“And I get to see the clouds?”
I crouched down to her level.
“You get the window seat! Seven A. It’s waiting for you.”
My daughter smiled that small, careful smile she reserved for very big things, and my chest ached with how much I loved her.
“And I get to see the clouds?”
I glanced toward the counter.
The gate agent was frowning at her screen, one hand pressed to her headset, murmuring something I couldn’t hear. She looked up briefly toward the jet bridge, then back down.
I didn’t think much of it. Airports were always full of little problems being sorted out.
“Ready, Em?”
“Ready!”
I didn’t think much of it.
I took her hand, warm and small in mine, and we walked toward the jet bridge together.
Buzz dangled from my daughter’s other hand, one plush wing brushing the carpet.
I whispered again, mostly to myself, “The window seat is waiting for you.”
I had no idea that everything I’d barely read that morning had already set the day in motion.
I took her hand.
***
We boarded the airplane without a hitch.
We reached row 7, and I felt Emma’s grip tighten on my sleeve.
Her stuffed airplane was pressed tightly against her chest.
A woman was already sitting in 7A. She looked to be in her late forties, sharply dressed, with her handbag tucked neatly under the seat in front of her.
I stood beside her seat and gave her my softest smile.
I felt Emma’s grip tighten on my sleeve.
“Excuse me, ma’am. I think those are our seats.”
The woman looked up slowly, scanning me and then Emma before scoffing.
“I paid for the window seat. So did you, apparently. Sounds like a problem.”
A flight attendant appeared beside me right then.
Her name tag read “Lisa.”
I handed her our boarding passes without a word.
“Sounds like a problem.”
