I found a middle-aged woman sitting next to Amon, asking him all kinds of questions about his homeland. When he saw me, he said to her kindly, “My Lily has returned and it is time for us to dine. Perhaps we can speak of Egypt some more at a later time.”
“Oh, yes, I’d like that,” the woman said, grinning from ear to ear before she returned to her row.
Scowling, I dropped back into my seat and tucked my makeup bag on the floor under me. Amon leaned over to buckle my seat belt. “You must wear this at all times until the captain says it is safe to walk about the cabin.”
I pushed his hands away. “Yeah, I got it. And I’m not your Lily, by the way.”
Cheerfully ignoring my comment, he asked, “Do you know how to lower your table?”
“Yes. I was born in this century.”
He seemed both fascinated and a bit confused by my sarcasm. I wasn’t sure why I suddenly felt so prickly. Once again, my emotions were running amok. When my table was arranged, the flight attendant brought our meals. I saw the special smile she gave to Amon and I narrowed my eyes, and then froze, realizing why I’d been so irritable. I was feeling…possessive of Amon. After I cleared my throat loudly, the flight attendant set down the trays with heavy clunks and asked Amon if he needed anything else. When he said he would let her know, she left us alone. Not one, not two, but three dinners sat before each of us. “What is this?” I sputtered.
“A feast. Or at least, the best that Gloria could provide under the circumstances.”
Apparently he’d ordered the vegetarian lasagna, the chicken dinner, a chef’s salad, and a fruit and cheese platter for each of us.
“She said she will bring our desserts later,” Amon said as he picked up a bunch of grapes and started pulling them off, one by one, with his teeth.
I shook my head. My dark mood lifted at seeing him eat grapes like an ancient god, which I suppose he was, and my lips curved into a smile despite my attempt to remain irked. “Like this,” I whispered, and picked off a few grapes from the bunch and then placed them in my mouth. Amon lowered the bunch and watched me, focusing his attention on my lips. I’d just begun to feel awkward, embarrassed, and a little warm, when he pointed to the lasagna.
He copied my every move, from using the knife and fork, to opening the little packages of salt and pepper, to using the napkin, to drizzling the dressing over the salad. He soon noticed that I’d placed my napkin over my tray and was immediately concerned.
Brushing his fingers across my cheek, his Egyptian-god version of a diagnostic tool, he asked, “Are you ill?”
“No. Just a little tired,” I answered as he studied me with his hazel eyes.
“Then why haven’t you finished eating?”
I shrugged. “I don’t usually eat this much. I told you before, remember?”
“I remember.”
Amon turned back to his food but soon pushed the remainder of his meal away as well. When I asked him why, he answered, “Feasting is not meant to be done alone. It is a time for celebration, renewal. If you will not indulge with me, then I will also abstain.”
“What exactly are you celebrating?”
“Life,” he said simply.
“I don’t understand.”
The attendant took away our unfinished meals and refilled our drinks. After trying every noncarbonated beverage available, Amon declared orange juice to be his drink of choice, which made sense for a sun god. He watched my drink warily as I sipped from my recently refilled diet ginger ale. I repeated, “Why are you celebrating life?”
“When I…wake, I find I have a great hunger for life. During the weeks before the ceremony, I feast. I dance. I surround myself”—as he continued, he touched his fingertips to a loose lock of my hair and trailed his fingers down the length of it until the wisps fell against my cheek—“with beauty. I relish every moment of being alive. Then I have something to reflect upon, to warm me during the long years of darkness.
“Where do you go after the ceremony?”