by Mia Ford
“Emma! Emma, sweetie, hold on. Stop that for a minute and sit down.”
“Okay, but just so you know, that song’s awesome,” she said, grinning.
“I’m not saying anything about the song, but it’s not always about putting a ring on it. You know that, right?”
“Sure, it is. Why else would you want to date a boy?”
“Are you going to be looking at every boy as a maybe husband when you’re allowed to start dating?” I asked.
“If I’m ever allowed to start dating,” she grumbled, sufficiently bummed out by how long it might be before she could date to sit back down like I’d asked her to.
“Fine, if you’re ever allowed. But are you?”
“No, not at the start. But that’s because I’ll be too young! You aren’t too young. You already had one husband, so I know you’re not too young.”
“You’re right. I’m not, but that’s not my point.”
“Then what is?” she asked.
“My point is that you don’t have to look at every guy you date as somebody that could be your husband someday. Sometimes, you date a guy just to date him, and you don’t think about maybe getting married at all.”
“That sounds like a waste of time to me.”
I laughed in exasperation because at that point, I didn’t know what else I was supposed to do. No matter what I was telling her, Emma had me pegged perfectly. I didn’t like to admit it to myself, but I did look at every guy I dated as a potential husband and stepfather.
It wasn’t something I was going to come right out and say to Drew, of course. It was clear almost immediately that saying something like that was the perfect way to scare a guy like him off. But just because I didn’t say it and hadn’t planned on saying it to anyone for a long, long time didn’t mean the thoughts weren’t in my head. They were. Every guy I dated was a potential father for my daughter, and acknowledging it to myself was a sobering thought.
“I’m sorry, Mama.”
“For what, sweetie?” I answered distractedly, unable to get rid of the thought now that Emma had planted it there. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I don’t know. You look stressed now or something. I don’t want to make you feel bad. I want to make you feel better. That’s the whole thing. I want you to be happy, okay?”
“That’s what I want for you, too.”
“I know,” she said. “But that’s not what I care about! You can’t always think about just me, Mama. I want you to be happy for you, not for me. You have to!”
Her sweet little face had started to scrunch up as she yelled, and by the time she was done, I could see that she was about to cry. Baffled about how we had gone from a typical board game day to something like this, I motioned for her, hugging her to me when she cleared the table and was within arm’s reach. She nestled her head into the hollow of my neck, and for a minute, I found that I had to fight back some tears as well. Moments like these were precious to me, all the more so because I knew they would become less and less frequent as she grew older.
“Tell me something about him,” Emma said.
“I told you his name.”
“Don’t be silly, Mama. Tell me something else. You like him, right?”
“I do. At least I think I do.”
“Then tell me something about him.”
“He’s different, I guess. He’s different than the other guys I’ve been dating.”
“Different how?” she asked.
“He’s more serious, I think. I don’t know him well enough to really say yet, I guess, but that’s the answer I would give for now. He’s more serious.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Emma said.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because,” she answered simply, hugging me even tighter. “The other guys weren’t ones you wanted to tell me about, and this one is. So maybe it’s a good thing that he’s different.”
“You know what? Maybe you’re right.”
“Was my daddy?” she asked.
“I don’t know how to answer that.” I gulped, trying very hard to sound as calm as humanly possible. “I’m not sure what you mean, baby.”
“I was just wondering if Daddy was serious. You said this new guy is different than the guys you date, but is the serious thing different than Daddy was?”
It was a comparison I had never thought to make, or maybe never dared to make. Now that Emma had put it out there, though, it was something I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about. Emma didn’t remember a whole lot about her Dad. She had told me so on more than one occasion, and although it broke my heart a little, it wasn’t exactly a surprise.
She had only been five when the cancer had taken Matt, and that was very young to hold onto memories. Because I knew that about her, I knew she couldn’t understand that she’d hit on a very legitimate point. Matt had been a serious kind of man, far more serious than any of the men I had dated before or after him. Maybe that was where my fear with Drew was really coming from. Maybe it wasn’t the fact that he was a pilot, or that I still didn’t know him all that well.
Maybe the fear wasn’t that he would not be worth my time, but instead, that he was.
Chapter 10: Drew
“So, what do you say, Mr. Larson? Are you coming?”
“Yeah, are you coming with us?”
The two flight attendants looked at me with faux innocence and then dissolved into a fit of giggles. I knew they thought they were being flirtatious, but it wasn’t working on me. I wondered to myself what they would think if they knew I couldn’t even remember their names and thought better of telling them.
They were silly, stereotypical women, and they were annoying the shit out of me. But that didn’t mean I had to be an outright dick to them. It wasn’t like they were even blips on my radar, anyway. Just another set of flight attendants on another anonymous flight.
“No, I think I’m going to pass,” I said. “Thank you for the invitation, though.”
“Boo,” flight attendant number one said with a pouty lip poked out like a little kid. “That is not the answer we were hoping for.”
