Page 17 of The Woman in 3B
“Thanks,” she said with a soft smile.
“You’re welcome,” I felt compelled to return.
The moment—a truce, perhaps—was interrupted by a quiet buzz. A chirping noise followed as a reminder that I hadn’t silenced my phone. Lara pulled out her cellphone from the pocket of her dark blue uniform blazer as it chimed almost simultaneously.
I heard Lara’s frustrated sigh before I could check my own phone: “Our flight’s been delayed.”
The weather had been clear when we’d left Detroit, but while we’d been in the air, a thick fog had settled across the East Coast. The text from the airline said we were delayed by at least two hours. If I’d been working with anyone else, I would have suggested we grab dinner together. But I couldn’t picture myself sitting across a table from Lara and pretending like nothing had ever happened between us—like I didn’t know what she looked like beneath her navy blue uniform. I knew the length of her fingernails and the red trails she’d left on my back. I remembered how her thighs twitched when I sucked on her clit. I knew the noises she made when she came undone.
I had to get away.
The Philadelphia food court was busier than usual that afternoon. No flights were coming in or out because of the fog, so everyone was in the same holding pattern. I scanned the food court’s offerings. Chinese. Burgers. Salad. Burritos. Giant pretzels. My stomach all but growled when my eyes landed on a specific kiosk. I’d always had a particular weakness for cheap food court pizza.
I found an empty table, which was only vacant because the previous patrons hadn’t bothered to throw away their food wrappers, used napkins, and half-finished sodas. I grumbled all the way to the nearby trash can. As if it wasn’t annoying enough to pick up after passengers in-flight, I was still doing it while grounded.
I dabbed at the outer layer of cheese and pepperoni grease with a handful of napkins. The grease-soaked paper was an over-the-top reminder that I shouldn’t have been eating that kind of food, but between having to see Lara again and being stuck in the Philadelphia airport for at least the next two hours, I deserved this small indulgence.
The single slice of pepperoni pizza was comically large. The crust wasn’t structurally stable, and I had to hold it in both hands to steer it towards my open mouth.
My teeth had only made first contact when I heard the vaguely familiar voice: “Is this seat taken?”
My eyes cast up from my pizza slice to see Anissa—the woman from 3B on my Wednesday flights. My glance went first to her face and then to the sensible salad on her cafeteria-style plastic tray.
My teeth sank the rest of the way into my first bite. As I tried to pull away, hot cheese made contact with the roof of my mouth. A startled, gurgling noise tumbled up my throat. Half of the toppings and the thick layer of melted mozzarella cheese slid off the tomato-sauced crust. I clumsily dropped the sloppy pizza back onto its paper plate. The stubborn cheese pull continued to connect my mouth to my meal. I had to use my fingers to break the thick string of cheese.
Anissa cocked an eyebrow. “You okay?”
I hastily gulped down the piping hot bite without chewing. The molten lava cheese burned all the way down my throat. “Yeah,” I gasped.
Anissa continued to stand with her food tray in hands. “There doesn’t seem to be any other free tables.”
I realized she was waiting on me.
“Shit. Yeah. Sorry.” I grabbed at the handfuls of grease-stained napkins that littered the small table to make room for her. Anissa waited patiently while I consolidated my mess. “Sorry. Sorry,” I continued to apologize.
“You’re fine,” she assured.
I hopped to my feet as she sat down.
She frowned at my action. “You’re not leaving, are you? You hardly touched your food.”
“Give me your tray,” I said, holding a hand out to her. “It’ll give us more room.”
“I can do that,” she insisted.
“I’m already up.”
She relinquished her plastic tray without further protest. I brought her tray to the trash can and took the opportunity to also throw away my mountain of wasted napkins.
Anissa had already started to eat her salad by the time I returned to the table. I felt a little out of breath as I sat down. I’d done nothing physical to warrant the quickened pulse or the flushed skin, but I suspected Anissa’s unexpected presence had produced the reaction.
“Hi,” I said.
Anissa smiled. “Hi, Alice.”
I was privately pleased that she’d remembered my name.
“That pizza looked dangerous,” she remarked. “I thought I was going to have to call airport security to save you.”
