She told me one day, I would love so deeply that the loneliness of being apart from that man would hurt so that nothing could fill the void. I didn’t tell her I had already experienced emptiness like that, a hole left by my first love, Christian. I just hoped lightning could strike twice.
And she was right. I found that thing I needed, the thing she was certain no longer existed for her in this world. Henry was who I needed to put Christian behind me.
I had shared things with Henry on that flight that I had never shared with anyone. I told him about my mother and how I was always competing for attention with the men she was dating. The only people in my life who had known about the drama between that woman and myself were Christian and Emmie. But here I was, within hours of meeting Henry, and I was spilling my entire life history with all of its dysfunction and misery. He never made me feel broken; he just listened.
He listened to everything I had to say. He wanted to hear about how I loved clothes—clothes that make you feel beautiful and sexy, while managing to let you feel comfortable. It was on that flight that I admitted I wanted to be a fashion designer, not a model. I wanted to make clothes that made people feel good. His response had been so simple. He asked me why I wasn’t doing that then, and I had no answer.
The night that plane landed he invited me to dinner, and I couldn’t imagine answering anything other than yes. I didn’t want our time together to end. We ended up talking at the restaurant until the waiters told us they were closing up. He wanted to know about Emmie and Colin, who at the time had recently gotten engaged. Six months later he was my date to the big event.
“Please return your seat to the upright position,” I hear the voice request to the left of me. With a huff, the portly and grumpy man next to me complies.
“Almost there,” I tell myself.
Henry had even made me feel comfortable enough to talk about Christian. I was a little worried that Christian was going to make a scene at Colin and Emmie’s wedding, but much to my surprise, he avoided me like the plague. I shouldn’t be shocked, considering how we left things.
Christian is the past, though; it’s been over four years since I walked out of our New York apartment. He didn’t come after me, he didn’t call me, and it was painfully clear I had cared for him much deeper than he ever cared for me. For a while Emmie would update me on where he was or what he was doing, but eventually that stopped. I didn’t want to know anymore.
“Can you believe this woman?” the man next to me grumbled in my direction. I flashed a half-smile and then looked back out the window. I’m not really sure what kind of crazy the man is, but I really want nothing to do with him.
I watch as the earth comes rocketing towards us, the plane rumbling as the landing gear descends. I’ve flown more than most people I’ve met, and still the landing unsettles me. Something doesn’t seem natural to me about falling from the air so quickly and colliding with the earth at those speeds.
Closing my eyes, I clench my fists, holding my breath and preparing myself for the touch down. Once contact is made, this somehow gives crazy man next to me the okay to try and start a conversation.
“Scared of flying or something?” he asks with a snort.
I shrug my shoulders, hoping he will take this response for how it is meant—a signal to shut up and leave me alone.
“It doesn’t bother me at all,” he informs me, clearly not getting the message.
He continues rambling about numerous things of which I care nothing about, including the fact that he has three cats who are probably making a mess of his apartment right now, because they can’t stand being away from him. Suddenly I feel very sad for these cats I have never met.
At last we are locked into the gate, and I begin counting down the moments until I will be out of this capsule with cat man and on my way to see Emmie and my honorary niece, Olivia, whom I affectionately refer to as my little Olive.
I wait patiently for the man next to me to gather his bags and stand up. As he does, a waterfall of crumbs and uneaten bits of food tumbles to the floor. He doesn’t seem to notice. Raising a hand to my mouth, I do my best not to vomit as the smell of onions fills the air.
“It was nice talking to you. Maybe I’ll see you around,” he says as he turns and makes his way down the aisle. It never ceases to amaze me how someone who doesn’t seem to bother with the most basic things in life, like bathing, would think I would have any interest in carrying on any kind of conversation. Yet, these characters always manage to seek me out.
I stand, brushing myself off and grabbing my purse, taking my time—at the annoyance of the passengers behind me—to ensure the creepy, smelly, cat guy gets some distance ahead of me. I sigh, relief washing over me that soon I’ll be back with Emmie.