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‘A beverage, ma’am?’ Like a fish hook, the flight attendant’s whisper yanks me out of the meditative zone I’d just achieved, back into the chilly, dry atmosphere of the airplane.

‘Tomato juice, please.’ My nerves are fizzing like live wires, but I force what I believe to be a calm smile and close my book. Crime and Punishment . Ambitious, isn’t it? I have yet to read a word. As Mom always said, go big or go home. God love her, she had no patience for mediocrity of any kind.

‘Ice with that?’

‘Yes, please.’

As the flight attendant scoops a noisy volley of ice into a small clear plastic cup, I resettle my restless legs, angled towards the window to avoid my sleeping seatmate’s truly heroic case of manspreading.

‘Thanks,’ I tell the flight attendant, as she reaches over him with my can and the cup of ice. He twitches, then his eyes blink awake and he lowers his Bose headphones so they encircle his neck.

‘You don’t want some vodka in that?’ he says as he eyes my drink selection, stretching his muscled arms behind his head in a V shape and giving me an engaging half-grin. ‘Make it a Bloody Mary? My treat, since I was probably snoring or drooling.’

His accent is New Jersey all the way. I put his age around fifty.

Successful businessman. Gym-obsessed. Probably drives a Tesla.

Divorced? I glance down at his hand and sure enough, there’s a pale mark where a wedding band recently moved out.

I like to figure out people as quickly as I can.

I’m not always right, but I do have an instinct.

Which, right now, is screaming yes to the vodka.

‘Why not.’

I’m not a big drinker. But right now, I could use some help relaxing.

‘Get the nice lady some vodka,’ he says, straining into the pocket of his jeans, presumably for a credit card. ‘Get me some too while you’re at it.’

‘No card needed, sir,’ says the flight attendant smoothly. ‘We’ve gone contactless. We’ll charge it to your seat.’ She smiles at me. ‘I’ll be right back with your vodka.’

‘Thanks,’ I say.

‘Reading anything good?’ he says, already leaning in to read the back cover copy. ‘Dostoevsky!’ He leans back and gives me an exaggerated up-and-down. ‘She’s the whole package, ladies and gentlemen! The body and the brains.’

I’m not usually one to engage in anger fantasies.

It’s a waste of both time and emotional energy.

Still, something about this guy makes it really easy for me to envision pounding my fist into his crotch.

Instead, I tighten my grip on my plastic cup, stare at him, and take a long, savoury gulp of tomato juice. I shiver as it goes down.

‘OK, woman of mystery,’ he says appreciatively. The plane gives a sudden shudder, and since I have to divert all my attention to balancing my tomato juice, my violent little vision pops.

‘What a tin can,’ my seatmate murmurs, stretching his thighs out further to the side and grunting. ‘No space for a big guy like me.’

Emasculation, of course, might create more room…

Stop!

‘I never fly coach,’ he continues, ‘but their first class section filled up. What the fuck, you know? I’m Kyle, by the way.’

I force a smile but don’t try to make it reach my eyes, as the flight attendant returns with four tiny plastic bottles of vodka and hands us two each. I pour the first into my V8 and swish the ice around to mix it. Is it technically day drinking if the sun isn’t up yet?

‘Cheers,’ Kyle says, knocking the tiny bottle in his massive hand against my cup. I sip; he downs his straight away. ‘You travelling for business or for pleasure?’

‘Business.’

‘Pleasure,’ says Kyle, twisting the cap off bottle number two. ‘Well, more like a reset. After the divorce.’ He waggles his fingers in the air. ‘You married?’

‘No.’

‘Cheers to that.’ He clinks my cup again.

‘Not worth it.’ He downs his second bottle in a few swift gulps, then calls, ‘Miss? Miss?’ towards the flight attendant, jiggling his two empty bottles before resuming his chat with me.

‘I’m the CEO of a really, really successful company, and that comes with sacrifices.

She didn’t get it. She wanted the goods, you know– the luxury bags, the chef’s kitchen, all that shit– but she didn’t want to pay the piper.

She said I was addicted to my phone, and I’m like, I’m running a company here, sweetheart.

You want your five-hundred-dollar extensions, your spa days, your personal trainer, your Swedish au pair– Daddy’s gotta run his business, you know?

She didn’t fucking get it, if you’ll pardon my French…

’ For a moment, his eyes stray to his screen, where a car has burst into flames.

He laughs and nudges my arm– ugh– but I’m wedged between him and the window and there’s no escape route.

‘Fuck, look, I love this scene, it’s a classic. ’

Some gangster type is standing on the flaming, overturned car, shooting into a line of police officers.

Uniformed bodies dance and twitch in the air as the cops burst back like human confetti before falling.

I look away. I can’t abide violence on screen.

After you experience the real thing, the true significance of those final moments of someone’s life, you lose your taste for the fantasy.

