Page 3 of Saltwater Cowboy

“Oh-kay.” I stood up and moved into the aisle so this titan of a man could wedge himself into, arguably, the smallest seat of the row.

A muffled “thanks” wafted my way as he squeezed by.

I plopped back down in my seat and resituated my headphones back over my ears. Here I was thinking I’d be sitting next to my boyfriend, but now I’m alone and sitting next to a stranger who is taking up the entirety of my right armrest. I paid for it, and damn it, I’m going to use it.

Keeping my eyes locked on the seat in front of me, I propped my elbow up on the armrest and shoved. Very unladylike of me, but I could not care less in this moment.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” my new row-mate apologized.

Even though my headphones were on, no music was playing. I pretended like I didn’t hear him.

He tapped my knee. My word, his hands are massive.

Why does everyone keep touching me today? My body language is practically screaming “fuck off.”

I grabbed the right headphone and glanced in his direction. “It’s fine.”

“There was a mother and daughter in the back. I offered to change my seat so they could sit together.”

Why this guy didn’t just sit in the seat either the mother or daughter was sitting in was beyond me.

“I didn’t ask.” I shot back, immediately regretting my attitude. This guy was trying to do a nice thing; he didn’t need to be dealing with my nonsense. “Really, it’s fine.”

Out of my peripheral vision, the giant man sat back in his seat. Conversation successfully avoided.

With my headphones secured once more, I scrolled through my playlist of songs that would put me in a good mood. There was no way they would work today.

Even though this trip was starting on the wrong foot, I still held onto a little bit of hope that the salty air of Wippowa Island would heal my salty mood.

When Thad and I visited last year for Blythe and Charlie’s wedding, there wasn’t a doubt in our minds that we would move. I was between odd jobs, and Thad worked from home, so why wouldn’t we live in a sleepy little beach town? It has always been my dream to live on the coast, so this was the perfect time. How funny it all is now in hindsight.

The flight attendants gave the safety demonstration, and I barely paid attention. If this plane went down, I would accept my fate and become a shark’s late lunch.

This move has become a divine comedy—for the universe, not me.

SOMEONE LIKE YOU

I pondered life’s biggest questions as the flight attendants made their final pass down the aisle, checking seatbelts and giving practiced smiles.

Before Thad, I spent years chasing fulfillment, waiting for something—anything—to make me feel whole. Losing my job a few years ago pushed me into teaching yoga, a side gig that turned into a three-year career in the same sunlit studio. At first, I thought it would be my purpose, the thing that finally brought me joy. But when it became something I dreaded, something that drained me instead of filling me, I felt lost. Like I’d wasted all those years on something that was never meant to last.

And that was the worst feeling.

Did I still love practicing yoga? Absolutely. Would I ever open my own studio? Hell no. That dream had died a long time ago.

When we first started dating and I had been let go from my corporate accounting job, Thad insisted on taking care of me financially. I had done a pretty good job investing my money, so I knew I would be okay for a while, but he insisted on paying for all of my stuff, down to my toilet paper. He’s an Investment Banker and cleared over two hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars last year, a number he considered low.

When people saw us together, they didn’t think it would work. He was this suave, analytical man, and I wore boho dresses and taught yoga. On paper, it shouldn’t work, but we were different. He was the calm to my storm, and I was the sunshine on his rainy day. We balanced each other out.

The day I broached starting the yoga studio with him, he told me no. I had proposed it as a business venture, and I just needed a little capital to get started. I mentioned I wanted it to be a loan so I could pay it back. Thad told me it was a stupid idea and there were already too many around Seattle. I tried to refute his shootdowns, telling him that the type of yoga I practice isn’t a saturated market and there were plenty of people looking for the classes I could offer. He scoffed at me and moved on to the next topic.

My heart sank.

I guess everyone was right—we wouldn’t work. Two people so different would never work.

My shoulders tensed, and my right eye started twitching again. Which, a quick Google search said, was probably stress-induced. Just two major life changes happening at the same time and going horrifically wrong.

The thought of the wheels lifting off the ground turned my palms sweaty. I like to be firmly planted with my feet on the floor, so this was horrifying. When I booked these tickets, I thought I would have an emotional support person here, but alas, I do not.