Page 28 of Mile High Ex's Dad
No. She should not.
Neither should I.
And still I ask, “Because of them?”
Her mouth curves in a way that is not a smile. “Among other things.”
I look back through the glass toward the dining room where Ethan sits rigid at his place beside his fiancée, pretending to recover his dignity with every straight-backed sip of champagne.
My son. I feel the old irritation rise again, but this time it is braided with something else. Something darker. More personal.
When I look back at her, she’s watching me carefully, as if trying to measure what I know and what I don’t.
And suddenly I know one thing for certain. This is not over.
“Sienna.” Her name settles into my mouth as if it belongs there.
Her lips part. It’s a mistake to notice that, but I notice anyway.
“Yes?”
I take a step closer. Only one, but enough to make the air between us change.
“I don’t know what kind of mess this weekend is going to become,” I say, “but no one in there is going to speak to you that way again.”
5
SIENNA
Seven Months Ago
My first flight,and I’m already making a mess of it.
The terminal is too bright, too loud, too full of people who seem to know exactly where they’re going. I’m trying to keep up with the signs, my carry-on, my phone, my boarding pass, my nerves, and the steady little flutter in my stomach that has been there since I got dropped off at the airport.
Maybeflutteris too gentle a word.
My stomach has been in knots for an hour.
I’ve checked the gate number so many times I’m starting to annoy myself. I’ve reread the boarding instructions. I’ve watched two separate YouTube videos about what to do during takeoff, which was a terrible idea because now I know far more about turbulence than I ever wanted to.
I’m telling myself to act normal when I walk straight into a man built like a refrigerator.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry.” The words come out in a rush as I bounce back a step.
He’s huge. Bald. Thick through the shoulders. The kind of man who looks like he should be standing outside a club with an earpiece in, not in an airport terminal in a black coat that probably costs more than my rent.
Our boarding passes slip from our hands at the same time and flutter to the floor.
“Sorry,” I say again, already crouching.
He mutters something low and irritated under his breath as he bends to grab one. I grab the other, and murmur another apology. He’s already straightening, walking away without so much as looking at me.
I stare after him for half a second.
Rude.
Then the announcement sounds over the speakers. Now boarding.
