Would you like anything to drink before we take off, sir?”

“Oh, I’m good, thank you.”

I’ve never felt so out of place in my entire life. Chris and Justine upgraded our flight to first class, even though I told them multiple times not to, but they didn’t want me sitting in the back when they were “boozing it up with the yuppies.” Their words, not mine.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I’ve been waiting for this phone call so I answer on the first ring.

“Hey Cal.”

“Beck, how are you doing?”

“Good, really good,” I answer, watching the passengers board the plane. A mom and her baby sit in front of me, next to a girl who’s buried in her computer. I hope she has noise-cancelling headphones in that huge, quilted bag of hers.

“I’m glad to hear that. What are you up to?”

Cal Pipkin, yes, that is his name, has been calling me every Wednesday around ten his time for the last eight years. I’ve come to grow quite fond of his rough, no-nonsense tone. At first it had terrified me, but now it puts me at ease.

“I actually just boarded a plane headed to Key West.”

“Key West, huh? Looking to get a little R and R?”

“Yeah, something like that.” No need to go into details with Cal.

“Are you going by yourself?” I know what he’s getting at. He usually asks point-blank, but now, he beats around the bush, testing me.

“Chris and his wife are going with me. We’re attending a wedding, and then we’re going to have some beach fun.”

“Chris is a good man.” A good man who keeps me straight. There’s no doubt in my mind that Cal is happy about this information.

“He is.”

“Will alcohol be served at the wedding?”

Biting on the inside of my cheek, I nod even though he can’t see me. “Open bar, sir,” I answer, becoming formal with my sponsor.

Cal is a veteran who’s spent his retired days coaching and sponsoring not only retired military but civilians who are alcoholics. Eight years ago, my life changed. Luckily, I met Cal, the strong voice of reason driving me forward.

“How do you feel about that?”

“Good. Strong. It’s rare when I want anything other than water.”

“That’s good to hear.” He takes a moment and then says, “I’m proud of you, Beck. Your confidence knowing there is an open bar at the wedding is commendable. Stay strong. I don’t have any doubt that you’ll do fine.”

“Thank you,” I say uncomfortably.

“You’re welcome. I’ll let you go because I’m sure you have to get off your phone soon. Don’t be afraid to call if you need me, especially if temptation finds you.”

“I will. Have a good one, Cal.”

Temptation. Funny thing, it hasn’t found me in over eight years. The cravings diminished the minute I found out what I did, who I broke, and who I destroyed. Perspective hits you right in the gut when you flip another human’s world upside down, and fuck did it hit me hard.

I hang up and stare at my phone for a few seconds, taking deep breaths and slowing down my racing heart. Give yourself a moment, Beck. I understand the nature of my wrongdoings. I am in a process of recovery. I am willing to make amends to those I’ve harmed. I have accepted my past decisions and whom they affected. And as I often do when I get off the phone with Cal, I take a second to remember the little boy who haunts my dreams.

“Was that Cal?” Chris asks, leaning over the aisle, talking between boarding passengers.

“Yeah, just doing his weekly check in.”

“He must have an alarm on his phone to remind him about calling you because honestly, I don’t know how he remembers. I can barely remember to get the kids dressed in the morning. If it was up to me, they’d go to school in their pajamas.”

“That’s why you’re not in charge,” Justine says over Chris’s shoulders. Growing serious, Justine asks, “How’s Cal?”

“Good.” I nod my head. “Just a quick check in. Never misses one.”

“Did he ask about the wedding?”

A lady carrying a tiny dog in a bedazzled dog carrier stands between us so I wait to answer until she passes, her dog eyeing me through the mesh, his teeth snarling. Listen, dude, I’m not the one who put you in the damn thing.

“He did. He trusts me. A few years ago, he wouldn’t have been as easy to get off the phone.” Cal was relaxed as we spoke and knowing he also believes in me is all I need.

“He has no reason to worry.” Justine leaves it at that, knowing my background and where I stand now, how I’ve drastically changed.

There is loud clanking on a keyboard in front of Justine and Chris. I peek around the seat and eye a woman hunched over her computer, rapidly pressing the backspace on her Word document, muttering something to herself. One by one, her words vanish from the white screen on her laptop followed by a long sigh and a hand to her forehead.

She seems so annoyed, so I’m glad I’m not in her position. Whatever the hell she’s doing, or trying to do for that matter.

Sitting back in my cushioned seat, I attempt to relax as the girl now brings her phone to her ear and starts speaking rapidly, just loud enough that I can hear her.

“You should have paid extra to sit next to me. I would have paid extra. I need you. I have no ideas.” She pauses. “You’re so cheap, Victoria.” Pause. “No, I just deleted everything. It was pure shit. It wasn’t even the least bit riveting. What?” She sighs. “My first sentence? Why does that matter?” More sighing. “It was . . . Look at the bottom of my shoe.” Pause. “Yes, I know that’s a terrible first sentence. This is what I’m dealing with, Victoria. I wish you were here. I need your bosom.”

Eh?

“You can be on the phone right now, Victoria. The cabin door hasn’t closed. Just give me . . . don’t be such a square. You can be on the phone. Christ! Just give me a sentence, any sentence. Hello? Hello?” Sighing out of more frustration, she puts her phone in her lap and starts typing again.

Okay, I know I shouldn’t be looking, hell, I shouldn’t have even listened to that conversation, but now I feel invested. What is she trying to write and why does she need Victoria’s bosom? And if Victoria is such a square, it doesn’t seem likely she’d lend out her bosom to begin with. Is Victoria her lover? And what kind of a first sentence is “Look at the bottom of my shoe”? That doesn’t seem like a great first sentence for anything.

Needing to know more about this girl and her rather comical situation, I study her computer in front of her across the aisle. Yup, I’m that person right now, and I don’t even care.

