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It would have been nice to have a seat with more room up in first class. I found myself wishing the app could take off just for the hope of affording that luxury, as I sat practically crammed in the second-to-last row of the airplane. And Mila was so far ahead of me, I never saw her once during the entire flight.
At least I wasn’t sitting next to her. Not that I didn’t want to. I’m just not sure how to navigate this whole thing. It’s clear she’s feeling weird about Saturday night, and I’d hoped to talk to her about it—to apologize—but it seemed like she was doing everything to avoid me, so I felt like I should do the same. Are we going to pretend the whole time that it never happened? I’d at least like to have a heads-up if so. I can’t stop thinking about how she felt in my arms and what would have happened had I not snapped out of my stupor.
I find it ridiculous that after all these years, I finally feel a connection—probably the strongest one I’ve ever had—with a woman who has a boyfriend. It’s like a sick cosmic joke.
All the awkwardness took a back seat once we found our first bug almost immediately. My sole focus shifted to that. As far as bugs go, it was a big one. It meant there was a connectivity issue between the application and the airline’s database. Vik was able to fix it, and both Mila and I began to receive regular messages about our flight from LAX to Honolulu. Luckily, that plane was on time.
A sweet floral scent fills my nose as I exit the Jetway and walk into the terminal with tan carpeting and overhead fluorescent lighting. I look around for Mila and find her off to the side, looking at her phone.
She’s so beautiful. Even after a long day of flying. Her bun looks a little messier than it was this morning, and it looks like there’s some kind of stain in the middle of her shirt, but she still looks amazing to me.
“Hey there,” I say as I approach her.
She looks up from her phone. “Hey.”
“How was the flight for you?” I ask, putting a hand in the front pocket of my jeans.
“I fell asleep and woke up with my head on some guy’s shoulder, so … not the worst flight I’ve been on.”
I smile despite the instant jealousy I feel toward the stranger she fell asleep on. I tuck that away because Mila looks more relaxed, and it almost feels like some of the awkwardness between us has dissipated. Or maybe that’s me being hopeful. But she does seem more like my Mila right now.
MyMila. If only.
“What about you?” she asks.
“I was next to the crying baby.”
“Oh. You had it worse, then.”
“Not the worst flight I’ve been on,” I say, echoing her words.
She smiles, and it makes my stomach do this strange bubbling thing.
“Shall we grab our bags and get out of here?” I ask, looking for the baggage claim sign. I find one to the left of us.
“Yes, please. I can’t wait to get out of these clothes and into my pj’s. I got chocolate on my shirt,” she says, pulling out the spot where the stain is so I can see it, even though I’d already noticed.
“I could use a hot shower and a bed right now.”
“Me too,” she says, and I immediately stop my mind from boarding the train it wants to jump on—Mila in the shower—and instead follow her through the terminal.
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN MY suitcase isn’t here?” Mila asks, her voice sounding panicked.
“I’m so sorry, ma’am; it didn’t show up on the plane. I’ve tracked it, and I can’t be totally sure, but it looks like it went to Seattle,” the woman at the baggage claim office says.
Mila closes her eyes, bringing her hand to her forehead and rubbing. “This can’t be happening,” she says.
We’d waited until every bag had come off the plane and onto the carousel. When Mila’s didn’t come out, we went to the claim office to see if the bag was there, and I saw the panic on Mila’s face when it wasn’t. And now it would seem it’s in Seattle. An ocean away.
I feel at such a loss right now; I don’t know what to do. Do I put a hand on her back to comfort her? Do I tell her it will be okay? Hell, I’ll put an entire new wardrobe on my credit card if it means erasing that look on her face. I’ve never seen her so anxious.
“We’ll have it delivered to you as soon as it gets here,” says the woman. “I just need some information from you so I can file a missing bag report.”
“Will it get here by Friday?” Mila asks.
The baggage coordinator shakes her head as she looks at her computer screen, clicking on something with the mouse. “I’ll do my best to get it here as fast as I can.”
“My bridesmaid dress is in my suitcase,” Mila says, looking over her shoulder at me. Then she closes her eyes, her face doing a whole drooping thing like she’s just realized something bad. “Oh my gosh, it’s starting already.”
