to set up a nice, pretty life like Raven is making for herself, moving in the same social circles and accessorized by the same superficial luxuries. It’s just not me. It’s never been me.”

“You’re the least superficial person I’ve ever met.” Isaac hasn’t pulled out his iPad from his bag like he normally does. He’s leaning back against his seat, but his head is turned in my direction. He’s fully listening. I can feel it as well as see it on his face.

“That’s a compliment I really appreciate, so thank you for it. I’m not sure it’s because I’m somehow better than my mom and Raven. It’s simply my nature not to really care about designer shoes and fancy nails and trendy decorating schemes. I do like pretty things. A lot. But I like them for themselves rather than for what they say about me. I don’t know if that makes sense.”

“It does make sense. You get emotionally attached to things. You don’t use them to show off. It’s one of the very first things I noticed about you.”

“Oh.” I lick my lips, suddenly slightly nervous.

“What was the first thing you noticed about me?”

“Honestly?”

“Of course.”

“Well, the truth is the first thing I noticed is that you’re very good-looking.”

He lets out a sharp burst of laughter. I clearly took him by surprise.

“I was expecting you to say something bad about me. I really annoyed you at first, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. The second thing I noticed is that you use your work to try to block out things that make you uncomfortable. Something about me made you uncomfortable. And for a while you would barely turn away from your computer to acknowledge me.”

He’s quiet for longer than I expect, which worries me.

“That wasn’t supposed to be an insult,” I say.

“I know. I didn’t take it as one. I was thinking about it. And you’re right. Something about you made me uncomfortable, so I did what I always do. Focus on what I’m good at so I don’t have to think about the things I’m not good at.”

“Sports?” I ask with a lilt in my tone.

“Not in this instance. No. The thing I’m not good at that I was trying to avoid is...” His face twists briefly.

I wait. Until finally I prompt, “Is what?”

“Is being... real.” He’s slightly hoarse, like it’s hard for him to get it said. “Authentic. The real me. With someone else. And something about you made me want to.”

There’s no way to hold back either the flush or the smile. I’m reveling in the feeling when a bong signals the pilot turning off the seat belt light.

“Aha,” Isaac says, smiling as he pulls his paper bag from between his legs and into the aisle.

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