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“Everything good?” he asks hesitantly.
“Better than good. They’re going to come down next month for a visit. Just a short weekend trip, but they want to see the park and get to know you a little better too.”
He nods and leads me toward the street, where our driver is still waiting.In our terminal, while we wait for our flight to take off, I search the toy section of a store and find one of those machines that eats quarters and spits out junk in return—temporary tattoos, plastic kazoos, Chinese finger traps. I have to feed it over eight dollars before I finally manage to secure two plastic rings. One has a large diamond, the other a princess cut emerald.
I distribute the excess tchotchkes to two excited kids lingering near me whose parents are less than thrilled with their kazoo-filled future. Mom! Listen! Then, I walk back to where Derek is sitting at the gate with his laptop out, catching up on work. For a second, before he sees me, I admire him as if he were a stranger. I’m not the only one. I pass two curly-haired women, well into their 80s, who are talking about him in near shouts.
“Sheryl, you weren’t kidding. He’s a dead ringer for that actor we used to love. What’s his name?”
“Oh who cares. Just let me admire him while I can. And turn your hearing aid down—it’s ringing again.”
Derek glances up and sees me, unleashing a smile that devastates us all.
“Oh, she must be the girlfriend,” one of them says.
“Isn’t she lucky,” the other agrees. “Lord, if I were forty years younger…”
I’m still grinning at this exchange by the time I reach Derek.
He asks why I’m so happy. I kiss his cheek then nod my head toward the two women.
“They were talking about you.”
He arches a brow. “Think I have a shot? The one on the right is cute. I like her cat shirt.”
“Should I excuse myself?”
He shakes his head as if coming out of a stupor. “Oh, you’re still here?”
“Yeah, now focus because I need to propose to you so I can get free stuff on this flight.”
He looks heavenward. “It’s like you’ve never left the house before.”
“What?! This is first class we’re talking about. Excuse me, but I grew up poor, so just let me have this.”
I retrieve the rings from my jeans pocket and hold them out to him.
He stares at them almost as if they’re real. In fact, he stares so long, unflinching, that I feel compelled to tell him they were twenty-five cents apiece. Don’t get excited.
Eventually, he reaches for the emerald one. “Think it’ll fit me?”
He tries it on his ring finger, but it doesn’t make it past his knuckle. He tries his pinky next and even that’s a stretch. He leaves it on then nods for me to don mine.
It’s a little tight, but I push it onto my ring finger.
Derek is visibly impressed. “Aren’t these meant for kids? How does that fit you?”
I shrug. “I have small hands.”
“What’s your ring size?”
“Not sure. Now listen, when they ask us about our wedding, you need to act really enthusiastic.”
Spoiler: he doesn’t. Later, after I gush to the flight attendant about our recent nuptials and honeymoon in the Big Apple, Derek looks up from his laptop and says, deadpan, “I don’t even know this woman.”
When the attendant walks away, I swat him with the safety trifold I wrench from my seatback pocket.
“Are you serious? We could have gotten free snacks!”
He’s smirking. Clearly, he thinks he’s funny. I ignore him, push up on my knees, and survey the aisle for the flight attendant. “Okay now, when she comes back, I need you to feign amnesia. Tell her you remember me now and—”
My sentence cuts off when Derek sighs and holds up his hand. A new flight attendant swoops down on us within seconds. I nearly shriek. One second, the aisle’s empty. The next, she’s there—like a hawk.
“Yes, sir? How can I help you?”
She’s all smiles and I think, Wow. No more economy slop for me. Only first-class luxury from here on out.
“I think my wife would like to order something.”
He’s joking and yet my body thrums with energy hearing him refer to me that way.
“Can I ask, what’s the fanciest thing you have to eat on this flight?” I lean over, halfway covering Derek’s lap. “Like if Bill Gates were here, what would he eat?”
Her brows knit together. “Oh, um…we serve Beluga caviar—”
I do a poor job of quelling a gag. Then I aim a careful smile her way.
“How about cake?” I suggest.
“Cake?” She’s confused. “We have a flourless torte with a layer of chocolate mousse and whipped cream.”
“Yes.” I snap my fingers. Torte is just fancy cake. “That. I want that. Please.”
It’s 9:45 AM, mind you. When Derek points this out to me, I ignore him.
