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But I don’t. Because the one thing that will scare Emery off is showing her that what I feel is becoming more real by the second.
After we get to the airport, check our bags and finally board the flight with only minutes to spare, Emery seems to relax while my anxiety skyrockets.
I fucking hate flying. More than anything. Heights in general make my stomach plummet and my chest feel tight.
Gripping the armrests of my seat, my knuckles turn white with the force. Panic rises in my throat, and I can feel my chest growing heavier by the second. The same familiar feeling of a panic attack, just like every time I step onto a plane. I try and suck in a deep breath, but it’s difficult with my chest so tight.
“You okay?” Her wide blue eyes are filled with concern.
“Uh,” I clear my throat as I reach up and wipe the sweat that’s formed along my brow away, “I’m a bit afraid of heights. You know, flying, falling and plummeting to my death. That sort of thing.”
Emery bites her lip to stifle a laugh.
The flight attendant’s voice comes over the speaker, preparing the cabin for takeoff, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
Fuck, I hope Emery doesn’t think I’m a pussy.
Although, right now Iambeing a pussy.
“Graham, you know you’re more likely to die in a car wreck than you are in a plane crash? Like, it’s statistically proven?”
I nod, my eyes still tightly shut. I’m scared that if I open them, I'll hurl my cheese danish breakfast everywhere, and I can’t imagine that Emery wants to spend the rest of the flight covered in puke. The plane lurches as it begins its takeoff, and I groan. Every time I get back on a plane, I remember exactly why I hate flying and it never fails, I always feel this way. Even after fifty-six games a season, my anxiety and my fear get the best of me.
Needless to say, I don’t look forward to plane rides, whatsoever.
Slowly, tenderly, I feel Emery pry my fingers from the seat, and her hand slides into my clammy palm. She squeezes gently. “It’s okay. I’m here, okay?”
This girl.
I nod, unable to open my eyes, but I mumble a quick thank you.
I can’t muster more than that as the plane skids on the runway. I don’t open my eyes again until we’re in the air and over the ascent, then the flight attendant comes on the intercom to let us know we can unfasten our seatbelts and are free to move around the cabin.
When I do, I look over at Emery, who’s wearing a small grin at the corner of her lips. She’s reading a book on her kindle, but glances up at me.
“Feeling better?”
I clear my throat. “Yeah, uh, sorry about that. I’m really fucking bad with flying.”
“Hey, we’re all afraid of something.” She smiles sympathetically, reassurance laced in her words.
Only then do I realize we’re still holding hands; her palm clasped tightly in mine. When she sees me looking down at our joined hands, she quickly lets go and brings her hand back to her lap.
“I can feel them moving around, even more now that we’ve ascended. It feels like a bunch of butterflies erupting.” Her hand moves to her stomach, where she rubs her thumb lovingly. “Do you want to feel?”
I nod, swallowing thickly, emotion clogging my ability to form words. This feels monumental, especially with her sharing it with me. She picks my hand up and places it on her stomach, beneath the soft fabric of her shirt.
At first, we just stare at each other while we wait, and then… I feel it.
A light thump against my hand, then another, and another.
“Em, that’s our babies,” I say hoarsely, “I can feel them.”
She nods, pulling her lip between her teeth. “It is.”
It’s incredible, feeling them move against my hand, and now more than ever, I feel confident that I’m going to be a good dad, a damn good one, just like my pops was for me.
The rest of the flight is uneventful, compared to feeling my babies move. I make it through the landing without hurling everywhere, and then we’re finally able to exit.
