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She gives a sigh as we continue to wait for the other aircraft to clear out. “I’m just a small-town girl, living in a big New York world, took that midnight jet going who-knows-where, trying to make it on my own.”
“By making a name for yourself selling online articles?” I ask. “Come on, you’re better than that.”
“That’s what he said.” She shakes her head.
“Who said?” I ask. I wait.
Finally, she looks at me. “No. I’m not better than that. I actually like what I do.”
Gotcha. Her eyes widen as her mistake sinks in. She’s outed herself to me.
She starts chattering nervously. “While we’re on the subject of my likes and dislikes, I love Italian food. Also, I will eat the heck out of a chocolate cake for breakfast. I usually weigh at least ten more pounds than what you’re seeing, and I actually kinda miss my soft tummy rolls.”
I let my eyes rove over her yummy looking body, remembering the feel of our dance. “I think you’d look great at any weight. Tell me more.”
She peeks up at me, deciding if she should continue. Whatever she sees in my face has her talking. “I know I should care about what’s happening to the earth more than I do and actually do something about it, but I don’t. I like my long, hot showers. I drive my car when I could bike. I’d rather eat out. I use paper plates when I’m too tired to wash dishes and I watch reality television instead of marching for the planet.”
She pauses to take a breath. “And since my breakup, I’ve added drinking white wine alone on my couch to my list of hobbies.”
“And your dislikes?” I ask.
“I hate politics, when people want me to be something I’m not, people named after plants, tacky clothing, and drinking wine alone.” She takes a deep breath. “And I love cats. The more the better.”
She gives a sniff.
“Tell me about the breakup.”
“Tell me about your dad.” She narrows her gaze at me.
Game. Set. Match.
Moving on.
“What’s your favorite kind of furry little monster?” I ask.
“You mean cat? You should really show a little more respect for our feline friends. They were first attracted to human settlements and proved very useful, keeping vermin away from our grain stores. Without them, who knows? We may have gone hungry,” she says, then adds, “And a tortoiseshell cat is my favorite. A tortie.”
“Never heard of it,” I say. “Tortie? Is that some kind of mix between a cat and a turtle?”
“Tortoiseshell, like the brown and black glasses frames. Let me show you.” She goes to pull out her phone, forgetting she stepped on this plane with nothing, and even if she’d brought it, I’d have confiscated it earlier. “Look it up sometime. They’re adorable. They’re mostly black with little light ginger patches all over their bodies, usually with some on their faces. People say they bring you good luck. The Irish say they bring their owners good fortune.”
“I’m with Billy Zane. A man makes his own luck,” I say. “Not a cat.”
“Billy Zane?” she asks.
“Titanic.”
Her fingers flutter to her mouth, hiding a laugh. “You like romantic movies?”
“No. I like history.” I don’t tell her I’m obsessed with the darker part of the film, when young Jack drowns trying to save his love interest. “I wanted to see how accurate it was.”
“What did you think?” she asks.
“The depiction of events leading up to the ship sinking were very accurate. The love story was based on real characters but heavily fictionalized,” I say, quoting my research.
My mood changes, thinking of the cold water of the ocean.
Leo playing Jack, clinging to the door, his body freezing in the icy water, doing everything he could to keep Rose safe.
