Page 22

“Got back just in time.” Mick appears back at our row of seats, plopping down in his seat with much aplomb. He looks back and forth between me and his wife. “Did I miss something?” he asks.

“Not at all, dear,” Dorothy replies briskly. “The two of us were just getting to know each other a bit better, that’s all. Isn’t that right, Jill?” She gives me what I think is intended to be a comforting smile, but I’m too horrified to experience anything close to comfort.

I nod mutely. It’s the only response I can seem to manage.

“How nice. Now, Jill you shouldn’t worry if Dorothy got you to spill your deepest secrets,” Mick tells me. “She’s a therapist, after all. People are always telling her everything. I think it’s her eyes,” he adds. “Even our kids never could keep a secret from their mom because of those eyes. The important thing to remember is that Dorothy has embarrassing secrets too,” he goes on. “Why just the other day our internet went down for a couple of hours, and she was so convinced that someone was targeting our house for an invasion that she called the police.” He lets out a boisterous laugh that incidentally may have been used to cover up a toot. That or his seat is squeaky.

“Well, Mick, you know that’s how they get in without detection!” Dorothy protests. “They knock out your internet so the cameras don’t catch them! It was in the news.The news,” she repeats for emphasis.

“Turns out the router just came unplugged,” Mick tells me with a wink.

“You can’t be too careful,” Dorothy says primly. She’s still looking at me with evident concern, but she doesn’t address me directly about what was said, not with her husband right there.

“That’s right, my dear.” Mick reaches over me to squeeze his wife’s hand. “I love my little nervous Nelly.”

“Oh, Mick,” Dorothy makes a show of acting embarrassed by his display, but I can see the pleasure his words bring her.

Good grief. How did I get here? Sandwiched between a happily married couple bent on sharing snacks and sentiments of love with each other all while my other half is three rows up with a redhead who just laughedagain. I need to work my spinning magic and make this whole situation seem better than it is.

Only as Dorothy and Mick hold hands across me I can’t seem to find the part of my brain that is usually so quick to turn a negative into a positive. All I can think is that these two have been married twice as long as me and Max yet they still have romance in their marriage—so what are we doing wrong?

And why, oh why did I say all of those things to Dorothy? How awkward is it going to be at the retreat if we see each other? I’ll just have to make sure Max and I never sit anywhere near them. Hannah said there are over 70 couples coming, so it should be easy enough to avoid them.

Even if it’s hard, I’ll make it happen. Once I’m off this plane, I won’t be speaking to Dorothy or Mick again. That’s all there is to it.

The plane descends rapidly, and before I know it the wheels bump the tarmac and the sound of the wind rushing against the wings roars in my ears. We’ve landed.

As usual the emptying of the plane takes forever. I’m slightly cheered, though, when Max turns to look for me. But the cheer disappears quickly when he gives me a wave and a thumbs up. A thumbs up. What even is that? Is he hoping to use this time of waiting to play Heads Up, Seven Up? Perhaps he’s practicing his hitchhiking technique? Or trying to assuage some nerves he thinks I might have, the way a parent in the audience does for their nervous child on stage.

Whatever the case may be, I’m feeling extra grumpy as I watch his row filter out of the plane. This whole thing is all wrong. Me unloading our marriage’s pathetic state to my seatmate all whilemy husband chats away with another woman. This is not the couples’ retreat I had in mind.

“After you,” Mick says to me with a gallant sweep of his hand.

“Thank you,” I nod my gratitude then bumble my way out of the row since it’s impossible to get out of a row of airplane seats gracefully.

Max is waiting for me at the end of the jetbridge. “How was your flight?” he asks. I give him a thumbs up in response. My nonverbal sarcasm eludes him.

“Good. Mine too.”

“I’ll bet,” I mutter, despite my best intentions to let go of what’s bugging me. It’s not like I don’t know I’m being stupid, annoyed with my husband for talking to someone he was forced to sit next to for an almost three-hour flight. I’m aware that this is irrational.

This only makes my irritation worse, though because it reminds me all too well of when Max accused me of being irrational last night. I hate that now he’s right.

Iambeing irrational.

“What’d you say?” he asks as we set off down the airport terminal.

“Nothing,” I chirp, attempting to course correct. “Glad you had a good flight and got to have just such an engaging discussion with your seatmate.” Whoops. It appears that I overdid it in my attempt to course correct, and have now come full circle back to being on the wrong course.

“Oh, uh, yeah. The woman next to me sure was chatty,” Max says with a laugh. “She had a lot of questions about my job.”

“I’ll bet she did,” I mutter, unsure what I’m even getting at with the comment.

“Jill, is something wrong?” Max pulls to a stop and turns to look at me. I mirror his movement, facing him in return.

“Yes, as a matter-of-fact,” I hiss hotly, abandoning my attempts to play it cool in light of recent developments. Those developments being my complete inability to play it cool. “Here I am thinking we’re headed out for a nice couples’ vacation meanwhile you’re flirting it up with the first pretty woman you see.”

Max blinks at me in surprise, then he throws his head back and laughs. Laughs!