Page 9 of No Escape

We started gathering our stuff when an announcement came over the speaker. “This is your captain speaking. I believe many of you were in the airport and either heard or experienced the excitement with the gunman that went on earlier this afternoon. What you may not know is these two passengers were instrumental in stopping that man and ensuring no one got hurt.”

Slash and I froze, clutching our belongings, as the flight attendant beamed and swept out her hand toward us. Everyone suddenly started wildly clapping and cheering.

I wished the airplane floor would open and drop me out. Not really, but still. This was excruciatingly embarrassing. Slash seemed as uncomfortable as I did.

An elderly woman sitting in the aisle seat across from us squinted at Slash. “Wait. I know you. Aren’t you the guy that stopped a robbery and saved a kid at a gas station a few months ago? You’re the Tampon Hero.”

Now I was pretty sure Slash wished the plane door would open and jettisonhimout. That incident had happened while he’d been picking up a box of tampons for me; he’d stumbled into a robbery gone bad and had single-handedly brought down the bad guy. The cool thing was he was perfectly fine picking up tampons for me, but he wasn’t so wild about his new nickname. I think he had to threaten some lives at work to get them to stop calling him that.

Could this get any more mortifying?

A murmur went through the cabin. “Yeah, that’s him,” someone said. “The Tampon Hero.” The cheering got wilder and more frenzied, except now there was laughter.

Slash hadn’t moved a muscle. I put a hand on his arm, hoping to defuse the situation.

“Please follow me,” the flight attendant said cheerfully, having no idea how mortified we were by the attention. People held out their hands for high fives as we walked up to first class. Slash clapped a few, but I touched no one. Thankfully, once we arrived, they drew a curtain behind us, giving us a bit more privacy.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re here,” Mom said. “I saw these open seats and thought it wasn’t fair you weren’t here, because you’d already paid for them.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” I said, stowing my carry-on in the overhead storage. “That was nice of them to move us up here.”

“And the captain publicly recognized Slash’s bravery,” Dad said. “Another dangerous situation he was lucky to survive.”

I glanced at Slash’s face, which had a pained expression. “Can we not talk about that right now, Dad? We just want to relax a little.”

“Of course. Relax away.”

Slash and I sat down and buckled in. The best thing about these first-class seats was that they had a small privacy panel that could close out everyone else around us. For several minutes we sat there sipping the complimentary champagne and orange juice and nibbling on butter cookies until we relaxed.

“That was excruciating,” I finally said.

“The worst. But we’re on our way, and that’s what’s important. Everything else is superfluous. Our delay was minimal, and we’ll soon be in Italy with my family.”

I think that was supposed to make me feel better, but talking about meeting his family only served to heighten my anxiety. “About your family… I prepared something to help me.” I released his hand and shifted in my seat so I could dig a piece of paper out of my jeans’ back pocket. I took it out, pulled down the seatback table, and smoothed the paper on it.

“I printed this out so I could study it,” I said. “I also have it on my phone, but I figured it was safer to have it in both places. The printed version is easier for us to look at together.”

Slash leaned over to see what was printed on it. “What is it?”

“A list of the dos and don’ts of meeting the in-laws.”

Slash raised an eyebrow. “You printed a spreadsheet of rules on meeting the in-laws?” Before I could answer, he lifted his hand. “Of course you did.”

“Slash, this is serious stuff. I want to make a good impression on them.”

He studied my face for a moment, like he was going to say something, but instead, he tapped the spreadsheet with his finger. “So, what’s on this spreadsheet?”

“Rules. What’s appropriate and what’s not.”

He leaned back in his seat, an amused look on his face. “Oh, this should be good. Run the rules past me.”

I glanced at the spreadsheet. “First rule—do not curse or discuss controversial topics such as politics, religion, or sex.”

“Sex is a controversial topic?”

“Well, I’m certainlynotdiscussing that with your parents,” I said. “Not the first time I meet them, and hopefully not ever.”

He considered, then nodded. “Fair enough. Keep going.”

---