“Oh, Not the answer we were hoping for at all,” flight attendant number two chimed in, her expression just as sulky as the one her friend was wearing.
"I'm sorry to disappoint, but I'm not up for it tonight. I've been flying too much lately to keep my head on straight, and I need some sleep. Believe me. I wouldn't be any fun. And I'm sure there are plenty of other pilots in the lounge who would love to take my place with two girls who look like you. Honestly, you should go and check it out. I'm sure some poor bastard in there would be over the moon about it."
Although it was clear that both girls were disappointed by my rejection, I thought I had done enough ego stroking to have them heading out for the night feeling okay about things. That was good. I had no desire for drama, and at the moment, no desire for any sexy flight attendants. I already had one of those, and she was more than enough for me.
“All right, suit yourself,” flight attendant number one called over her shoulder as they made their way off the plane. “But whoever she is, she’s one lucky bitch.”
The two women dissolved into laughter again and were gone, leaving me the last person on the plane. Grinning to myself, I collected my things and left as well. I wasn't interested in the flight attendants, but on second thought, I might be interested in a drink in the lounge as well.
This had been a good flight. The plane's captain had been efficient, professional, and best of all, sober. I had been feeling good for the duration of the flight, and the mention of the "lucky bitch" I was seeing only helped to improve my mood. I wouldn't have ever even thought about calling her a bitch, and as far as I was concerned, I was the lucky one, but still.
Jess and I hadn't had a flight with each other since the one to Dallas, and that had made things hard. Even when two people had the same flight schedules, dating in the air could be difficult. It was a strange schedule to keep, and som
etimes, the constant access to strange rooms and the strange people who filled them could make fidelity and honesty in a relationship brutal.
I had never been one for either of those things at the best of times, but somehow, for some reason, I had been making it work with Jess. We'd only been dating for about a month, which wasn't that long according to most people's standards, but for me, it might as well have been a fucking century. Three or four dates in, I was still hooked on Jess, and that felt like some kind of miracle. Thinking about her made me smile, and I pulled out my cell, tempted to call her, despite the fact that it was already late enough for her to be asleep. Jess had texted me.
“Hey, mister. Emma and I are off to bed. Hope you had the best flight and can’t wait till we get to see each other again.”
I sighed, feeling love-struck and wishing I could hear her voice as I returned my phone to my pocket. Lately, I’d been thinking that maybe it was time to try and do something about how different our schedules were.
There was plenty of uncertainty involved with air crew scheduling, and that was no secret. Anyone who took a job on a crew knew to expect that. That being said, it didn't mean we were completely helpless. It wasn't a guarantee that we could do something about our different schedules, but there was precedent for changing things up.
We were allowed to put in requests for our schedules, and there had been plenty of people to put those requests in so that they could fly as a couple. I had been thinking about that a lot lately, and there was only one thing that was stopping me. In our world, the world of the air crew, putting in a request like that was the same as announcing yourself as a couple on fucking social media.
I could ask Jess what she thought about the requests, and I had a pretty good feeling she would be down for it, but I wasn't sure that I was. I wasn't sure that I was ready for that kind of a step. The minute we talked to somebody about having our schedules matched up, our casual dating would be a thing of the past. Instead, it would become a bona fide relationship. It would take things to the next level, and that was something I had sworn I would never do again, after losing Alice.
“Hey, motherfucker!” a voice called out.
My head jerked to the right, but before I had time to speak, somebody was grabbing my arm and yanking me into one of the little airport alcoves I had to pass by to get to the Lounge. I spun around, fist up, ready to punch the lights out of whoever was trying to mess with me. When I saw who the would-be assailant was, though, I let my fist fall. I wasn't sure what I had been expecting, but it wasn't this.
"What do you want, Fred? Don't you know this isn't an appropriate thing to do? Because it isn't, in case, you were on the fence about things."
Fred Stevens stood before me, a defiant look on his face. One might have thought that a man doing something as weird as this would have the decency to look a little embarrassed, but I didn't see a trace of that on Stevens. That wasn't the only thing I noticed about him, either. It was pretty hard not to be caught off guard by how terrible he looked.
He looked like total shit. His face had gone unshaven for at least a week, and his hair looked greasy and unwashed. His clothes were rumpled and unkempt, giving me the impression that they hadn't been washed or changed for several days at the very least. On top of all of that, he positively stank of alcohol.
It clung to him like an invisible cloak, reminding me of that Peanuts character who was always surrounded by a cloud of dirt. This was the perfect picture of a man who had tried very hard to obliterate himself completely with drinking, and when he hadn't been able to manage it, he'd come looking for me.
“Don’t you try to lecture me on decorum, pretty boy! You don’t have a fucking leg to stand on. You know it, too!”
"What the fuck do you want, Fred? I just got off a long flight, and I'm tired. Too tired to deal with your bullshit right now. I'm ready to unwind."
