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Instead of ignoring him like I should, I swipe right and watch while the call connects, moving slowly behind the handful of other passengers boarding the plane in group one.
When the call goes from ‘connecting’ to ‘connected,’ Bishop’s face appears and he gives me a big, childish smile.
“Hey, dickface.”
The sound of my brother’s voice booms out of my phone and fills the mostly silent walkway, my cheeks heating as I give an embarrassed wave to the elderly couple who turns to glare at me.
I quickly shuffle around to plug my headphones in, popping one in my right ear before giving Bishop a nasty look.
“Thanks for that. It’s not like I’m in public or anything.”
His face morphs into that shit-eating grin that says he knows exactly what he’s doing, and it makes me want to hang up on him.
“It’s your own fault, Boy,” he says.
“Boyd,” I correct him for the millionth time since we were children, my tone firm.
I hate that obnoxious nickname. It’s not even a real nickname as much as it is my brother enjoying his relentless antagonism. I’ve never fully understood his fascination with Boy, though, since he’s the one who couldn’t pronounce his Ds until he was ten.
“Oh. Really? I never knew your actual name before today. Thank you, kind sir, for enlightening me so that I might serve at your every request.” He bows his head, and I roll my eyes at the horrible British accent.
“What do you want?”
I step through the open plane door when the couple in front of me moves forward then stop again in the galley to wait for the people in front of me to take their seats.
The flight attendant in a purple and tan uniform gives me a big smile, and I manage one in return.
“I’m getting on the plane,” I grumble, hoping he’ll take that as a clue that he should get to his point, and quickly.
“Bell wants me to remind you that you promised to do the Kilroy hike with us this year. You know, since you manage to find an excuse every year not to go.”
I let out a sigh, wishing I’d just put my phone in airplane mode a few minutes early.
The much-dreaded—at least by me—Kilroy hike is an overnighter that requires lugging a massive pack into the mountains just outside our hometown. I enjoy a good run or swim and make frequent use of the gym by my house, but hiking long distances has never been my thing, something my younger siblings have never seemed to care about since they demand I go with them every year.
“It can be a new family tradition,” my sister Bellamy said five years ago, excitement in her voice at the idea of all of us going together and pitching tents at the campground near the top.
It sounds like a miserable time to me, but as the only voice of dissent for most things in our family, my opinion rarely matters.
Luckily, I’ve always had an excuse, and it’s getting to the point where I’m actually impressed by how long I’ve managed to get out of it.
Five years.
That’s quite the record of evasion.
Last year, I had an emergency company teleconference that coincided with the date that worked for everyone. The year before that I hurt my knee playing a pickup rugby game with some friends from college. One year I even used a crazy hangover to my advantage, faking a cold that kept me bedridden, though how I was feeling after splitting a full bottle of whiskey with my friend Rusty wasn’t any kind of a lie.
So. I’ll tell them whatever they want, but I’m not gonna be dragging my ass up a mountain any time soon.
“Yup. No worries.”
I finally reach my row, lifting my carry-on into the overhead compartment. Picking up the pillow and blanket provided on my seat, I plop down, letting out a rush of breath as the people behind me surge past like a wave.
I love first class. Being 6’4”, it is quite the squeeze to sit in economy. The extra width of an upgraded seat is wonderful for my broad shoulders, but it’s the legroom that makes all the difference.
Summit Airlines seats are pretty snug in the main cabin, and I usually have to manspread my legs so I don’t punch a hole through the seat in front of me. I always feel like shit as I apologize profusely to the people sitting next to me, knowing I’m not going to be able to change the fact that my legs are seriously encroaching on the tiny bit of real estate they’ve paid for.
Flying is bad enough, and I’m a firm believer that everyone should interact as minimally as possible. My rules of the air are as non-negotiable as this trip home at the end of every August.