She types a sentence and quickly deletes it. Curious, I start reading along with her typing.

Did you just walk in here naked?

Delete

Snakes, there are snakes in my bed!

Delete.

Ahoy, sailors. Is that a buoy in your pants?

Delete.

I just made apricot pie. Come on in and take a bite . . .

Delete.

Cats. Cats. Cats. Dog. I hate my life, this baby smells like a turd, and if the lady next to me elbows me one more time, I might use my computer as a crocodile device and chomp the hell out of her breast.

Delete

I snort to myself, kind of enjoying this girl’s sense of humor and also slightly confused by the cats, cats, cats, and dog part of that sentence, even though it was entertaining.

From the look of it, this girl is going to have one hell of a long flight.

* * *

Please put your trays in the upright and locked position as well as your seats. Gladys will be around to collect your trash before our final descent into Key West. Thank you for flying with us, and we hope you have a wonderful time under the sun.”

Chris shakes my shoulder with a little too much enthusiasm. “Almost there, buddy. I can smell the jet skis.”

“I can taste the pineapple rings you’ll be eating off my nipples.” Justine wavers forward, drinking the rest of her wine straight from the bottle. “Vacation, here we come.”

I guess this is what vacationing with parents gone wild is like: pineapples and nipples. And we’re not even off the plane yet.

“I’m going to eat those pineapple rings so hard.”

Lips pressed together, I mutter, “Excited to share a wall with you two.”

“Dude, we’re going to bang all night long. Get ready.”

“All the banging,” Justine follows up, giving me an over-exaggerated thumbs up.

Wonderful. Just what I need, to hear my best friend and his wife having sex, especially when I’m horny as fuck.

More clacking comes from in front of me. It’s been like that the entire flight, typing and then aggressive backspacing. Combine that with the toots from the baby and the incessant crying, this has been one magical flight. But I can’t complain. The lady in front of me, the one trying to calm her baby down, has had it worst. I can’t imagine what she must be feeling right now. Harried.

The girl with the black hair tied into the messiest of buns on top of her head, wisps of hair fanning around her head, slams her computer shut and rips her earphones out of her ears. Huffing, she stuffs everything in her backpack and then sits back and crosses her arms over her chest only to look out the window.

I want to tap her on the shoulder and tell her things could be worse, but knowing an unwelcome pep talk from a stranger will do no good, I sit still, trying to read her a little better. I don’t know why I’m so interested in her, in her every move, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so outwardly expressive with their displeasure in life. It’s as if she thinks she’s in her own little bubble, and no one can see what she’s doing.

“First things first when we land, get me a piece of Key lime pie. I don’t want anything else, I just want a pie shoved in my face.”

“I want to try all the Key lime pies from every pie place and decide which one is best,” Justine says. “I say we get an Uber and drive around to all the pie places, one at a time, picking up slices.”

“Or we can rent one of those golf carts and do the driving ourselves.” Chris becomes far too excited about this idea. “Putt Puttin’ in our fucking golf cart for pies.”

“Putt Puttin’ for pies.” They both high-five. Did I mention Chris had some drinks as well?

“How about you two check in to our rooms first and then you can go putting for pies after a nap and lots of water consumption.” I give them a knowing look that straightens them up.

Chris, looking a little shameful says, “Good idea, water, nap, then pies.”

At this new idea, Justine high-fives him again. “Water, nap, and pies!”

The plane gradually descends, turbulence shifting the cabin back and forth, up and down, every which way you can possibly think. The baby in front of Justine is screaming, her mom shooshing constantly, making me feel like reaching over to give her a break. Thankfully no one is annoyed in first class. Including the girl with the weird first sentences, most are more understanding than anything.

“Can I get you anything?” she asks, shouting over the screaming. “Want me to grab you a bottle?”

The mom turns to her, tears in her eyes. “Would you mind holding her for a second while I dig through my bag?”

“Not at all,” the girl says, seeming a little apprehensive at first.

The mom hands over the screaming baby and the girl, unsure on how to properly hold a baby, extends her arms straight out in front of her, the baby held under the armpits, screaming. It’s awkward to watch. The girl tries shooshing as well, tucks her knee under the baby’s bottom and lightly bounces her. Sure enough, the baby quiets, the crying ceases.

I look around, and relief is written all over the passengers in first class. I want to give the girl a high five. She might not be good at writing first sentences for Lord knows what, but she sure as hell can calm down—

Blehhhhh.

Oh hell.

Without a second thought I cover my nose with my shirt—I’m quickly followed by other passengers—as I watch orange-colored liquid slowly drip down the girl’s face and neck. It’s almost as if her skin started oozing chunky orange liquid.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” the girl says, holding the baby out as far as possible now. And of course, there’s a happy smile on the baby’s face.

“Oh no, she must have had a little bubble in her tummy. You burped it out of her.” The mom takes the baby and coos into her ear. “Poor baby.”

The girl sits there, arms extended, frozen in place, orange still dripping down her face and neck. Oh fuck is right. I smile to myself, a laugh popping out of me that I keep to myself.

Carefully, the girl rises out of her seat only for a flight attendant to scold her. “Ma’am, you’re going to have to take a seat, we’re about to land.”

“But I have puke on me.”

“I’m sorry, but the fasten seat belt sign is on.”

“But . . . puke.”

“Ma’am, please take a seat. Use a wipe?”

Fingers twitching, veins popping out of her neck, she takes a seat and looks to the mom who’s holding some wipes to her. “Sorry about that, but hey, at least she stopped crying.”

Dryly, the girl replies, “Glad I could help.”

I don’t know how I do it, but I manage to hold in the snort so close to escaping. Her tone. Her frozen form. Oh shit. Don’t laugh. But then I glance at her again, and all I can think is, poor baby.