“Ready to unwind, huh?” he asked, sending another cloud of noxious alcohol fumes in my direction. “Ready to unwind? What you mean is ready to have a goddamn drink!”
“So what if I do? There’s nothing wrong with that, Stevens.”
“Nothing wrong with it! Ha, nothing wrong with it, he says! That’s a fucking riot, coming from you!”
“Lower your voice, Stevens,” I said.
“Don’t fucking tell me what to do!”
"Fine, either lower it or don't. You're yelling, though, and if you keep on doing so, you'll attract the attention of security. If that's what you're going for, then by all means, continue. It makes no difference to me."
“I bet it doesn’t,” Stevens continued, his expression like that of a wounded animal, but he still had enough sense to quiet down. “I bet nothing matters to you. I bet you sleep like a fucking baby at night, don’t you?”
I laughed. “Do I wake up in the middle of the night crying, after having pissed and shit myself? No, that sounds more like how you sleep.”
Fred scowled at me. “Real fucking funny. Here you are, headed out for a fucking drink like it’s nothing, when that’s the exact fucking thing you tried to ruin my life over. Fucking hypocrite, that’s what you are. Fucking pretty boy hypocrite.”
“Fred, come on. I know you think I’m pretty, but I just don’t feel the same way about you. It’s nothing personal. You’re just a disgusting drunk asshole, that’s all.”
“Always with the jokes,” he said.
I sighed. “Fine, you want to get serious? You know damn well there’s a big difference between me having a drink after work and you being drunk in the middle of a flight. If you can’t see that, you’ve got bigger problems than I thought.”
He stared at me with wide, hollow looking eyes, and his lower lip began to quiver. I couldn’t tell whether he was going to cry or start screaming again. I couldn’t even tell which one would have been worse. All I knew was that I wanted no part of this conversation. I didn’t even want to stop off in the Lounge anymore. I only wanted to go home and be done with this whole fucked up mess.
“You really think you’re better than me, don’t you, Drew? That’s it. You think you’re better than me. You think you deserve to be up in the air, and I don’t.”
"No," I answered tightly, feeling myself losing my grip on my temper and doing my best to keep my grip. "I don’t think I’m better than you. But no, you don’t deserve to be up in the air, not the way you are now. You have a problem, and it’s not my fault or anyone else’s fault but yours. And nobody can fix it for you, either. You're the one who needs to fix it."
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“You need to get help. It’s a big city, Stevens. There are plenty of meetings, AA and that kind of thing. Go find one. Get yourself back under control. Then you can earn your place back in the sky.”
"You know they took me off all of the flight schedules?” he asked, sounding miserable. “They haven't outright fired me, but they might as well have. My whole fucking life was flying, and now I'm on the ground."
“Good. Maybe that’s the wakeup call you need to get your shit together. Get clean and prove that you deserve another chance. You’ll be back in the air in no time, and better yet, you’ll be flying again without putting people’s lives in jeopardy.”
"But I don't have a problem, Drew. Honest to God, I don't. I just need a little bit to get me through the day, you know? My wife left me six months ago. I think it was six months. Might have been a year. The time blends, you know?"
“Yeah, I bet it does.”
Fred, who had been shuffling back and forth as he spoke, turned on me. He was like a genuine Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, the way he was acting, which didn't really surprise me. That was how alcoholics were. They turned on a dime. They had no control over their emotions and were willing to do whatever it took to get what they wanted.
Fred was no different. There was feral viciousness in him, and when he heard the sarcasm in my voice, it all came pouring out.
"Listen to me, Drew. You're a fucking
child, and I won't let you ruin my life. You think you're some hotshot, but every man bleeds the same way."
“So, you’re threatening me now?” I asked, my voice low and angry.
"Just telling you how it is. You're going to go back and recant the story you told about me. You're going to recant, and you're going to help me get back up in the air, or you're going to be fucking sorry."
"No, Fred, I'm not,” I said, the anger fading from me. He was too pathetic for me to be pissed off at him. “Get yourself some help. Now, if you'll excuse me."
I shoved past him, which was depressingly easy to do. The man was too drunk to try and fight me. Shit, he was drunk enough that I was surprised he could stay on his feet at all. I could hear him muttering behind me as I walked away with clenched fists.
He was a lucky man, whether he knew it or not. If I had as little control over myself as he did, I would have beaten him to a bloody pulp. I was glad I hadn't done it, but I was also ready to go home. Any desire I'd had for a drink in the Lounge was long gone.
The urge to call Jess, though? That was stronger than ever.
Chapter 11: Jess
Everything about my latest date with Drew was more than I could have hoped for. Even the getting ready part had been a blast. How often did a girl get to say a thing like that? Maybe that was just par for the course with most women, but for me, most of the dating I had done after the death of Emma's father had been lukewarm at best.
