The Trouble with Flying (6 page)

***

I wake abruptly from a dream in which I’m running through a crowded airport trying to catch Julia. My neck aches and my throat is horribly dry, but I don’t feel nearly as tired as I did when I first sat down. I blink a few times and wipe my hand over my mouth. Is that dried saliva on my chin? I find my phone lying face down on my lap—thank goodness no one stole it—and turn it over to check the time. I blink once more. Oh my
heck
, have I seriously been asleep for seven hours? No wonder I don’t feel tired anymore. I’ve got less than two hours left on this plane.

Ugh. I don’t want to be back in Durban.

And Aiden! I have to find him and tell him I made it onto the plane!

“Afternoon, Book Freak. Did you sleep well?”

I jerk to the side in fright as the person in the aisle seat leans towards me.

Aiden.

What? How did he get there?

Oh, crumbs, how awful do I look right now? I rub hastily at my chin, hoping to remove all traces of drool. I open my mouth to speak, then snap it shut. After seven hours of sleep, I probably have the most horrendous morning breath. And my hair—it’s all bunched up around my neck because of that silly blow-up pillow. Why does Aiden have to sit next to me
now
? And how? What happened to the overweight man with the newspaper?

Wait. Maybe I’m still asleep.

“You look confused,” Aiden says, then narrows his eyes. “Or is that your scared face? Because if it is, I’m starting to think you deserted me in the airport on purpose.” He leans back. “You know, if you detested my company that much, you should have just said so.”

“I—I’m so sorry,” I stutter, my hand fluttering near my mouth to try and shield him from the dragon breath. “I lost track of time while I was in the bathroom.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Really? You lost track of
that much
time? Okay, now I’m almost certain you left me on purpose.” He unclips his seatbelt. “But don’t worry. We can fix this. I’m sure the chubby gentleman will be happy to trade seats with me again. However,” he adds, “he may think it rather strange that after begging him to let me sit next to my sick sister to make sure she takes all her medication, I’m now abandoning her.”

“I—your sick sister?”

“Yes. You contracted the Millicent virus while we were on holiday. You became delirious in the airport, which is why you ran away from me.”

I take a few moments to process Aiden’s words before responding. “I’m guessing the chubby gentleman was quick to leave after that.”

“He was.”

“I’m also guessing there’s no such thing as the Millicent virus.”

“Well, that’s debatable. I had a horrid old aunt named Millicent. She was always cooking up disgusting concoctions in her kitchen. One of them could have been a virus.”

“Right. Did you tell the chubby gentleman that part as well?”

“Oh no. He heard the words ‘virus’ and ‘delirious’ and that was all it took for him to shoot up out of this seat. Poor man’s probably never moved so fast.”

I start laughing, then cover my mouth when I remember the dragon breath. “Well, congratulations on coming up with such an exciting story.”

Aiden inclines his head. “Thank you, but it was all you. I was inspired by your wild imagination.”

I close my eyes and groan. “It’s my wild imagination that almost caused me to miss this flight. I started writing down a story in my notebook while I was in the bathroom, and my watch stopped working so I didn’t realise how long I was taking.” I pull my sleeve back and show Aiden my watch as proof. “So I really am sorry for abandoning you in the airport. I looked out for you when I got onto the plane, but I couldn’t see you anywhere. I was just going to have a quick nap and then look for you, but … I guess that didn’t happen.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I remembered your seat number,” Aiden says, “otherwise I might still be picturing you hiding out at the airport, so desperate to get away from me that you were willing to miss a flight for it.”

I laugh and consider slapping his arm playfully, but I don’t think I’m cool enough to pull that off. “How long have you been sitting next to me?”

“Uh … since the seatbelt light first went off.”

“What?” Embarrassment heats my cheeks. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Well, I was tired,” Aiden says with a shrug. “I figured since you were sleeping, I might as well sleep too.”

“You don’t look like you’ve been sleeping.
I
look like I’ve been sleeping, but you look perfectly groomed.”

“Do I, now?” His sexy grin makes a reappearance. “And how would you know what I look like when I’ve been sleeping?”

“I … I didn’t mean …” Flustered, I pull the blow-up pillow away from my neck—why didn’t I do that when I first woke up?—and reach for my handbag. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

Aiden bursts out laughing. “You can’t keep escaping to the bathroom, Sarah.”

“But I actually need to go this time!” I protest.

“Oh, so when you told me you needed to go on the last flight, you were lying?”

“I—no—just let me past, please.”

Aiden moves his legs aside with a sigh, and I hurry away before I embarrass myself further.

In the tiny bathroom, I neaten up my hair as much as I can without getting the electrified look before rubbing some fruity scented cream on my hands and neck. Perfume might be better, but I left it in my suitcase in one of the overhead compartments. I pull out my travel sized toothbrush and toothpaste and get to work ridding myself of dragon breath. Julia thought it was hilarious that I bothered to get a travel toothbrush, but she’d be grateful if she were in this situation.

I get back to my row to find Aiden holding a phone that looks far too familiar. “Hey, that’s mine.” I squeeze past him, dump my handbag on the floor, and sit down. “Hand it over.”

“What, I thought you left it on your seat specifically for me to look at.”

My chest constricts as I think of all the whacky and embarrassing photos I took over the past three weeks. “What exactly did you look at?”

“Relax, Book Freak. I was just looking at your background photo. Is that your sister? The one you were visiting?”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “Yes, that’s Julia.” I take the phone from him and look at the picture of Julia and me puckering our lips for a selfie with Big Ben in the background. It’s ridiculous how much I miss her already.

“She’s the photographer?” Aiden asks.

“Yes.” I lock my phone and slide it back into my handbag. “Sophie is The Artist Daughter and Julia is The Photographer Daughter. Formerly known as The Perfect Daughter.”

