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“This is the lounge,” she says, gesturing to the open barrel of the plane before me. “Beyond the red curtain–” she points to a curtain at the end of the lounge, “—are your lie-flat cabins. You’ve been assigned F-three. You can give your bag to Gerard here–”
Another attendant pops up, a man with curly hair that sticks straight out, almost like a clown. He holds out his hands for my bag with a undeterrable smile.
“—and he’ll stow it in an overhead bin for you.”
I swallow. Look, I’ve got money for nice things. Beyond just my work as an engineer, I’ve had some luck over the past few years with the market’s volatility. I can afford first class and the works. However, I like to live frugally. I’m not better than anyone. Just ingrained in me from an early age.
“Don’t worry!” Gerard grins. “Nothing is too heavy for me.”
I half-smile and hand in the duffel. “Well, I’m a light packer.”
Gerard takes it and scampers through the lounge, disappearing behind the red curtain.
“Please let us know if there is anything you need, Mr. Young,” Ingrid says.
“Please, call me Drew. Don’t need the formalities.”
She smiles. “As you wish.”
I give her one last nod, shuffle past her into the lounge, sipping on the champagne. Bet this stuff is expensive. Although I don’t usually have a taste for champagne, so I wouldn’t even know.
The “lounge” doesn’t even look like the inside of a plane. Lush couches, a bar, oak tables jutting out of the wall. I can’t wait to see what kind of lunch we’ll be served once we take off. I’m starving.
I scan once more for any faces I recognize. I immediately lock eyes with Kira Solace and feel a smile spread across my face. Thank god. Someone I know. I raise my hand to greet her but am stopped by a harsh tug on my arm. I gasp and turn to look at the owner of the hand, ready to curse.
But I lose all ability to speak when I see her face.
“How long has itbeen, Drew?”
Willow Harcourt. My ex-girlfriend. She looks the same. Which is to say good. Nothing special. Her dark hair sits in a styled ponytail and her lashes are lathered in mascara. Looks much more suited to a runway than a near day-long plane ride. “Willow…what are you doing here?”
She giggles loudly as if she’s trying to attract attention. It works, unfortunately. “I’m in the wedding party, of course!”
Of course…?
“Gillian and I went to grade school together. You remember that, don’t you?” Willow asks. Her hand hasn’t left my arm. “I got her sister’s contact for you? The grief counselor?”
“Shit, that’s right,” I say, hoping I haven’t turned paper-white as I stare at her.
“Did you ever go to her?”
I had kept Dana’s name for a while before I reached out. In fact, I think I’d pushed it out of my memory that Willow was the one who’d given it to me. But one day, when grief over losing my mom got to be too much and I went to the fridge to grab a beer to numb the pain, I saw the business card again.
Dana Solace, Grief Counselor
Heal From Within
I drank the beer and then called. The rest is history now, clearly.
“Yeah, I did.”
“Good.Good. You look good. You look happy. Are you on Zoloft?”
I chuckle.
“Prozac?” she guesses again.
“Wellbutrin,” I reply.
