Page 52 of Lessons in Forgiving
The memory hit me like a ton of bricks, and I felt like an idiot.How couldn’t I have put that into the equation?
Their crash hadn’t been a commercial one that would’ve made the local news, but an inconspicuous private plane on its way to the Bahamas. Those went down all the time, and no one batted an eye. Only that it had been Felix Pressley and Naomi Yung on that flight, and so yeah, it didn’t make local news. It went straight to an international media circus. When Henry and his sister were about fifteen years old.
“Oh my God,” I muttered. “I didn’t—Ishould’veknown that. You told me.” He didn’t meet my gaze when I looked up at him. “I’m sorry.”
For forgetting or for the fact they’d died at all. Probably both.
Henry’s shoulder lifted in a gesture meant to portray it was no big deal, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes and overall, he looked stiff. It wasa big deal.Of course it was.
When we squeezed through the aisle of the plane in more uncomfortable silence, somehow the fact that our seats weren’t together made this worse.
Not only did I know the next sixty minutes were going to be hell for Henry, but there was nothing I could do to make it even a little more bearable.
I kept going when he shuffled into a row in the front, aware of the fact he’d have no reassuring smiles at his side, no hand squeezing or a bad joke to make him relax. The thought of the usual unbothered grumpy guy sitting in his seat, frantic and alone, made me ache. With him, for him.
So much so that the second I got to my aisle seat, I gave the next flight attendant an over-the-top smile and gently reached for her arm. The blonde beamed back at me with that same customer-service expression. I couldn’t help but wonder how early she’d gotten up to curl her hair so perfectly.
“What can I do for you?” she asked, voice probably a few pitches higher than usual.
I think Henry might’ve snagged a seat with extra legroom in the front of the plane, while I was stuck all the way back here. I pointed at him about twenty rows in front of me, his head peeking out above the blue seats.
“Do you see that guy?” I asked. “Light brown hair, baseball cap, black hoodie. Kind of looks too large to be here?” I waited as her gaze searched frantically, finally locking on the right direction.
“Oh, yes,” she hummed. “Who’d miss someone like that? Talk of the town—well, plane.” The correction left her with an airy laugh. When she turned back to me, she winced like she just realized she’d said that out loud. “Oh Christ. I’m so sorry. You’re his girlfriend, aren’t you?”
Girlfriend.I tried not to let that get to me.
Her eyes flicked down my frame, then back up to my face. “Of course you are. Fuck, I just called your boyfriendtalk of the plane—” She cut herself off, sounded a little panicked. “I should tell Lindanotto make a move. Oh God, I really am sorry. This is my first month, and I’m already—”
“It’s alright.” She seemed surprised by that. Even more so by the gentle smile on my lips. Her body previously on high alert sagged against my seat, and she mirrored my gesture gratefully.
“Thank God,” she whispered to herself.
“I was just wondering.” I didn’t debunk her girlfriend-theory. It played into my hand, and if I’d denied it, wouldn’t that have just made my requestsomuch weirder? “In case the seat next to him stays free, could I relocate?” We’d been one of the last passengers to get on, so my chances weren’t awful.
A knowing look formed on her face, and she considered me for another second. “Ah,” she said. “I see. Well, I think it’s a seat with extra legroom.”Figured. “So we’d have to charge you.” Her face told me she really didn’t want to, but I waved her off.
“Ten dollars won’t break the bank.” It might, actually. College wasn’t cheap, and I’d been picking up fewer shifts since the profile. Fewer as in zero.
“Twenty,” she winced. I tried not to.
“No problem.”
“Alright.” Her tone adopted that airy lull again, and I only realized she’d dropped her customer service voice when she’d picked it up again. “If it stays free, it’s yours.”
It seemed not many people were willing to pay twenty dollars for extra legroom on an hour-long flight. I couldn’t blame them. But ten minutes later, when the doors of the plane had closed, I moved from row twenty-eight into row six anyway.
Henry stared at me as if he’d seen a ghost.
“Thought you might need a… friend,” I offered.
Friend.
Although it came out of my mouth, I did not like that word. I liked it even less thanex, because it meant that funny feeling in my stomach when he smiled at me was very much one sided.
And the first time I’d called him a friend, he’d told me we weren’t going to be friends at all.
But… “Friend.” He repeated the word with a huff, then looked from the seat beside him up to me again. “I’d like that.”