“Formerly?”

“Yes. She kinda lost that label after she ran away from home and didn’t contact anyone for almost a year.”

“Really?” Aiden looks at me to check whether I’m joking.

“Really.”

“Wow. I mean, there were times I wanted to run away, but I never actually did it.”

“Yeah.” I pull my knees up to my chest. “My parents were really upset.”

“Understandably. That sounds a little …”

“What?”

“Well, a little selfish. Running off and not contacting anyone. I could never do that to my mum. She’d be devastated.”

“I guess.” I trace invisible patterns across my knee. “Julia had a good reason for it, though.”

“It must have been something big.”

“It was.”

“Was it to do with your parents?”

I shake my head.

“So why ignore them for so long?”

I take a deep breath. “It was … it was a whole lot of things. Way too many responsibilities, insane stress levels that she kept hidden from almost everyone, and parents who were too distracted by their own work to notice any of it. My dad’s an overworked high school teacher and my mom runs a lab at a biotech company. I mean, they’re good parents, but they get really busy and then they miss a lot of stuff. So when this
thing
happened right after Julia’s finals, I think something inside her just … snapped. So she left.”

I look up to see if Aiden gets what I’m trying to say. I know it shouldn’t matter what he thinks of my sister, but for some reason, I care what he thinks.

“How did you two end up close then?” he asks. “I assume you’re close, since you just spent three weeks with her and you didn’t want to leave.”

“I kept sending her emails after she left. Eventually she started responding. I think she liked that I wrote about random stuff. Everyone else wanted to know why she left and where exactly she was and when she was planning to come home. I figured she didn’t want to talk about that, so I didn’t ask. Anyway, somehow I ended up feeling closer to her after she left than I ever did when she lived at home. So in a weird sort of way, I’m glad she ran away.”

Aiden nods. “I used to be close to my sister like that.”

“But not anymore?”

He shakes his head, but doesn’t elaborate.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Here I am rambling on about my family, and I haven’t asked you anything about yours.”

“There isn’t much to say. It’s just me, my mum, and my sister.”

“And all the relatives you’re meeting up with in South Africa.”

“And all of them.”

I notice he doesn’t say anything about his father. Should I ask? Would it be rude to ask? Would it be rude
not
to ask? Ugh, how did I become so socially inept?

“Tell me about your other sister, Sophie,” Aiden says, changing the subject.

So I tell him about Sophie’s paintings and her digital art and her beautifully detailed doodles, and before I know it, we’re beginning our descent. My stomach drops along with the plane. Aiden becomes more anxious on the outside—fingers tapping, knees bouncing—and I become more anxious on the inside. The ground grows closer. Closer. Closer.

Touchdown.

It smells like home. It feels like home. The air isn’t just warmer, it’s almost … thicker. Fuller. Heavy with moisture. The moment my feet touch the runway surface, I pull off my jersey. No doubt I’ll be complaining about the heat and humidity soon enough, but for now I relish the feel of late afternoon sun on my skin. I imagine drawing the moisture-filled air closer around me like an old, comforting blanket.

And I try not to think about Matt.

Inside the airport, we’re directed towards passport control. South African passengers on one side; foreign passengers on the other. As Aiden separates from my side to join the rest of the foreigners, the terrifying thought that I may never see him again paralyzes me for a moment.

“See you on the other side,” he says cheerfully, squeezing my arm before stepping away from me. “Look out for my suitcase. It has a bright pink ribbon on it.”

Relieved, I start laughing. “You joke,” I say, “but my suitcase actually does have a pink ribbon tied to it.”

I wait for what feels like forever in the South African queue, watching the short foreigner queue rapidly getting shorter. After Aiden disappears on the other side of the passport counter, I grow more and more agitated. If his suitcase comes through before mine, what reason does he have to wait for me? If the person fetching him sends a message to say they’re waiting, he’d have to leave, wouldn’t he? And he’d have no way to let me know. He’d disappear into the crowded airport and I’d never see him again. Of course, I’ll probably never see him again after today anyway, but I still want to say goodbye.

When I’ve finally had my passport checked by a thoroughly disinterested woman, I hurry through to the baggage claim area, dragging my carry-on suitcase behind me. I get myself a trolley, lift my small bag onto it, and push it towards the correct carousel as quickly as I can. Of course, I managed to pick the trolley that has wonky wheels that keep trying to make me turn left, so it takes longer than it should.

After scanning the crowd for a while, I find Aiden lifting a dark blue duffel bag off the carousel. I steer my rebellious trolley towards him. “Oh, hey, you made it,” he says when he looks up and sees me. “There’s a plain black suitcase with a pink-and-white striped ribbon that’s done a few rounds on the carousel. Might that be yours?”

“Yes, that’s mine.”

We wait for it to come around again, and Aiden hoists it onto my trolley. We steer our way through the people still waiting for their luggage and head towards the sliding doors, and even though these are my last few minutes with Aiden, I can’t think of a single thing to say.

“So,” he says, breaking the silence between us, “my loving aunt sent me a message just now to say she’ll be at the pick-up area in twenty minutes, and that if I’m not there waiting for her, she’ll leave without me.”

“How welcoming of her.”

“Indeed. Do you want to wait with me, or is someone coming inside for you?”

Yes, I want to wait with you!

We pass through the sliding doors and enter the sea of people waiting eagerly for their loved ones. I look down so I don’t have to meet anyone’s gaze. I hate how people stare hungrily every time those doors open. They’re all watching, waiting, hoping. I don’t want to see their disappointment when they realise I’m not the one they’re waiting for.

“Um, sorry,” I say to Aiden, remembering he asked me a question, “but my mom has this theory that the drop-off area is never as busy as the pick-up area, so she told me to wait up there for her.”