He pulls a few things from his pocket, thumbing through a pile of change until he eventually finds a lint-covered piece of wrapped candy, which he offers her first, then pops into his mouth.
“How old is that thing?” she asks, her nose wrinkled.
“Ancient. I’m pretty sure I dug it out of a sweet bowl the last time I was home.”
“Let me guess,” she says. “It was part of a study on the effects of sugar over time.”
He grins. “Something like that.”
“What are you really studying?”
“It’s top secret,” he tells her, his face utterly serious. “And you seem nice, so I don’t want to have to kill you.”
“Gee, thanks,” she says. “Can you at least tell me your major? Or is that classified, too?”
“Probably psychology,” he says. “Though I’m still sorting it out.”
“Ah,” Hadley says. “So that explains all the mind games.”
Oliver laughs. “You say mind games, I say research.”
“I guess I better watch what I say, then, if I’m being analyzed.”
“That’s true,” he says. “I’m keeping an eye on you.”
“And?”
He gives her a sideways smile. “Too soon to tell.”
Behind him, an elderly woman pauses at their row, squinting down at her ticket. She’s wearing a flowered dress and has white hair so delicate you can see right through to her scalp. Her hand trembles a bit as she points at the number posted above them.
“I think you’re in my seat,” she says, worrying the edges of her ticket with her thumb, and beside Hadley, Oliver stands up so fast he hits his head on the air-conditioning panel.
“Sorry,” he’s saying as he attempts to maneuver out of her way, his cramped overtures doing little to fix things in such a tight space. “I was just there for a moment.”
The woman looks at him carefully, then her gaze slides over to Hadley, and they can almost see the idea of it dawning on her, the corners of her watery eyes creasing.
“Oh,” she says, bringing her hands together with a soft clap. “I didn’t realize you were together.” She drops her purse on the end seat. “You two stay put. I’ll be just fine here.”
Oliver looks like he’s trying not to laugh, but Hadley’s busy worrying about the fact that he just lost his spot, because who wants to spend seven hours stuck in the middle seat? But as the woman lowers herself gingerly into the rough fabric of her seat, he smiles back at Hadley reassuringly, and she can’t help feeling a bit relieved. Because the truth is that now that he’s here, she can’t imagine it any other way. Now that he’s here, she worries that crossing an entire ocean with someone between them might be something like torture.
“So,” the woman asks, digging through her purse and emerging with a pair of foam earplugs, “how did you two meet?”
They exchange a quick glance.
“Believe it or not,” Oliver says, “it was in an airport.”
“How wonderful!” she exclaims, looking positively delighted. “And how did it happen?”
“Well,” he begins, sitting up a bit taller, “I was being quite gallant, actually, and offered to help with her suitcase. And then we started talking, and one thing led to another….”
Hadley grins. “And he’s been carrying my suitcase ever since.”
“It’s what any true gentleman would do,” Oliver says with exaggerated modesty.
“Especially the really gallant ones.”
The old woman seems pleased by this, her face folding into a map of tiny wrinkles. “And here you both are.”
Oliver smiles. “Here we are.”
Hadley’s surprised by the force of the wish that wells up inside of her just then: She wishes that it were true, all of it. That it were more than just a story. That it were their story.
But then he turns to face her again and the spell is broken. His eyes are practically shining with amusement as he checks to be sure she’s still sharing in the joke. Hadley manages a small smile before he swivels back to the woman, who has launched into a story about how she met her husband.
Things like this don’t just happen, Hadley thinks. Not really. Not to her.
“… and our youngest is forty-two,” the old woman is saying to Oliver. The skin of her neck hangs down in loose folds that quiver like Jell-O when she speaks, and Hadley brings a hand to her own neck reflexively, running her thumb and forefinger along her throat. “And in August it will be fifty-two years together.”
“Wow,” Oliver says. “That’s amazing.”
“I wouldn’t call it amazing,” the woman says, blinking. “It’s easy when you find the right person.”
The aisle is now clear except for the flight attendants, who are marching up and down on seat-belt patrol, and the woman pulls a water bottle out of her purse, then opens her wrinkled palm to reveal a sleeping pill.
“When you’re on the other side of it,” she says, “fifty-two years can seem like about fifty-two minutes.” She tips her head back and swallows the pill. “Just like when you’re young and in love, a seven-hour plane ride can seem like a lifetime.”
Oliver pats his knees, which are shoved up against the seat in front of him. “Hope not,” he jokes, but the woman only smiles.
“I have no doubt,” she says, stuffing a yellow earplug into one ear, and then repeating the gesture on the other side. “Enjoy the flight.”
“You, too,” Hadley says, but the woman’s head has already fallen to one side, and just like that, she begins to snore.
Beneath their feet, the plane vibrates as the engines rumble to life. One of the flight attendants reminds them over the speaker that there will be no smoking, and that everyone should stay seated until the captain has turned off the FASTEN SEAT BELT sign. Another demonstrates the safe use of flotation devices and air masks, her words like a chant, empty and automatic, as the vast majority of the passengers set about ignoring her, examining their newspapers or magazines, shutting off their cell phones and opening their books.
