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She shifts in her seat as she mixes the blueberry yogurt and granola in the bowl in front of her.
“It was super creepy. I won’t be accepting a date from him again any time soon, that’s for sure. So, anyway, he told me Tom Cruise was running across a roof or something and totally shattered his ankle when he had to jump from one building to another one, and apparently he just kept filming like it was no big deal until they got the shot. Crazy, right?”
I keep my attention on my own plate of food, trying to hide my smile at the very strange conversation we’re having.
Or rather, the one she’s mostly having with herself.
“Crazy,” I say before stuffing a bite of food into my mouth so I don’t have to say anything else.
If I can safely indulge her desire to talk without having to speak much, maybe I can convince myself I’m not breaking my own rules.
“I’m not a really big movie buff. If it’s up to me, I’d much rather be outside doing things than sitting inside watching a movie. Hiking, biking, swimming—anything, really. Which should have been my first clue that this guy wasn’t the right one for me, you know? I mean, when your friends refer to you as your online gamer handle in person, I think it’s safe to assume you spend a lot of your time indoors. And that’s just not for me.”
I keep eating, listening to her babble on about whatever seems to come to mind, and I have to work to keep the smile off my face.
“But that’s just the life of someone committed to wellness, you know? I’m a massage therapist, and I see so many people coming through who have these aches and pains, and most of them are from stress, obviously, but also from sitting around in front of the TV or staying hunched over laptop keyboards or phones. I tell them to get outside and enjoy nature and spend time doing things that are good for their minds and bodies, a. And if I tell them to do it, I have to be doing it myself, or else I’d just be a big old phony. And nobody likes that.”
There’s an extended pause, and I glance over to make sure she isn’t choking, only to find her nibbling happily on her breakfast.
I almost laugh. She was able to have this entire one-sided conversation with me about Mission Impossible and some guy she dated and her job and enjoying the outdoors, and I didn’t have to say a word.
In most circumstances, I’d be miserable, clambering out of my seat, trying to find a way to avoid the incessant prattle from an annoying seatmate.
But instead, I’m feeling…charmed? Is that the right word? I don’t even know, really, because it’s such an unfamiliar sensation. A kind of low buzz warms my chest and collarbone, loosening my muscles. I want to relax in my chair and listen to her ramble on some more.
And then, just when I wonder if I should say something to her because suddenly I’m fascinated by the things coming out of her mouth, she launches in again.
“You know, I’ve never flown first class before. Well, I’m guessing you know that since I already said I’ve never flown at all, but let me just say, I feel like after this, I’ll be sorely disappointed when my regular ass is flying economy. I can only imagine how squished the seats are.” She shakes her head at me then gives the flight attendant a big smile as he hands over a new drink. “Thank you!” she chirps, taking it and placing it on her tray.
“Thanks,” I say when a new whiskey is settled on mine.
I appreciate when the flight crew refills my drink without me having to ask, regardless of what time of day it is. Less chance for me to get judged for drinking hard liquor before noon.
“And I guess that means I’ll basically never fly ever again since I would never be able to afford a first class ticket on my own.” She scoffs as she butters her toast. “The fact that I’m even flying first class today was a huge shock. Well”—she tilts her head left and right—“maybe I should have realized Ken would buy me the fancy-schmancy ticket.” Then she bites off a piece of her bread.
“Who’s Ken?” I ask, suddenly wondering if she has some rich boyfriend in California who is paying for her to fly out.
And why does that thought make me feel like someone has poked a hole in my chest?
“Ken’s my ‘dad,’” she says, using air quotes that have me pausing with my drink halfway to my mouth.
“What’s with the air quotes?”
“Well, far be it from me to claim I’m the knower of all, but it’s my opinion that if you want a title, you have to actually do the job,” she says, her tone coming out a little intense.
My eyebrows rise at her statement, and I watch as Ruby takes a deep breath in and exhales a long, slow breath out.
“That was mean-spirited of me. I shouldn’t have said that.”
She spends a minute poking at the last few blueberries in her bowl then turns her head to eye me.
“You don’t have an opinion?” she asks.
I lift a shoulder, knowing this is way outside of my comfort zone. Besides, whatever is going on between Ruby and her ‘dad,’ the last thing I should do is form an opinion with almost no information.
“Well, I’m a firm believer that I shouldn’t jump in with judgments about something when I don’t know the story,” I reply.
“You would be the levelheaded type,” she says back, and I smile at how quickly she’s been able to peg me.
