Page 26 of In Flight

Six

BY SUNDAY EVENING I’VEcome to a decision. I finally feel sure.

I’m going to break up with Cash.

The timing is a little awkward since how rude would it be for me to let him pick me up from the airport and then immediately break up with him? But all the signs are in my favor because, a few hours before my flight, he texts saying that his parents had a plumbing issue and he has to help them with it. Is it okay if I take a cab or an Uber back home?

Relieved by the reprieve, I don’t mind the slight inconvenience. I tell him that’s no problem at all and I hope he can fix the plumbing problem without any trouble.

I expect him to suggest dinner tomorrow, but he doesn’t.

Maybe he’s ready to be done with this relationship as much as I am.

A plan forms in my mind as the car my dad hired for me drops me in front of the airport. I’ll buy Cash’s favorite steak sandwich after work tomorrow and bring it to him. We can have the breakup conversation, and then the whole thing will be over.

I’ll feel a lot better once it’s done.

It’s not just Isaac and how guilty my responses to him make me feel. It’s that this relationship has reached its expiration date, and now it’s weighing on me. I hate loose ends and unsettled questions. I hate feeling like I’m reaching for threads that are flying all over, just out of my reach.

Once I get this one thing accomplished, I can let myself relax into life again and figure out what’s best to do about any other loose ends.

When boarding begins, I do my normal checks and rechecks to make sure I have all my stuff and the essentials are easy to access. Then I decide I better run to the bathroom before I get on the plane so I don’t have to get up as soon as the pilot turns off theFasten Seat Beltslight.

There are a lot of women in the restroom, and I’m forced to wait longer than I’m comfortable with before I get a stall. I’m not late, but I feel that way as I hurriedly wash my hands and shake them dry instead of waiting for the blower.

Most of the passengers are on board when I return to the gate, but the attendant is still standing in front of the open door. She sees me and waves. It’s been the same woman at that station for three weeks now.

I wave back but turn to look when I sense activity down the hall.

Isaac. Moving at a fast jog with his suitcase rolling in tow to reach the gate in time.

I wait for him, wanting to smile even as I wonder if he’s still annoyed with me. He’s smiling when he reaches me, so he must not be.

“Got stuck in traffic,” he says. “I was worried I’d miss the flight.”

“You’re just in time.”

“Why aren’t you already in your seat?” His eyes run up and down my body, from my loose, curly hair (falling over everything as usual) to my thick sweater, flannel skirt, and cozy boots.

“I had to run to the restroom, and it was crowded in there.”

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