Hadley grabs the laminated safety instructions from the seat pocket in front of her and frowns at the cartoon men and women who seem weirdly delighted to be bailing out of a series of cartoon planes. Beside her, Oliver stifles a laugh, and she glances up again.
“What?”
“I’ve just never seen anyone actually read one of those things before.”
“Well,” she says, “then you’re very lucky to be sitting next to me.”
“Just in general?”
She grins. “Well, particularly in case of an emergency.”
“Right,” he says. “I feel incredibly safe. When I’m knocked unconscious by my tray table during some sort of emergency landing, I can’t wait to see all five-foot-nothing of you carry me out of here.”
Hadley’s face falls. “Don’t even joke about it.”
“Sorry,” he says, inching closer. He places a hand on her knee, an act so unconscious that he doesn’t seem to realize what he’s done until Hadley glances down in surprise at his palm, warm against her bare leg. He draws back abruptly, looking a bit stunned himself, then shakes his head. “The flight’ll be fine. I didn’t mean it.”
“It’s okay,” she says quietly. “I’m not usually quite so superstitious.”
Out the window, a few men in neon yellow vests are circling the enormous plane, and Hadley leans over to watch. The old woman on the aisle coughs in her sleep, and they both turn back around, but she’s resting peacefully again, her eyelids fluttering.
“Fifty-two years,” Oliver says, letting out a low whistle. “That’s impressive.”
“I’m not sure I even believe in marriage,” Hadley says, and he looks surprised.
“Aren’t you on your way to a wedding?”
“Yeah,” she says with a nod. “But that’s what I mean.”
He looks at her blankly.
“It shouldn’t be this big fuss, where you drag everyone halfway across the world to witness your
love. If you want to share your life together, fine. But it’s between two people, and that should be enough. Why the big show? Why rub it in everyone’s faces?”
Oliver runs a hand along his jaw, obviously not quite sure what to think. “It sounds like it’s weddings you don’t believe in,” he says finally. “Not marriage.”
“I’m not such a big fan of either at the moment.”
“I don’t know,” he says. “I think they’re kind of nice.”
“They’re not,” she insists. “They’re all for show. You shouldn’t need to prove anything if you really mean it. It should be a whole lot simpler than that. It should mean something.”
“I think it does,” Oliver says quietly. “It’s a promise.”
“I guess so,” she says, unable to keep the sigh out of her voice. “But not everyone keeps that promise.” She looks over toward the woman, still fast asleep. “Not everyone makes it fifty-two years, and if you do, it doesn’t matter that you once stood in front of all those people and said that you would. The important part is that you had someone to stick by you all that time. Even when everything sucked.”
He laughs. “Marriage: for when everything sucks.”
“Seriously,” Hadley insists. “How else do you know that it means something? Unless someone’s there to hold your hand during the bad times?”
“So that’s it?” Oliver says. “No wedding, no marriage, just someone there to hold your hand when things are rough?”
“That’s it,” she says with a nod.
Oliver shakes his head in wonder. “Whose wedding is this? An ex-boyfriend of yours?”
Hadley can’t help the laughter that escapes her.
“What?”
“My ex-boyfriend spends most of his time playing video games, and the rest delivering pizzas. It’s just funny to imagine him as a groom.”
“I thought you might be a bit young to be a woman scorned.”
“I’m seventeen,” she says indignantly, and he holds up his hands in surrender.
The plane begins to push back from the gate, and Oliver leans closer to peer out the window. There are lights stretched out as far as they can see, like reflections of the stars, making great constellations of the runways, where dozens of planes sit waiting their turn. Hadley’s hands are braided together in her lap, and she takes a deep breath.
“So,” Oliver says, sitting back again. “I guess we jumped right into the deep end, huh?”
“What do you mean?”
“Just that a discussion about the definition of true love is usually something you talk about after three months, not three hours.”
“According to her,” Hadley says, jutting her chin to Oliver’s right, “three hours is more like three years.”
“Yes, well, that’s if you’re in love.”
“Right. So, not us.”
“No,” Oliver agrees with a grin. “Not us. An hour’s an hour. And we’re doing this all wrong.”
“How do you figure?”
“I know your feelings on matrimony, but we haven’t even covered the really important stuff yet, like your favorite color or your favorite food.”
“Blue and Mexican.”
He nods appraisingly. “That’s respectable. For me, green and curry.”
“Curry?” She makes a face. “Really?”
“Hey,” he says. “No judging. What else?”
The lights in the cabin are dimmed for takeoff as the engine revs up below them, and Hadley closes her eyes, just for a moment. “What else what?”
“Favorite animal?”
“I don’t know,” she says, opening her eyes again. “Dogs?”
Oliver shakes his head. “Too boring. Try again.”
“Elephants, then.”
“Really?”
Hadley nods.
“How come?”