‘So you’re not married,’ Kyle says, turning his attention back to me.

‘Any interest in grabbing drinks when we land? Don’t tell me you have a boyfriend.

’ He laughs, holding up both palms. ‘Literally, don’t tell me, because I don’t care.

Beautiful woman flying alone? His loss, my gain.

We can talk Dostoevsky, maybe you can class me up a little.

’ He shifts in his seat, leaning closer so his breath tickles my skin.

‘You’re a very attractive woman– I hope you don’t mind my candour. What’s your name, by the way?’

The flight attendant hands him two more bottles of vodka and takes his empties. Her eyes skim over both of us and briefly catch mine. I watch her hesitate, then I nod ever so slightly. It’s OK. I got this.

‘Cat got your tongue?’ says Kyle. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Lily,’ I say.

‘So, what do you say, Lily? Airport mimosa when we land?’

‘I’m going to have to pass.’

‘And I’m going to have to insist. C’mon. Mimosas as the sun rises. If you’re good, I’ll toss in some breakfast too. Can’t beat that.’

‘Let’s not, and say we did.’ This time my forced smile is truly more of a grimace, but I’m not sure Kyle is the kind to tell the difference.

‘OK, OK,’ he says, nodding, leaning back a little, his eyes appraising me. ‘Playing hard to get, I’ve seen it before.’ He’s still smiling, but I can feel the tension. He’s not used to being turned down.

‘I’m just not looking for a relationship right now. I hope you don’t mind my candour,’ I say.

‘This isn’t a marriage proposal.’ His voice is louder, overly jocular. ‘Just drinks.’

I can see a vein pulsing in his neck, and you know, Kyle, at this point, there are a few veins pulsing in my body, too– and it’s not the ones you might hope for.

I’m generally coolheaded. I grew up in a trailer park with a mom whose nickname was the Slut of Calumet Heights– no mediocre insults for our family– so I had to learn early on how to manage my emotions. That didn’t mean I never let my fists fly. But I chose when to do it. Not my feelings.

‘It’s not personal,’ I say with a shrug. ‘I’m just not that into it, Kyle.’

His neck flushes. ‘Into what? Drinks?’ His laugh is short, aggressive.

‘Because you had no problem guzzling the one I just bought you.’ Then he mutters, ‘What a bitch,’ so quietly, I could almost imagine it didn’t happen.

He pushes his headphones over his ears and leans back in his seat, his thighs pressing out even wider.

Not ideal, Kyle. Not ideal.

I discreetly send a wish into the universe that his ex-wife is finding her absolute happiness. That she’s having multiple orgasms at this very moment, why not.

Then I gently nudge Kyle’s arm. He lowers his headphones and gives me a stony look.

‘Sorry– random question– you don’t happen to be headed to the Riovan, do you?’ My voice is perfectly light, perfectly friendly.

‘As a matter of fact, yes,’ he says gruffly.

I figured. The main reason to come to Saint Lisieux is the Riovan, the sprawling, luxurious and exclusive resort where I also happen to be going.

I imagine most people on this plane are headed there, too, if not to one of the neighbouring islands connected by ferry.

Still, it’s a good feeling to stick a pin in Kyle and attach him to my mental map.

And I know just where I’d stick that pin, too.

An image enters my brain of a mini, butterfly-sized Kyle pinned in a display frame. The label underneath: homo sapiens assholiens .

‘Why?’ Kyle adds, with an uneasy edge like he can see what’s in my brain.

‘I just wondered,’ I say with a sweet smile. If he has any sort of survivor instinct, it should be blaring an alarm right about now. Lucky for me, he doesn’t. ‘But please– don’t let me interrupt your movie.’

He casts one more glance at me as he slides his headphones back on, and soon he’s chuckling at a car chase scene. Already moving on.

It’s always the jerks who move on first. Have you noticed that? You may think I’m bitter, but this is strictly an observation.

As I see how easily Kyle moves between calling me a bitch and laughing at his gratuitously violent movie, something in me clicks.

It’s a sensation as physical as my ears popping as I flip from one Lily to another.

From Cincinnati Lily– the ‘30 under 30’ businesswoman who’s ‘revitalizing the city’; the fun friend who’s always up for karaoke; the ‘happily single’ girl who’s a great shoulder for everyone else to cry on– to the other Lily, the one I become for four weeks every summer.

I don’t think it’s strange to have multiple parts to myself; most people do. They’re both me.

I down the remainder of my drink in one final swallow, relishing the spice and the burn in my mouth. The restlessness is gone. The booze helped.

The flight attendant is back, collecting trash.

‘Everything all right?’ she whispers as she holds out the white bag, with a glance at me that says she heard more between Kyle and me than she’s letting on, and I appreciate her concern. Really. More of us should be looking out for one another. But she needn’t be concerned for me.

I know how to take care of myself.

‘Just dandy,’ I say, as I toss the cup and can into her bag.