Page 4 of Match Made in the Maldives

“You gonna puke?” I ask.

This elicits the laugh I was hoping for. “No. But, um…” Her face flicks to me, then straight ahead. We bump up and over another pocket of air, this one substantial enough that my stomach drops. “Ohmygod.”

“Think of it like Jell-O,” I say, leaning into her to talk over the aggressive hum filling the cabin.

“I hate Jell-O.”

“I know. But imagine our plane flying along in a big Jell-O mold in the sky. Any rocking or shaking makes the plane move, but we don’t fall.”

“But that Jell-O mold is hovering over the Indian Ocean,” she says, her focus flitting out the window for a millisecond. “An ocean that could swallow us whole.”

“That’s the beauty of this plane. It floats.”

We hit another intense patch of turbulence, and some of the other passengers cry out in uncertainty. Lou reaches out and grabs my forearm like a claw. I readjust so my hand cups hers and tuck her arm under my own, acting as her armor against the weather.

“Thanks,” she says.

I nod, pleased to put her a bit more at ease. Her hand is soft, nestled in my own as if we sit this way all the time. I wish. She shifts her weight into me, and I resist the urge to rest a reassuring hand on her thigh.

She has a boyfriend. A shitty boyfriend, but a boyfriend nonetheless.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the copilot calls behind him. “As you can see, we’ve got some reduced visibility and turbulence due to this storm. To let it pass, we’ll land at a nearby island and refuel until conditions improve.”

The left wing dips down, causing more folks to yelp in surprise.

“This is fine, I’m fine, it’s fine, we’re all fine,” Luna repeats under breath. With every jolt of the aircraft, she hisses in discomfort.

I can’t take her out of this situation, but I can distract her. “What are you most excited about?” I ask.

“Hm?”

“On the trip,” I say, leaning close enough that my lips brush the shell of her ear. “What are you looking forward to the most?”

“Um.” Another jarring rock of the plane as we descend. Another gasp from her. “I don’t know. Swimming.”

“There’ll be good swimming there. And snorkeling.”

“Sounds nice.”

“We’ll find all kinds of sea creatures.”

“Mhmm.”

“What animal do you want to see the most?”

She pauses, not giving me an answer. Our plane coasts lower, and her eyes drift to the turbulent waters approaching.

“Jellyfish? Stingrays? Sharks?” I ask.

“What? Sharks?” She shakes her head in a rapid, jerky motion. “No, not that.”

“The ones we’ll see’ll be harmless. Mini.”

“Definitelynotsharks.” Her hand squeezes mine with the strength of a boa constrictor.

“Then what?”

“Sea turtles,” she blurts out on another bump of turbulence. “Really hope I see a sea turtle.”

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