“As a kid, I couldn’t sleep without this ratty stuffed elephant,” she explains, not sure what made her think of it now. Maybe it’s that she’ll soon be seeing her dad again, or maybe it’s just the plane keying up beneath her, prompting a childish wish for her old security blanket.
“I’m not sure that counts.”
“Clearly you never met Elephant.”
He laughs. “Did you come up with that name all by yourself?”
“Damn right,” she says, smiling at the thought. He’d had glassy black eyes and soft floppy ears and braided strings for a tail, and he always managed to make everything better. From having to eat vegetables or wear itchy tights to stubbing her toe or being stuck in bed with a sore throat, Elephant was the antidote to it all. Over time, he’d lost one eye and most of his tail; he’d been cried on and sneezed on and sat on, but still, whenever Hadley was upset about something, Dad would simply rest a hand on top of her head and steer her upstairs.
“Time to consult the elephant,” he’d announce, and somehow, it always worked. It’s really only now that it occurs to her that Dad probably deserved more of the credit than the little elephant.
Oliver is looking at her with amusement. “I’m still not convinced it counts.”
“Fine,” Hadley says. “What’s your favorite animal?”
“The American eagle.”
She laughs. “I don’t believe you.”
“Me?” he asks, bringing a hand to his heart. “Is it wrong to love an animal that also happens to be a symbol of freedom?”
“Now you’re just making fun of me.”
“Maybe a little,” he says with a grin. “But is it working?”
“What, me getting closer to muzzling you?”
“No,” he says quietly. “Me distracting you.”
“From what?”
“Your claustrophobia.”
She smiles at him gratefully. “A little,” she says. “Though it’s not as bad until we get up in the air.”
“How come?” he asks. “Plenty of wide open spaces up there.”
“But no escape route.”
“Ah,” he says. “So you’re looking for an escape route.”
Hadley nods. “Always.”
“Figures,” he says, sighing dramatically. “I get that from girls a lot.”
She lets out a short laugh, then closes her eyes again when the plane begins to pick up speed, barreling down the runway with a rush of noise. They’re tipped back in their seats as momentum gives way to gravity, the plane tilting backward until—with a final bounce of the wheels—they’re set aloft like a giant metal bird.
Hadley wraps a hand around the armrest as they climb higher into the night sky, the lights below fading into pixelated grids. Her ears begin to pop as the pressure builds, and she presses her forehead against the window, dreading the moment when they’ll push through the low-hanging bank of clouds and the ground will disappear beneath them, when they’ll be surrounded by nothing but the vast and endless sky.
Out the window, the outlines of parking lots and housing developments are growing distant as everything starts to blend together. Hadley watches the world shift and blur into new shapes, the streetlamps with their yellow-orange glow, the long ribbons of highway. She sits up straighter, her forehead cool against the Plexiglas as she strains to keep sight of it all. What she fears isn’t flying so much as being set adrift. But for now, they’re still low enough to see the lit windows of the buildings below. For now, Oliver is beside her, keeping the clouds at bay.
5
10:36 PM Eastern Standard Time
3:36 AM Greenwich Mean Time
They’ve been in the air only a few minutes when Oliver seems to decide it’s safe to speak to her again. At the sound of his voice near her ear, Hadley feels something inside of her loosening, and she unclenches her hands one finger at a time.
“Once,” he says, “I was flying to California on the Fourth of July.”
She turns her head, just slightly.
“It was a clear night, and you could see all the little fireworks displays along the way, these tiny flares going off below, one town after anothe
r.”
Hadley leans to the window again, her heart pounding as she stares at the emptiness below, the sheer nothingness of it all. She closes her eyes and tries to imagine fireworks instead.
“If you didn’t know what they were, it probably would’ve looked terrifying, but from up above they were sort of pretty, just really silent and small. It was hard to imagine they were the same huge explosions you see from the ground.” He pauses for a moment. “I suppose it’s all a matter of perspective.”
She twists toward him again, searching his face. “Is that supposed to help?” she asks, though not unkindly. She’s simply trying to find the lesson in the story.
“No, not really,” he says with a sheepish grin. “I was just trying to distract you again.”
She smiles. “Thanks. Got anything else?”
“Loads,” he says. “I could talk your ear off.”
“For seven hours?”
“I’m up for the challenge,” he tells her.
The plane has leveled out now, and when she starts to feel dizzy, Hadley tries to focus on the seat in front of her, which is occupied by a man with large ears and thinning hair at the crown of his head; not so much that he could be called bald, exactly, but just enough to give a suggestion of the baldness to come. It’s like reading a map of the future, and she wonders if there are such telltale signs on everyone, hidden clues to the people they’ll one day become. Had anyone guessed, for example, that the lady on the aisle would eventually cease to look at the world through brilliant blue eyes, and instead see everything from behind a filmy haze? Or that the man sitting kitty-corner to them would have to hold one hand with the other to keep it still?
What she’s really thinking about, though, is her father.
The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight Page 4
