Mia walked straight past her seat and continued up the aisle.
The flight attendant called her back, but she pressed on until she found the row she was looking for, gave her boarding pass to the passenger, and told him he had been upgraded to first class. The man didn’t need to be told twice, and gave up his seat.
Mia opened the overhead luggage compartment, squeezed her purse between two cabin bags, and collapsed into her seat with a huge sigh.
Paul didn’t even look up from the magazine he was leafing through.
The flight attendant announced over the intercom that the doors were closing. Passengers were asked to fasten their seat belts and switch off all electronic devices.
Paul put his magazine in the seat-back pocket and closed his eyes.
“Can we talk or do you plan to sulk for eleven hours?” Mia asked.
“Right now, we keep our mouths shut and wait to die. A massive three-hundred-ton steel tube is about to attempt flight. And no matter what Bernoulli says, that is against the laws of nature. So, until we are up in the air, let’s just breathe, stay calm, and that’s it.”
“Right, then,” Mia replied.
“You wouldn’t happen to have any anesthetic, would you?”
“I thought we were strictly prohibited from conversing.”
“Valium?”
“Sorry.”
“A baseball bat? Any blunt object, really. If you’d be so kind as to knock me out cold, then not wake me until we’ve touched ground in Korea, that would be ideal.”
“Calm down. Everything will be fine.”
“So now you’re a pilot.”
“Give me your hand.”
“I’d rather not. It’s kind of clammy.”
Mia put her hand on Paul’s wrist.
“What did you make for the dinner I missed?”
“Hmph. I guess you’ll never know.”
“You’re not even going to ask why I’m here?”
“Nope. I will take some satisfaction from the fact that your ticket must have cost you the moon. Is that normal, that noise?”
“It’s the engines.”
“And so it’s normal they’re making so much noise?”
“If we intend to take off, then yes.”
“Okay. So are they making enough noise?”
“They’re making exactly as much noise as they’re supposed to.”
“What’s that constant boom-boom-boom I’m hearing?”
“That . . . would be your heart.”
The airplane soared into the air. Shortly after takeoff, it hit a patch of turbulence. Paul gritted his teeth. Sweat streamed down his forehead.
“Relax. There’s no reason to be afraid,” Mia soothed him.
“Fear doesn’t need a reason,” Paul replied.
He regretted not having tried the little gift that Cristoneli had offered him on the way to the airport: a homemade concoction that would, according to the editor, relieve him of all worries for several hours. Paul, who was such a hypochondriac that he was reluctant to take aspirin for headaches out of fear it would cause a brain hemorrhage, had decided not to give himself another reason to be anxious.
The plane reached cruising altitude and the cabin crew began moving through the aisles.
“Okay, now the flight attendants are up—that’s a good sign. If they’re moving around, everything must be fine, don’t you think?”
“Everything has been fine since takeoff and everything will be fine until we land. But Paul? If you keep gripping the armrest that tightly for the next eleven hours, we might have to use pliers to pry you free.”
Paul looked down at his white-knuckle grip and carefully relaxed his fingers.
A stewardess arrived with the drink cart. To Mia’s surprise, Paul asked only for a glass of water.
“I’ve heard that alcohol and high altitude don’t mix.”
Mia went for a double shot of gin.
“Maybe there’s an exception for the English,” Paul remarked, watching her down her glass.
Mia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Paul observed her in silence.
“I thought we had agreed not to talk,” she said, eyes still closed.
Paul began reading his magazine again. “I’ve been working quite a bit for the last couple of nights. My opera singer has been through some exciting adventures. Her ex resurfaced, for one thing. And naturally enough, she dove right back in. I have to figure out—does that count or does it not count?” he asked, casually turning the page. “Not that I need to know—none of my business. I just thought I’d ask. In any event, it seems that’s done now, so let’s talk about something else.”
“What in the world could’ve inspired that plot twist?”
“I’m a novelist.” He shrugged. “I dream stuff up. That’s what I do.”
Paul closed his magazine.
“But what bothers me is seeing her unhappy. I don’t know why, but that’s just the way it is.”
A steward interrupted their conversation with meal service. Paul declined his meal and announced that Mia wasn’t hungry. She was about to protest, but the attendant had already moved on to the next row.
“What the hell?” she exclaimed. “Why would you do that? I’m starving!”
“So am I. But those little meals are not intended for consumption, just distraction. You end up spending half the flight trying to guess what’s in them.”
Paul unbuckled his seat belt and stood up to remove his bag from the overhead compartment. As soon as he was back in his seat, he took out ten small airtight containers and placed them on Mia’s tray.
“And what might that be?” she asked.
“First she stands me up, now she gate-crashes my last meal.”
Mia took off the lids to find four smoked-salmon sandwiches, two slices of vegetable terrine, two small blocks of foie gras, two potato salads with black truffles, and, in the last two boxes, two coffee éclairs. She stared at Paul openmouthed.
“As I was packing my suitcase, I decided if I was going to die on this flight, I may as well die happy.”
“By eating enough for two, you mean?”
“Give me some credit. I wasn’t going to enjoy this feast all by my lonesome while the person next to me stared at their airplane food contemplating death by starvation. That would have ruined the whole thing for me.”
“You really do think of everything.”
“Only the essentials. Which still manages to take up most of my time.”
“Will your translator be waiting for you at the airport?”
“I sure hope so,” Paul replied. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason, just thinking . . . I suppose we could say I was sent by your publishers to accompany you on the trip.”
“Alternatively, we could say we’re just friends.”
“Your call.”
“And since we’re just friends, maybe you could explain how the hell you ended up on this plane instead of at your restaurant?”
“Mm, this foie gras is delicious. Where did you get it?”
“Please answer the question.”
“I had to get away.”
“From what?”
“Myself.”
“So he did come back.”
“Let’s just say that the opera singer dove back in, and quickly found herself in over her head.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here.”
“Really?”
“No. Not at all. I was just being polite.”
“I’m glad I’m here too. I’ve always dreamt of visiting Seoul.”
“Really?”