Wrangled

Another tear drops.

My lip quivers.

I wipe the tear away almost angrily, then turn to the window and take a breath. My breath is all jagged and strained, my lungs feeling heavy and tight. I can’t even breathe properly.

My view outside the window is blurred by my wet eyes.

I’m not crying.

“Was that your boyfriend?”

I turn to find a sweet old lady with curly white hair, papery skin, and a blue, flowing dress sitting across the aisle from me. Her eyes are grayish blue, and when she smiles, her eyes disappear.

“Sorry?” I prompt her, wiping away another annoying tear.

“That strapping hunk a’ lunk you said goodbye to. Was he your boyfriend?”

Her tone makes me chuckle despite my mood. “Yeah.”

“He seems like a nice young man. Here, sweetie.” She pulls out a tissue from her purse and—after waiting for two large men to pass—extends it across the aisle to me.

“I’m fine, I’m not crying,” I assure her.

She keeps extending the tissue my way.

I give in and take it, mouth the words, “Thank you,” then dab my eyes and wipe my nose. “I can’t even remember the last time I cried,” I admit suddenly. “Must’ve been freshman year of college when I got my heart broken by a total dickhead who is now some kind of saint, according to my bestie, who is also a dickhead and is marrying him. Sorry for my language.”

“Oh, I’ve heard worse, don’t you mind me. Freshman year of college? So … just a few years back?”

That earns a solid laugh. “Oh, wow, you’re really working for brownie points, huh? It was ten years ago. I’m twenty-eight.”

“You don’t look a day over twenty, you baby-faced beauty!”

I squint at her. “You’d better be careful or you’ll become my new best friend in a hurry.”

“You’re so funny!” She adjusts her glasses, then pulls out a stick of lip balm from her purse and gently applies it. Each of her movements is slow and unhurried. The sight of it seems to calm me somehow. “Now listen,” the lady says as she slowly continues to round her lips with the stick. “I don’t mean to pry, but I just have to say that when I watched you two boys, oh, it so reminded me of my grandson Malcolm and the boy he let go. They almost married not four years ago and—” She pauses for a family to pass between us down the aisle. “—well, it didn’t work out.”

I find I’m wringing the tissue in my hands. “I’m sorry about your grandson. It sounds like you love him very much.”

“You do know what I’m getting at, don’t you, sweetie? Do you mind if I keep calling you sweetie? You just remind me of Malcolm so much.” She chuckles to herself, then puts away her lip balm. “I’m getting at this: Don’t let that hunk a’ lunk man go. I could see it as clearly as I see you right now. He loves you.”

I stare at her, all the emotion frozen on my face at once.

“You don’t use those words yet?” she asks, surprised. “How long have you two been together?”

“I … We only just …” I stammer several more times before I at last say, “We’re very new. I mean, we’ve known each other a long time, but … I only just recently found out he’s gay. Like, a-week-ago recently. We have a somewhat complicated past.”

The woman drops her jaw. “Goodness, you had me fooled! The way you two were looking at each other, I’d think you’ve been a couple for several years!”

Her words squeeze a smile right out of me. “Well, we kinda … happened very fast, and very hard.”

“So why are you on a plane flying away from him, if I can ask? Is it for business?”

“It’s for my career. I’m from Spruce originally, but I live in Los Angeles now. I’m a fashion designer. And he …” My smile is gone. “Well, he lives in Spruce. For good.”

“Oh, I see, I see.” A wash of sadness brings her face down. “I’m sure that’s quite hard on you both.”

I shrug. “Well, we’re about to find out.”

“Don’t let him go.” She moves across the aisle suddenly, sits next to me, and takes my hand. “I can tell you with no doubt in my heart, no doubt at all, after the life I’ve lived, after all that I have sacrificed—time I could have spent with Malcolm, or my sweet granddaughter Aurora who lives on the other side of the country now, or more time I could’ve spent with my husband before he died … or dreams I set aside for other dreams … Sweetie, I might say it is the single most important thing in this cruel, cold world that we keep close what makes our hearts warm. Love isn’t some dramatic concept manufactured for romance novels. We all have access to it the same as we do the air we breathe. And it may come in a hundred different forms. Just look! This cake-batter-flavored ChapStick, for instance.” She pulls it right back out of her purse and gives it a moment’s consideration, then chuckles. “I love it. It gives me joy. Malcolm always sends me some for my birthday. It’s like a little kiss of happiness every time I put it on. I also like flying from my little home in Fairview to visit my sweet sister Gabriella in Santa Monica and her cute Pomeranian who always rushes up and licks my face.” She eyes me. “It’s the easiest trick in life, and once you master it, nothing is out of reach. Love is the secret.”