Page 130 of Every Step She Takes
“I’ve been upgraded?” I repeat. “Why? How?”
The woman behind the counter winks at me. “Someone must really love you.”
Someonecould only be my sister, who helped me buy the ticket with her elite mileage plan.Thismust be why she was acting so damn weird. I send Vi a thank you text as I board the plane early with all the other first-class passengers.
In first class, there is plenty of overhead bin space, and even more space in the seat for me to fully relax my body. But when the flight attendant swoops in to offer me champagne, I decline and decide to stick to water. No one needs a repeat of the last time I drank on an airplane.
I’m in the aisle seat, and the window seat next to me is empty. It remains empty as the rest of the plane starts to board, people staring at me as they pass like I’m some kind of fancy, potentially famous first-class person. I take out my phone, and even though Mal still hasn’t replied to my previous message, I snap a pic of my ample legroom.UPGRADED TO FIRST CLASS! IS THIS WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE RICH? IS THIS WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE YOU????
She once again reads my message and once again does not respond. I close out of WhatsApp and close my eyes, holding my phone to my chest as I remind myself once again.I have to get over her.
Someone clears their throat and grumbles, “Sorry, but that’s my seat.”
I open my eyes to see someone pointing at the window seat next to me.
No. Not someone.Mal.
Mullet and widow’s peak and Cupid’s bow mouth. The poop-brown backpack and the Hydro Flask covered in gay stickers and the Cotopaxi fleece. Tattoos and visible nipples andMal.
All the individual traits add up to her, but my brain can’t fathom how she could behere.Not in Porto, but on an airplane in Seattle.
I don’t move. I don’t say anything. I don’t know how to react to this impossibility.
The flight attendant starts coming through, closing overhead bins as she goes. Mal quickly shoves her pack into the bin above my seat, her shirt riding up to reveal an inch of the grapevine tattoo I once traced with my tongue.Mal.
She stands in the aisle for a few seconds, and when I remain immobile in my seat, she climbs over me in an awkward jangle of limbs.
“What…” I finally say. “What are you doing here?”
Mal fastens her seat belt as the airplane door is closed three rows ahead of us and a flight attendant starts pantomiming along with the overhead safety announcement. Mal turns her whole body toward mine and takes a long, deep breath. “I hate the Property Brothers,” she says, and my brain has no idea what question she’s answering with that little proclamation. “I can’t explain it, but their faces make me irrationally angry. I’m sure they’re very nice people, but I also want to punch them.”
“What?”
She pushes her hair out of her eyes, and I realize her mullet isn’t blue anymore. It’s back to what I imagine is her natural dark-brown color. “On the Camino, I pretended to like the Property Brothers to have an excuse to spend time with you,” she confesses. “And then I kept watching it on my own afterward so I’d have an excuse to message you.”
“What?” I say again. I still have no idea why or how she’s here. The plane is backing out of the gate, and Mal is in the seat next to me, and I can feel her presence in every bone of my body.
“And I bought like half the furniture from your Etsy page under several different fake accounts.”
“What?” There’s no other word for any of this.
“Not because I don’t believe in you or anything!” she rushes to explain. “But because I genuinely love everything you make, and I wanted pieces of you at the vineyard in Porto.”
At least one thing is starting to make sense. “Did you do this? Did you get me upgraded to first class?”
“Oh. Yes. I thought that was obvious.”
“How did you get my flight info?”
“Your sister.”
“You talked tomy sister?”
“Yes, and she kept calling me Malcolm for some reason…”
The plane rattles as we begin takeoff, and Mal and I reach for the armrest between us at the same time. Her hand is warm, and I hold it on instinct as the plane leaves the ground. My stomach bungees into my rib cage.
“And the first CD I ever owned was Hootie and the Blowfish, and the only person I invited to my eighth birthday was the woman who worked in the children’s section at the library in Porto. She was seventy-two,” she continues confessing, for no apparent reason. “And when I was twelve, I got really into this series of Nancy Drew mystery computer games, and I kept playing them until I was way too old.” She pauses, then exhales again. “As in, I played the most recent one last year. I just never stopped playing them, and they are very much for children,” she keeps blathering on, and this finally starts to make sense too.
