Page 8 of Someday You Learn

“So how long is the conference?” Cashlynn asks after the flight attendants serve us drinks. I opted for a Coke, my usual go-to, while she ordered a ginger ale. We separate just long enough to open our Biscoff cookies, and once we’re done, she reaches for my hand again. I’m surprised by how much I like that she still needs me.

“Friday through Sunday, but I’m staying a few extra days. My boss insisted.”

“Sounds like a nice boss.”

“He could tell I needed a break. I guess you could say I’m a bit of a workaholic.”

She chuckles. “That checks out for a doctor.”

I smile. “Guilty as charged.”

She licks her lips. “Can I ask why you became a vet?”

Her question feels genuine, the kind people usually ask when they find out what I do. “If I said it’s because I’ve always loved animals, would that just add to my list of clichés?”

She shrugs, but her lips are lifted in a soft smile. “If it’s the truth, then I don’t see the problem.”

“We don’t deserve pets,” I say, easing into my story. “When I was ten, we had to put down our family dog, Daisy Mae, because of old age. She was the best fucking dog,” I say, thinking back fondly to our sweet puggle that gave my family fifteen years of her love and loyalty. “I just remember crying so hard, yelling about how it wasn’t fair. That there had to be something we could do to save her.”

Cashlynn’s bottom lip juts out. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

I huff out a laugh. “Sorry. The point is, that was the day I decided I wanted to make sure that all animals got to live their best lives like she did.” I look away. “I don’t know… That moment stuck with me, so I pursued veterinary medicine.”

She gently rubs the back of my hand with her thumb. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

When our eyes meet again, something shifts in my chest, and I try to ignore the dull ache building from the memory and from opening up to this woman that I just met. “So what do you do?” I ask, wanting to know more about this woman the longer we sit here, especially given that I’ve shared more with her than most of my family and friends.

“Oh, I’m, uh…” She looks away from me, biting her lip.

“Did you forget what your job is?” I tease.

“No,” she says with a nervous laugh.

That’s when I notice the paint under her fingernails. “I’m going to guess artist or teacher.”

She looks down at our clasped hands. “What makes you say that?”

“The paint under your nails. I figure that means you’re either doing arts and crafts with tiny humans, or you’re an artist yourself. Either way, you just became even more interesting to me.”

She tilts her head, her lips curving into a smile. “That detail made memoreinteresting? So you were already interested?”

I take a sip of my Coke, my eyes locked on hers. “I shouldn’t be, but I am, Cashlynn.” I can practically see the wheels turning behind those gorgeous eyes, but she shakes off the thought, saying nothing. “Does that mean that you’renotinterested?”

“No, I am I just…” She sighs. “This is the last thing I expected when I jumped on this flight.”

You and me both, beautiful.

I take a sip of my Coke and decide to steer the conversation to safter territory. “So what bringsyouto Philadelphia this weekend?”

“Philly’s home now. I flew down for a meeting in Raleigh.” She shudders slightly, as if recalling the experience.

“Did your seat mate offer to hold your hand on that one?”

She shakes her head with a grin on her lips. “No, she didn’t even speak to me. She was knitting the entire time with earbuds in. I’m pretty sure she was listening to a spicy romance novel.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, she would stop knitting and stare off into space at some points. Then she’d start shaking her head and fanning herself, and I mean”—she shrugs—“seems like something was getting her all worked up.”

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