Page 129 of Life To My Flight

This was the first time he’d flown with me since I’d started the training over six months ago, and it showed.

“Well?” I asked. “How was it?”

He blinked rapidly before he let his grip on the seat go. “Uhh,” he croaked. “I think I might’ve died a thousand deaths in the last two hours.”

I gave him a wry look. “I did just fine, and you know it.”

With that comment, I had Ross laughing.

“Oh, boy. You should see your face in some of these pictures,” Ross crowed as he started going through some pictures on his phone.

Ross had demanded to go as soon as he’d heard it was my final teacher-assisted flight.

He’d especially wanted to go when he found out that Cleo was going, too.

Which, now I knew, was to get blackmail pictures of him.

He was becoming quite the photographer.

I secretly couldn’t wait to see the pictures either.

My hands fumbled with the latches that strapped me in, moving them this way and that as I tried in vain to get them off.

I heard Cleo sigh from the back, followed shortly by the door opening.

My door was opened moments later, and Cleo’s hands made quick work of the latches that were digging uncomfortably into my stomach.

“Thanks,” I said once he got me completely free.

His head fell down until it rested on my belly, and he started talking to our soon to be child as if I couldn’t hear every word he said.

“You’re mother’s making me fucking crazy. What kind of hugely pregnant person would want to fly when she has a perfectly capable husband that can do it for her?” He asked our child.

“The type that doesn’t like to cook in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant,” I snapped.

His eyes rose up to meet mine, and he smiled.

“I’m proud of you, girl,” he said, and meant it.

I smiled widely at him and wrapped my arms firmly around his neck.

The position was awkward at best, but neither one of us cared.

That was us.

Perfectly imperfect.

***

Rue

1 year later

“Nonnie’s really living this up. I can’t believe she’s doing so well,” I said as I watched Nonnie show our eighth month old son a glass bird on the shelf beside our kitchen window.

Cleo looked up from underneath the sink where he was placing childproof locks and smiled. “All she needed was the grandchild she was making all those baby blankets for.”

I secretly agreed.

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