Page 16 of Between Then and Now
He approaches me slowly, still unsure if this is a good idea. “Alright,” he starts, clearing his throat nervously, “so, um, do you… come here often?”
I can’t help but smirk, enjoying his discomfort. “Oh, wow that was terrible.”
“Hey,” he shoots me a glance. “I figured I’d start with the basics. You know, ease into it,” he says, slipping into the seat across from me.
“Okay,” I reply, leaning back in my chair with exaggerated interest. “But read the room better. We’re in an airport. Instead of asking a girl if she comes here often, maybe ask if she travels a lot?” I say as I tie my hair into a ponytail. One thing I don’t like about my new haircut is that I can’t tie the entire thing, so I’m always left with a half blob on top of my head to keep it out of my eyes. “Also, Ryan, people here are usually on the move so make your questions concise. With the travel question, you can find out if she’s local or just passing through.” I shrug.
“We’re going off-topic here; I’m not planning to ask out a random airport girl.” He frowns.
“But if you can’t talk to random airport girls, what makes you think you can talk to someone you’ve known for years?” I answer back.
He rolls his eyes playfully. “Alright, fine. So, ditch the pickup lines?”
“Why? Do you have pickup lines prepared?” I ask, genuinely interested to hear this.
He grins widely and nods aggressively. “Yeah, hear this.” He clears his throat. “If you were a vegetable…” He pauses and looks at me. “You’d be a cute-cumber.”
I make a cringed expression. “Oh my god,” I say in a hopeless sigh. “Ew, no. That’s just... painful. What are you, fifty? Do you have, like, a little book of knock knock jokes in your back pocket?”
He grins sheepishly. “No, I don’t. I have it bookmarked on my phone internet, like a sane person.”
“No sane person calls it phone internet. And no sane person bookmarks these days. We take screenshots and leave it in our gallery to rot until our phone memory blows up.” I look at him with a flat expression that hopefully conveys how stupid I think he’s acting.
Looks like he understands what I mean because he sighs and quickly follows up with “This is so hard. When did this get so hard?”
“It’s always been hard, Ry. You’re just noticing it more now because you care more,” I say, softening my teasing into something more understanding.
“Fair enough. But seriously, we have to up my game if I’m going to win over Alexa,” he says, resigned.
“Yes, and pickup lines are not the way to do that,” I say as the barista calls out our names.
As we stand, Ryan says “But they’re good. Listen to this.”
“No,” I say.
“If you were a fruit,” he says anyway. “you’d be a fineapple.”
I stop walking and stare at him with a disgusted expression. “I said no. Please never do that again,” I say.
He sighs dramatically. “Tough crowd.” He gets our cups from the counter and hands me mine.
I chuckle. “For starters, maybe don’t compare her to produce?” I say as we return to the boarding gates. “And, please, for the love of Nelly, lose the Y2K pickup lines.”
“But I’m trying to be funny,” he says.
“I liked you better when you were grumpy,” I say with a shake of my head.
We make our way back just in time to board our flight. The entire flight is peaceful, though the turbulence is terrible whenwe’re almost landing. The plane rocks and dips, causing a few nervous murmurs among the passengers. As the plane shakes violently and hits another pocket of rough air, fear makes me clutch Ryan’s arm, my fingers digging into his bicep.
He turns to me, his expression suddenly devoid of any amusement and replaced with genuine concern.
“You okay?” His voice is steady despite the chaos around us. He pats my hand that’s still violently clutching his arm.
“Yeah, just a bit dizzy,” I manage to reply, though nothing about my wavering voice sounds fine.
Ryan doesn’t hesitate. He immediately assists me by pushing my forehead gently, so my head is firmly on the headrest. With a firm yet gentle grip, he removes my hand from his arm and holds it in his own, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of my hand.
“Close your eyes,” he instructs, his voice soft but authoritative. I obey, shutting out the disorienting sights and sounds around me. “Breathe in,” he says, and I inhale deeply, focusing on the rise and fall of my chest. “Hold it for three seconds.” He counts softly, “One… two… three… Now exhale through your mouth.” I release my breath, feeling some of the tension slip away.
