I keep talking to Sophie through the entire takeoff process, and when I’m pretty sure she’s become comfortable in the air, I pull out her coloring book and help her set it up to color on the tray.
“So how old are you, anyways?” I say, joining in on her urging to color the grass green on her farm picture.
“I’m seven,” she says, reaching into the box to pull out a purple, which she uses on the sky. I don’t know why, but her gesture makes me smile.
“That’s pretty,” I say. She stops and looks up at me, smiling back.
“Thanks. That’s what color the sky is back home,” she says. I sit back to think about it, and she’s sort of right. When the sun is setting, and there are clouds in the sky, everything is rather purple. It was always purple in Louisville, and for that small moment, I miss home—my real home. I smirk and lean forward to keep coloring, but as I do, the ring falls from my pocket and drops to the floor. I pick it up quickly, and I’m instantly sad that I almost lost it.
“Oooooooh, that’s pretty,” Sophie says, leaning over the armrest, her elbow propped on my knee. I chuckle to myself at how far Sophie’s come from the closed-off, terrified girl that I met less than 30 minutes ago. God, what I wouldn’t give to have half the personal growth she’s shown.
“Thanks,” I say, holding the ring between two fingers for her to take. She looks at me with wide eyes, afraid at first, but her fear wears away quickly, and soon she’s pushing the ring down her tiny finger. It’s big enough for three of her fingers, but she finds the right one and slides it down and holds it up to her face.
“So, who are you married to?” she asks, halting me. That word—married—feels so meaningless. I don’t even know how to answer her. I don’t even know how to answer my own questions.
“I’m not married to anyone, yet,” I say, probably being more honest than I need to be with a second-grader. I’m struck at the irony of the fact that somehow, during this hour-plus flight, a seven-year-old has climbed my social ladder and become my best friend.
“Well, it’s a pretty ring. You should marry the guy that gave it to you. He must want to marry you really badly. It looks expensive!” She’s half whispering now, like we’re little old ladies sharing gossip.
“Okay, well that’s a good point. I’ll be sure to take that into consideration,” I smile, taking the ring from her and putting it back into my pocket.
“How come you don’t wear it?” she asks. Kids—no filter. It’s normally adorable, but right now it feels a bit like therapy.
“Well, I’m sort of still deciding, and it doesn’t feel right to wear it if I’m not sure I want to say yes,” I say. God, what is it about this kid? She has me admitting things out loud that I still haven’t allowed myself to say in my head.
“Right,” she nods. “Well, think real hard. That’s a nice ring, and the next one might not be so nice,” she says. I bite my lip to keep myself from laughing. Funny how spot on she is. Trevor’s ring is clearly the nicest thing I’ll ever own—it’s Harry Winston, and it’s at least two karats. I’m pretty sure it out-prices my Honda when it was new.
What’s funnier is the thought of a next one. I’ve sort of banked on my life going one way, down the aisle with Trevor. I’ve never really imagined anyone else standing there waiting for me in a tux.
The attendant slides the drink cart through, and I take a bottle of water. Sophie is busy coloring, so I take advantage of the little time left on the flight and shut my eyes, leaning back in my seat. It takes only seconds for my imagination to betray Trevor and show me a future with Cody. But as hard as I try, it’s never right—the image never quite clear.
He just doesn’t fit the tux, and I can’t seem to put more than two people on his side of the church—Gabe and Jessie. My side is overflowing with people, until I realize that most of those are acquaintances and professional contacts I’ve made with Trevor. I erase them from my mental seating chart, and I realize the only people left are my crazy aunt and Cody’s childhood friends from the wrong side of the tracks. I choke on the water I’m sipping and open my eyes at the absurd thought.
Minutes later, the captain announces our landing, and I help Sophie pack up her belongings. The attendant comes to help her off the plane first, and Sophie surprises me by reaching around and giving me a hug. I kneel down and hand her my uneaten bag of peanuts.
“Here, I saved mine for you. You earned them by doing such a good job,” I say. She grabs them and clasps them in her hand while she walks toward the gate.