But before I can track down a napkin, the superhero known as a first-class flight attendant, who has radar to rival an FAA antenna, swoops back over with a cloth and wipes down the seat, then the armrest, and the floor.
“All better,” she says with a lip-glossed smile and a cheery grin.
My son smiles back. “Thank you so much.”
She gives a little curtsy. “You’re quite a gentleman, and your accent is adorable.” She makes a little bopping gesture at his freckled nose.
“Thanks,” he says as he flops back into his seat. “I’m American, but my mom was British and my Dad is too.” He pats my shoulder as if the flight attendant might be confused about who his father is.
She shoots a bemused look at both of us. “That would definitely give you an accent.”
Ethan pokes my arm, then slides into a right proper imitation of me, waggling a chiding finger. “Now, don’t forget to do your science homework, young man. Science is quite possibly the most important subject.”
“Well, it is,” I say, standing my ground.
“I couldn’t agree more. Your father is right,” the attendant says, leaning in a little closer, her eyes on Ethan the whole time, and I like that she talks to him directly. That’s how it should be. “Now, promise me something, little man.”
“Sure,” he says, sitting up straighter, eager for her command.
She does that air bop again. “That you’ll let me know if you need anything. Anything at all.” Her voice drops. “Like ice cream. Or brownies. Or a special movie.”
“Ice cream. Brownies. And a special movie, please.”
Gently, she pats his head. “I’ll make it happen.”
She stops at the row behind us, and I turn to Ethan, chief cheerleader kicking in as we click in our seat belts. “Okay, so this is it. Soon, we’ll get warm nuts. And do you know what that means?”
He giggles. “You said ‘warm nuts.’”
“Yes, I did. And they’re delicious,” I say, keeping a straight face. “Also, they’re a symbol. A demarcation between one thing and another.”
“Dad. Nuts.” He can’t stop laughing.
“Yes, nuts. A tasty snack,” I say, keeping a deadpan expression.
A cackle bursts from him, clearly located in the seismic epicenter of his funny bone. He grabs my arm. “You can’t say that.”
“I can, and I did. And do you want to know why I like warm nuts?”
More chuckles emanate from Ethan, but he tries to collect himself. “Why?”
“Because it means we’re off. We’re making our ascent, heading to our next adventure.”
His expression turns worried. “What if I miss New York? And Florida too?”
The subtext isn’t lost on me. New York is all he’s known for the last few years. Florida was all he knew before then.
But laughing is something he’s done in both places. Or so I was told.
“We can always visit,” I say, giving him my best we’ve got this smile, even though there’s no need to visit Florida now. Nothing familiar for him there.
“We should visit New York, then,” Ethan says with a nod, resolute.
And I couldn’t agree more. We’ll still have people in New York who we’ll miss. “We will absolutely come back and visit.”
“California is fun though. I’ve liked it every time we’ve visited Nan and Pop. But do you really think it’ll be an adventure?”
I stroke my chin, pretending to consider this deeply, but speaking from the heart. “Let’s see. We’re moving to the town where I spent my last two years of high school. We’re going to see Nan and Grandad a lot.”
“Now that I’ll be seeing him regularly, can I call him Pop instead? It’s easier. I like Pop better.”
“I’m sure he’ll be just fine with that,” I say, picturing my dad, his sturdy demeanor, his tough-as-nails approach, and his fierce love of his grandkids. He won’t care at all—plus he has other matters on his mind. “And my sister and her kids will be there. And we have a pool. Hello, a pool! With a waterslide.” He’ll love the pool. Of that I’m sure. Our building in New York had a gym and an indoor pool that was practically Ethan’s second home. He’s always loved the water.
“I might be a fish,” he says.
“Please. You’re a dolphin.”
“You’re right. Dolphins are cooler too.”
“You can go full dolphin in California. So yeah, let’s make a promise that we won’t let it be anything but a great adventure.”
A smile spreads immediately on his face. He offers a fist for knocking.
When you’re a fourth-grader, handshakes have been passé for ages.
“Then I’m up for adventure,” he says.
A few minutes later, as the plane taxis on the tarmac, the helpful attendant swings by once more, stopping at our seats. “I forgot to ask. What takes you gentlemen to California today?”
Ethan points at me. “My dad is making me move.”
“Ah, so someone doesn’t want to?”
“At first I didn’t. But he said it’ll be an adventure. So maybe it won’t be so bad.”
