Chapter 2: Just Like That

I’m getting on a plane and sitting in seat 13C, one of the lucky people on the plane to have an empty seat next to them.  I board early; thank God for loyalty programs. A Good Samaritan/fellow Medallion member volunteers to help me cram my overstuffed suitcase into the overhead bin.  First try, it doesn’t fit.  I move my frilly undergarments from the outside pocket to the inside pocket as surreptitiously as possible.  On the second try, it’s in. 

I’m on my way to Phoenix to visit Will for the first time, and I’m nervous about it.  He’s so nice and so cool but I really don’t need to start a long-distance relationship.  At all.  I don’t want to hurt him, and I do like him, but my heart is isn't yet healed; there's no way I'm ready.  I imagine a coating of chocolate Magic Shell around my heart.  Maybe I just need for him to tap on it with a spoon.  The thought of it gives me a little thrill and a chill at the same time.

Passengers are filing in, trying in vain to find an empty spot in which to squeeze their luggage.  In front of me, I see a small Asian man attempting to jam his TravelPro carry-on into the overhead bin above his seat, with no luck.  People in line behind him wait (im)patiently to be seated, as  I look down again at my Sky magazine, reading about all the “top restaurants” in Atlanta I have never been to. 

Then I hear a voice call out, “Please don’t move that bag – it has breast milk in it.”  I look up again to see a young mother with a baby in a carrier strapped to her chest and her anxious husband gesturing toward the middle of the plane in front of her.  I think she realizes what she had blurted out as she passes me, looking a little sheepish.   I wonder if I’ll still have the chance to have babies, I think as I watch her walk by. 

Once the plane takes off, finally – the passenger across from me jokes that the Atlanta airport’s code, ATL, is an anagram of LATE – I look out the window of the crowded plane, down at all the Monopoly pieces on the ground, a miniature train set complete with fake trees, railways, and roads.  Tiny spots of bright blue represent pools; and dark mirrors, lakes and rivers.  The woman next to me has a small dachshund in a pink plastic carrier under her seat, and I wonder idly if it will make me sneeze.  I am reading The Time Traveler’s Wife, nearing the end of the book as we climb to cruising altitude, and tears are pouring down my creeks.  I try not to sniffle audibly as I lose myself in the moment of these characters, whom I have gotten to know so well over the last few days.   I close the book, shut my eyes, and dream about ice cream with a chocolate shell.

When I arrive in Phoenix, Will meets me at the airport with a bouquet of tulips – my favorite – and a kiss.  He drives us straight to his favorite restaurant - Tarbell’s, in Chandler - and I eye him warily, waiting for the next move.  We have spent many hours over the last few months talking on the phone, and we had one date in Atlanta earlier this month when he was in town.  But there’s a long way to go before I can relax.

“Why are you so nervous?” he asks, watching me intently across the table.

“I’m not -” I start.  “I don’t know why,” I say with a sigh, dropping my hands into my lap.

He reaches under the table, gently reaching for my hands.  “One day at a time, Kristin.  It’s no big deal.”

No big deal? To me, it is a big, huge deal the size of New York City.  I feel panic start to set in.  I’m not ready I’m not ready I’m not ready, my brain screams in my head.

“I know you’re scared and you think you’re not ready,” Will says to me.  Is he psychic? “We’re just hanging out," he says to me.  "We’re going to take this as slow as you want to.”

“OK,” I say, looking at my plate and changing the subject. 

I try to forget that the grouper filet on my plate was alive and breathing not too long ago, and I enjoy the flavor despite my squeamish heart.  I’m haven't been much of a meat-eater, especially after spending three years in northern Georgia, land of chicken farms and slaughterhouses, but since Will is from Texas, I take a tentative bite of his filet mignon, which on the outside is surprisingly crisp and rich, topped with melted blue cheese, and on the inside tender and warm. 

Will knows about the divorce, and I have been honest with him – maybe too honest –

about the turmoil I’m experiencing.  I tell him that I have learned that I want a man who thinks I’m smart, and fun, and the most beautiful woman in the world.  Not to mention one that doesn’t kick me, punch me, or tell me I’m stupid, but I don’t mention that just yet.  There is such a thing as TMI when dating.

Will pulls me toward him in the middle of a sentence and says, “You’re gorgeous. You're smart. You're funny.  This is all part of your past; it's who you are.  I'm OK with that."

I stop and smile at him.

He grins back and the nervousness disappears,
just like that.

Next chapter: falling in love, and a surprise trip.  

Read the whole story, chapter by chapter, right here.