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“It’s all copacetic,” I quip.
The flight attendant brings my drink and I scramble to flip the tray over my lap. She sets it down and asks Bain if he wants something.
“I’ll take some mint tea.”
She smiles and turns to fulfill his order and I mutter, “Lame ass.”
“Fuck off,” he grouses and puts his earbuds in so he can’t hear any reply I might lob his way.
I smile as he flips his tray over in anticipation of his tea and settles back into his seat. His head bobs slightly to his music.
Nabbing my phone from the seat pocket in front of me, I check my messages. There’s a text from my oldest brother, Caleb.Great game, bro.
Caleb’s thirty-two and although I’m closer in age to our middle sibling, Christian—we’re two years apart—I have more of a bond with Caleb. The six-year age gap between us and the fact my mom died when I was ten made Caleb the go-to person in our household for basic care. My dad was thego to work, then come home and relaxtype. He wasn’t a caretaker.
Both Caleb and Christian followed my dad into the army. They’re still active duty but my dad retired several years ago and now works as a manager at a lumber supply yard.
Thanks, bro, I text back.All good?
While I wait for him to reply, I take a sip of my drink and enjoy the smoky burn as it goes down. I know it’s not a great habit but since the plane crash, I’ve gotten into the routine of having a drink before to ease my nerves before takeoff.
I idly flip through my messages, which includes reading an exchange I had with Danica earlier today. She’d been on my mind so much, I decided to reach out to see how she was doing.
My inquiry was benign enough.I’m checking to see if you’ve made a list of things for me to do next week.
She replied simply with a laughing emoji.
That made me laugh, so I asked a better question. Probably the more important one.How was Travis’s first day of hockey?
That got a response.He said it went great. Was really excited about it. A little stressed because the kids are all really good.
I wrote back without any hesitation.I’ll practice with him if he wants when I get back. I’ll text you my schedule.
You’re the best, she wrote back.
I was casual and merely liked her response. I had been putting my phone away when it chimed again.Good luck tonight. Kick some Brawler ass. I’ll be cheering you on.
My eyes skim over those words again. The feeling upon reading them was indescribable, same as it is now. Happiness comes to mind but I don’t know why. I’ve had friends cheer me on. Family, for that matter.
But Danica is different because she’s a lot like me. She lost a part of herself in that plane crash. She’s been to the same dark place I have. If there’s anyone who would understand what that day did to me, it’s her.
Granted, many others lost the same things. The other widows, mothers, fathers, siblings. The other two surviving players, Hendrix and Coen. Brienne Norcross. They’re all like me.
But I haven’t connected with them the way I have with Danica. There’s no real reason for it. Sure, I was friends with her before but I was closer to Hendrix and Coen. Shouldn’t I have felt a measure of solidarity with them the way I do with Danica?
Or is it because of something else?
That’s a thought I push way down deep inside because if I have to start thinking about the reasons why Danica would be different from Hendrix and Coen, the obvious answer is unacceptable. Danica is a woman who lost a husband on that plane. It’s left her alone in a way that Hendrix and Coen aren’t, and I hope I’m not playing into that.
I pray to God this isn’t some savior complex I have going on to help me feel better about my own problems.
And even though I have intense distaste over this being such a thing, it’s not remotely feasible for me to back away.
I fucking like helping Danica. I might even need it.
Bain nudges my shoulder hard and I twist my neck to look at him. “What?”
He’s got one earbud pulled out. “I asked if you’re still cool with us doing a little birthday celebration for you next week?”
