She blew a strand of hair out of her face and tilted her head gratefully in my direction. “I’m okay. But thank you. Again. You’re very kind,” she said, shooting a glare at the gentleman who was now twitching with impatience.
Finally, she slid into her seat and unwrapped her baby from her chest. The pajama-clad infant let out a shriek of discomfort over being removed from his cozy cocoon.
“Shhh, shhhh...you’re okay,” she cooed.
Ten minutes later, everyone was in their seats and the emergency landing routine had just wrapped up.
A voice over the intercom said, “Hello, everyone, I’m your captain, Jack Ross. Thank you for flying Air United today. Our flight time is approximately three hours and twenty minutes.”
I’m not sure when I dozed off, but the next thing I heard were the sounds of a baby in full meltdown mode. I awoke with a start, and for a moment, I forgot I was on a plane and had the urge to run upstairs and collect Aubrey from her nap.
The sound was coming from behind me and was slightly muffled by the closed First Class curtain. I pulled it to the side and peeked through. The young mom was frantically trying to comfort her baby, who was strapped into his car seat in the seat beside her.
“Oh, great!” I heard a woman’s voice from the middle of the plane exclaim.
The mother’s face said it all. She was mortified.
“Can I help you with anything?” I whispered to her.
“No... I’m so sorry about the noise. He’s just tired.”
“No need to be sorry,” I said softly. “Babies cry.”
A female flight attendant with a tight bun crouched beside the mother. “Ma’am, we’re getting some complaints from other passengers. Is there anything you can do to calm your little one down?”
It was like someone slapped me in the face. Was she serious?
“I’m doing my best...” I heard the mother’s voice crack. “I’ll feed him.”
I slid back into my seat, feeling utterly devastated for her.
The next thing I knew, the same older gentleman from before who was sitting in the aisle across from the young mother was roaring, “You’ve got to be kidding me! Now you’re going to flash us?”
I heard the mom’s feeble voice, “I’m feeding my baby...”
I peeked through the curtain again to see the baby happily nursing, the mother’s tank top slightly lifted to make room for his head. Her eyes were full of tears.
It was like someone lit a match under me. I stood up and whipped the curtain open. I leaned over my seat.
“HEY, YOU!” I heard myself say. “SHUT UP! She’s a mother trying to take care of her baby. News flash: they cry. They need to eat. Moms need to take them places. We can’t stay home twenty-four hours a day to save your precious little ears and eyes from our HARD work raising the next generation. If you can’t handle it, maybe you should be the one to stay home.”
The man’s face turned red and he fumbled the newspaper in his hand. “I’m just asking for common decency!”
I stood and walked right up to the man who was now almost trembling. I pointed in his face. Something inside me had snapped.
“Why don’t you have the DECENCY to let this mother tend to her baby in peace! She’s doing an excellent job and shouldn’t have to put up with jackholes like you!”
I gestured to the rest of the plane. “Do any of you know how hard it is to be a mom? You’re supposed to be perfect and invisible at the same time! This mom is just trying to do her best and you’re making her feel like crap! Moms can’t win!”
I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was the female flight attendant. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to take your seat.”
“I’ll sit down when I’m done!” I was on fire now. “Moms can’t win with any of you. If we work, we’re neglecting our children. If we stay home, we’re wasting our lives. If we don’t breastfeed, we’re failures. If we do, we need to do it in the dark, under a blanket, on a different planet so we don’t offend your fragile, weak sensitivities! Give a mother a freaking break!”
I felt a tap on my shoulder again. I turned around. “WHAT?” And was face to chest with what I had to assume was a human giant. He had to be seven feet tall. His voice was a deep baritone and he was cut, like, bodybuilder cut.
“Can I help you?” I said, indignantly.
“Yes, ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to take your seat.”
I flipped my hair. “And just who are you, exactly?”
He pulled a badge out of his jacket pocket. “I’m a flight marshal.”
My body ran warm. “Oh. In that case, okay.”
I started to make my way back to my seat, but turned around and faced the plane one more time. “And the next person that bothers this woman is going to have to deal with me!”
The flight marshal gave me a look.
“I’m sitting down, sir.”
I took my seat and inhaled sharply, trying to steady my nerves. I looked at the mother whose mouth was hanging open. Tears were now streaming down her face. To my surprise, they were falling from mine, too.
“Thank you,” she squeaked.
I was afraid that if I answered I’d start sobbing, so I mouthed, “You’re welcome,” before leaning back into my seat.
The rest of the flight was a quiet one. After we landed and people began collecting their things, I noticed that the older man sheepishly allowed the mom to collect her belongings without a hint of impatience. Our eyes met again before I exited the plane, and her beaming face said it all.
11 A.M.
There I stood, in the foyer of Emily Walker’s beautiful wine-country home (yes, wine-country home). I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Was this really happening? We were surrounded by row after row of gorgeous vineyards, heavy with the small purple grapes that made my evenings so delicious.
Was I really standing in one of Emily Walker’s mansions? I could barely take it all in. The white and gray tiled floor sparkled in the California sunlight that poured in through the long vertical windows. Ahead of me were two staircases that met halfway from the top to become one—it looked like the kind of staircase a princess walks down to enter a ball. One of Emily’s assistants, Anna, a short brunette with a classic bob and enormous glasses, had already had one of the many men and women I’d seen scurrying about in white sport jackets and black pants take my bags to my room. A room that I’d yet to see.