Page 31 of Hunters and Hydrangeas

“I just want her to know she has options.”

“She’s going,” Noah says, putting a stop to the conversation. “We’ll see you in Florida.”

My boyfriend nudges me forward, and we join the other waiting passengers. I adjust my carry-on, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, hoping Noah got us good seats. Though I have no idea which seats those might be.

“It really will be okay.” Noah wraps his arm around me like Cassian just did, except… differently. He tucks me closer to his side, offering me warm reassurance. I breathe in the familiar scent of deodorant and laundry detergent that clings to his T-shirt.

“I’m fine,” I tell him, answering on autopilot.

Like kindergarteners, we board the plane in a single line. I almost pause when I step inside, moving only because the people behind us will grumble if I stop.

Planes look so big on the outside; I forgot how tight they are.There are three seats on either side, with a central aisle between them.

“Here we are,” Noah says when we’ve reached the middle of the plane. “Do you want the window?”

I have to decide quickly, as there’s an entire line of people behind me, but I decide I’d rather sit there than by a stranger. So I scoot in, taking my place. Noah puts our carry-ons in the overhead compartment, and I stash my purse under the seat in front of me.

As soon as we’re settled, Noah takes my hand, interlacing our fingers and giving me a reassuring smile. “So far, so good.”

“We haven’t left the ground yet.”

“But you’re on the plane.”

“Such an accomplishment.” I buckle my seatbelt and pull down the window shade. I might look out later, but I’m pretty sure I don’t want to watch the airport lights get smaller as we leave the ground.

Soon after the steady stream of people becomes a trickle, all the passengers find their places. A flight attendant stands at thefront of the plane and goes over the list, just like the last time I flew.

But I forgot how loud the engines are. The angry rumble sets me on edge before we even start down the runway.

Noah squeezes my hand as the plane picks up speed, and I clench my eyes shut, reminding myself that air travel is the safest mode of transportation, statistically speaking.

My stomach drops as the plane leaves the ground, making me glad I didn’t order coffee.

Eventually, everything evens out. We’re no longer rising and turning, and my stomach settles.

“You did great,” Noah says.

I take a deep breath. “That was…an experience.”

“My family traveled to Pennsylvania every year to visit my aunt before she moved to Glenwood, so my sister and I got used to plane travel early.”

“I’m sure it helps. When I have kids, I’ll make sure to—” I cut myself off, realizing that hazy future I’ve always imagined is no longer possible.

It’s just another regret that tinges my new life.

“I know,” Noah says gently. “It’s okay to grieve things that can no longer be. It’s part of the adjustment period.”

But there are so many adjustments—so many little losses that add up to a lot.

“I’m going to try to read for a little bit,” I tell him. “You can listen to your audiobook if you want.”

He nods and pulls his earbuds from his pocket.

The rest of the flight is uneventful, with little turbulence. Noah and I both order diet sodas when the flight attendant comes around, and I’m grateful for the carbonation even if the taste is going to take some getting used to.

We pass on the pretzels, and I try not to dwell on the other passengers crunching on them around us. My vampire hearingisn’t superhero level, like the movies would have you think, but it’s certainly heightened. That’s going to take some getting used to as well.

Just over four hours later, the pilot announces that we’re preparing to land. I slide open the window shade and look at the lights in the distance, only to quickly realize there are none under us.

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