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Not only am I going on a plane for the first time, but it will be a private jet.
I climb out of the car and stare at the massive machine. I feel Antonio pressing against my back. He leans over and says, “It looks even better inside.” He steps around me, taking my hand in his, and leads me to the stairway to climb into the jet.
I'm doing my best not to look out of place, but I don’t think I'm doing an excellent job. Antonio looks cool and collected. I'm grinning nonstop, and my face aches.
“Are you going to be smiling like that all the way to New York?” he chuckles as he gets comfortable.
I bite my lip. I'm not doing a good job of hiding this excitement. “That depends. How long is the flight?”
“Around fifteen hours.”
“I might take a break about halfway there.”
He packs up laughing and pulls me closer to him so that my face is against his chest. He kisses the top of my head. “I'll make sure they bring out the snacks at the same time so it aligns with your break, ok?”
“Perfect,” I say, breathing in the warmth of his scent.
Our flight is long, but comfortable. I stop smiling, at least some of the way, and even fall asleep with my head resting on the curve of his body with his arm wrapped around me. I woke up confused about where I was, but then full of excitement again.
“There it is.” Antonio gestures toward the window. “New York City.”
I lean close to the window and feel him behind me. It's late in the evening, and the city lights are sparkling like scattered stars across the landscape beneath us. Colorful lights in no specific arrangement blend across each other, creating a picture I'll never forget.
The plane touches down, and we disembark, climbing straight into the car, waiting for us.
The driver knows where we need to go. Antonio doesn’t say a word to him.
I turn my face toward the window for the entire drive as I take in the city. Buildings that look like nothing I have ever seen before, a city so unlike Hong Kong. The lights are different; the signs are different, and the roads look different.
I feel far from home, yet I have this sense that I'm where I need to be.
Is this how my mother felt we she arrived in New York? Was she as enamored with the differences, the brightness, the energy and the smells?
Antonio rests his hand on my thigh, and it's just about the only thing that I can focus on apart from the views.
The car pulls over outside a massive hotel.
Three men walk toward us, dressed in red jackets with gold trim.
They open the car door. “Welcome, Mr. and Ms. Aoi.”
“Oh, um,“
“Thank you,” Antonio responds, didn't bother to correct them.
“You may go right up to your rooms. We will bring your luggage.”
Antonio’s hand drifts to my lower back as he pushes me toward the towering hotel doors.
Chandeliers hang from the ceiling in the foyer, and mirrored tiles shine as we walk past.
A man hands Antonio a key card, informing him that should he need anything at all, he must just ask.
Antonio walks through the hotel like he owns it, even though I know, or he tells me, he has never been to New York before.
Perhaps he was lying, or perhaps it was just his confidence.
I shrug off the thought. I don't want to focus on those things right now.
