forty-six

Tessa

I boarded the plane with a heavy heart, but with every mile that passes, it becomes easier to breathe. Thankfully, the seat beside me remains empty, so I open my bag to take out a journal and a pen.

I begin to write.

Dear Dante,

I don’t know if you’ll ever see this, and I’m uncertain if you’re meant to. It’s ridiculous to write Dear Diary, so I’m writing to you instead.

You broke my heart today, but it seems I’ve been repeatedly breaking yours. One day…I hope you’ll give me the chance to mend it. In this moment, it doesn’t seem plausible that two broken people can make a whole, and that’s one of the reasons I left. I must find it in myself to forgive Trevor; otherwise, he’ll always have some sort of power over me. Hatred is acidic, eating a person from the inside out until nothing remains, except a bitter shell. Forgiveness is a journey. I can’t just say the words and expect myself to feel forgiveness in my heart. It isn’t that simple.

The woman across the aisle from me is struggling with her baby. He’s inconsolable, and she looks flustered and desperate. I’m going to try to help.

Until next time,

Tess

The woman appears a little younger than me but not by much. Her rainbow hair is styled in a long, single braid, which hangs over her shoulder, and red splotches appear on her alabaster skin, making it obvious that either her nerves are shot or she’s embarrassed. I look at the nearby passengers who cast sidelong glances or glare at the frazzled mom. She’s trying to hold on to her screaming baby and make a bottle at the same time, which seems damn near impossible because the kid is hungry and pissed off.

What the hell happened to human decency?

“Hey,” I address her.

But she doesn’t lift her eyes.

Since the seat next to me is empty, I unbuckle my belt and swap places, and then I try again. “What can I do?”

She looks at me, and I see she’s holding back tears.

“I’m Tessa. Let me help you.”

I reach for the baby, and for a split second, she hesitates before handing him over. I put him on my shoulder and pat his bottom to quiet him. When that doesn’t work, I rub circles on his back and gently sway from side to side.

She peruses the diaper bag and gives me a pacifier for the screaming infant. “I’m Alex, and that’s Isaac. Thank you for your help.” Her voice shakes, but her hands are steady as she measures the powdered formula into an empty bottle before filling it to the desired level with water.

“You’re welcome.”

I pop the binky into Isaac’s mouth, and he begins to settle some.

Alex finishes assembling the bottle, puts everything back in the bag, and looks at me like she’s in pain. “I can’t believe I’m asking you this, but I have to pee in the worst way. Do you think you could feed him, so I could use the restroom? I’ll be right back.”

“Of course.” I take the bottle from her, cradle Isaac in my arms, and swap the pacifier for the bottle.

Isaac starts to fuss, but once he realizes there’s something coming out of the nipple, he quiets. When Alex is sure he’s fine, she scurries away.

I look down into his huge chocolate eyes. “Hey, little man.”

Isaac’s tiny lips suck in quick succession, devouring the contents.

“Slow down.” I smile at him and wipe the remnants of a tear from his honey-kissed brown skin.

Isaac drinks a little more, and then I take the bottle out of his mouth, sitting him upright before I start burping him.

Alex’s face is awash with relief as she resumes her seat. “I’m sorry about that. Thank you so much for helping me.”

She reaches for her son, and reluctantly, I pass him back.

“How many do you have?” she asks.

I glance away. “None actually.”

“Really? I’m sorry. You seem like a natural, so I just assumed…”

“No, it’s okay,” I assure her and change the subject. “How old is he?”

“Four months.” She kisses the top of Isaac’s head. “We’re on our way to visit my husband. He’s a pilot and managed to get a couple of days off before he flies out again, so we’re hitting the beach. What about you? Are you married?”

I want to slink back over to my window seat, take out my journal, and tell Dante how hard this conversation is. How small talk with a random stranger on a plane feels like a sucker-punch to the gut.

“No. Not anymore.”

“Girl, we need to get you a drink.” She laughs, and it’s apparent she assumes I’m divorced.

I smile. “Funny you should say that. I’m driving to Napa to take wine country by storm.”

“That’s the spirit. Good for you.”

We chat for a few more minutes, and I watch Isaac’s lids fall shut as he finishes the bottle. His long, dark lashes flutter against chubby cheeks. There’s something hypnotic about it, and I find myself becoming sleepy.

I point toward him and look at Alex. “He has the right idea. I’m going to take a catnap, but if you need anything, I’m happy to help.”

“Thank you so much. I appreciate it more than I can tell you.” Alex runs her fingers through his soft black curls.

“It was my pleasure,” I say. I switch back to the seat by the window, buckle in, lean my head against the padded cushion, and take in the earth below. Soon, I close my eyes and doze. I dream of motherhood and babies with my amber eyes but dark hair like their father’s.

I wake to the flight attendant’s voice over the speaker system. We’ll be landing in San Fran shortly, and after I pick up the rental car, I’ll be on my way to drinking a much-needed glass of wine.