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“Excuse me, excuse me,” the familiar voice sings politely.
I focus on my newspaper, as if it might have the answers to world peace and try not to draw any attention to myself. It’s not working, though. I can practically feel her drawing near, smell her familiar earthy fragrance.
“Yo, move your bag, friend, or I’ll move it for you.”
I glance up to see Freedom standing directly in front of the seat right next to me, staring at the guy with his carry-on in the seat. Her hands are planted firmly on her hips and she taps her foot impatiently. The man glances up, clearly getting ready to ignore her request, but Freedom pins him with a look that could melt the glaciers in Antarctica. Sighing loudly, he grabs his carry-on and places it beneath his seat.
“Well, isn’t this an unpleasant surprise,” I mumble, keeping my eyes locked on the paper as she sits right beside me. If I don’t, then I might notice the way her skirt shifts around her trim legs. Freedom always wears these gaudy, awful skirts that look like they were cut from Grandma’s couch material.
“Don’t pretend to be annoyed with my sudden appearance, Sammy. I know you’re secretly excited to see me,” she sings, setting her bag on the floor between her legs. Instantly, I’m assaulted by her perfume. You know, the one that smells like fresh air and spring rain? My dick actually twitches in my pants.
Finally, I set my paper aside and look her way. She’s pulling a small container from her purse, which is big enough to fit small children, and pops open the lid, holding it up for me. It looks like some sort of bread, but there’s definitely some extra ingredients like nuts, maybe? “What’s that?”
“A snack,” she says, waving it in front of my face. “Try it.”
Part of me wants to tell her no thank you, mostly because I have no clue what the hell those green things are, but then I recall this is Freedom we’re talking about, and she’ll just push harder until she gets what she wants. And apparently, what she wants is me eating her weird nut bread. “What’s in it?”
“Things that are healthy, Sammy. Try. It.”
Exhaling loudly, I reach over and pull off a small piece of bread, carefully examining it first. “Why is it green?”
“I’m not telling you what’s in it until you try it,” she adds matter-of-factly, as she breaks off her own piece and shoves it in her mouth. There’s something oddly sexy about the way she chews, which is a little concerning. No one is sexy when they eat. The last woman I dated used to continually dab at the corner of her mouth with a napkin because she was concerned about residual food, and there was definitely nothing sexy about that. But the way Freedom licks the breadcrumbs off her fingers?
Yeah, that’s alarmingly sexy.
Needing somewhere else to focus my attention, I bring my eyes down to the bread in my hand. The fact that it’s green and has little chunks has my heart palpitating in my chest. I can also feel her eyes on me and know she won’t be able to refrain from commenting much longer, so I slowly bring the questionable food to my mouth and chew.
When it hits my tongue, it’s surprisingly sweet, with just a hint of something fruity. “What’s in it?”
“Do you like it?”
Swallowing, I turn my attention her way. “Yes, Freedom, it’s tasty. What’s in it?”
“It’s pistachio cranberry bread with Greek yogurt and roasted salted pistachios. Oh, and coconut.”
I blink once. Twice. Surely I heard her wrong. My throat starts to tighten. “Did you say…coconut?”
Freedom turns her big, innocent eyes my way. “Yes, why?”
“Dammit, Freedom, I’m sensitive to coconut,” I grit through clenched teeth as I grab my carry-on bag from beneath my seat and start to riffle through it.
“What do you mean sensitive to it?”
Ignoring her question, I look through my bag for the small ziplock I bring, containing some common over the counter medicines. Tylenol, Motrin, cough drops, Neosporin, and Tums. I pop an antacid out of the container and throw it in my mouth, chewing rapidly. I glance down in my bag once more, but don’t find what I’m really looking for.
“What’s happening?” she asks, taking my hand in hers, halting my frantic movements. Her skin is warm, her eyes full of concern as she looks over at me.
“I’ve always been sensitive to coconut.”
“I didn’t know. What does that mean?”
My stomach rumbles and I swallow the extra saliva gathering in my mouth. This isn’t good. “It means I need to go and get something for my stomach,” I state just as my belly turns angry. There’s no way I’ll have time to get to the store before I hit the bathroom, and if there’s one thing I know, I’ll need to find the bathroom fast. Everything in my body is about to come out—very quickly—and I definitely don’t want to be here when it happens.
I stand up, wishing I was at home and as far away from Freedom and her coconut as possible. Unfortunately, the only place I’m going is the public bathroom, in which I will expunge all of my bodily fluids from my ass, while in a multi-stall public bathroom.
Fun.
“I’ll help!” she hollers, surely drawing the attention of everyone around us, as she grabs our bags and pulls me through the gathering crowd at our gate. Even in my pre-disaster ass state, I still wish she’d keep her voice down and her hands to herself. Her touch just…affects me.
“I’m fine, Freedom,” I mumble, yet still allowing her to pull me through the mob.
She stops in front of the bathroom. “You go take care of your problem, and I’ll run down and get some Pepto or something,” she states loudly before disappearing into the crowd, my bag still in her hand.
I’m about to holler after her when my stomach not-so-subtly reminds me that the bathroom usage is imminent. I make my way inside, finding an available stall in the back of the large room avoiding eye contact as I go. There’s no way to hide what’s about to happen, and I can already feel the embarrassment burn my face. My stomach turns once more, an angry howl echoing off the concrete walls, as I lock myself in my stall.
“Attention passengers, American Airlines flight 4382, nonstop service to Las Vegas, will being boarding in five minutes. Please make your way to gate twenty-three for boarding.”
I drop my drawers and pray for a swift death.
