So I’d RSVP’ed NO to almost every wedding that I’d ever been invited to. I’d be a hypocrite not to. Besides, in addition to perpetuating false dreams, weddings are lame, formulaic, and lastly, expensive, and I’d rather just travel for the sake of traveling.
But for Cassie, that beautiful, charming dictator...I would deal. Just this once.
I fell asleep again not long after, but my dreams were invaded by fascist brides who drove giant, sparkly-white wedding cake tanks, all shooting bouquets at me.
◆◆◆
Two months later, on the Friday night before the wedding, I boarded the plane and found my aisle seat, shoved my bag into the overhead compartment, and quickly got settled in. The plane was old, one of the ones that didn’t have any seatback screens or device holders, and the seat leather was well-worn, with little cracks and tufts of fluff here and there. A middle-aged woman with short auburn hair was resting in the window seat, eyes closed, already snoring lightly. The middle seat was empty, and as people filed in and continued to pass me by, my hopes increased that it would stay that way. I put my earphones in and smiled.
But soon, there was a slight commotion towards the front of the plane. Someone (probably a guy, based on the jeans and deep voice) was carrying a large black duffel bag in front of him, awkwardly brushing against everyone who was seated in an aisle seat. He muttered, “Sorry,” as he went, unable to see in front of him, until he reached my row and stopped. Damn.
I’d just put my bag up there, so I knew that there was no way in hell that his bag was going to fit. But he threw the bag into the remaining space anyway and began to push, rocking back and forth as he adjusted the suitcases around it and forced the bag in deep enough for the compartment to close. As he pushed, his hips repeatedly brushed against my shoulder. I leaned away from him, trying to keep his crotch out of my face, but he shifted his weight forward to be able to push the bag in deeper, and therefore pushed his crotch deeper into my field of view. I turned my face away, refusing to look. What a dick.
With one last big shove, the duffel slid into place, and he finally closed the compartment. Then he glanced down at me, and I scowled up at him.
“Hey, really sorry about that. I’m in E.” He pointed at the empty seat beside me, an apologetic smile on his face. My scowl deepened as I took in his appearance: chiseled, bearded jaw, nice tan, black side-swept hair, plain gray tee and dark jeans. Jeans that I was now all too familiar with. I continued scowling as I stood up and into the aisle, allowing him to slip by me and into the middle seat.
While he’d been thrusting his crotch into my face, I hadn’t been able to focus on much else. But as he passed me by, I caught a hint of his cologne: subtle and masculine, a little bit spicy...and very delicious. Even though he looked like a New York tech bro (so not my type!), I discreetly flared my nostrils and inhaled. Mmm.
He threw his hoodie onto the seat and his backpack under the seat in front of him, then awkwardly tried to situate himself. He was tall and leggy, probably around six feet, so his knees pushed up against the seat in front. I slipped back into my own seat and reached for my seatbelt, which he was now holding.
“That’s mine.” I took the buckle from him, fingers brushing his.
“Oh, sorry.” He felt around and beneath him until he found his own seat belt and clicked it into place. Finally settled in, he leaned back and let out a sigh. For a moment, he just sat there and looked about, tapping his fingers on the armrests, each tap-tap-tap vibrating up along my own arm, which was pressed against his. He was manspreading, using more than his share of both armrests, and he had fairly broad shoulders, so it wasn’t like he was just touching the armrests—his warm, meaty arms spilled over them. I could see that our window neighbor had her hands in her lap and was leaning further into the window than before, ceding extra territory to our male neighbor. Guess she wasn’t as asleep as I’d thought she was. Meanwhile, I didn’t plan on budging. I’d paid for my space, and I was going to use it.
Besides, my thin silk blouse was virtually nonexistent against the cold blasts of air coming from all sides of the plane, and my sweater was buried in my bag in the overhead compartment, which he’d just crammed his own oversized bag into. I did not want to deal with removing his bag, rummaging in my bag, and then throwing it all back in there and trying to close the compartment again. So while I was annoyed that he was encroaching on my space, I secretly welcomed the feeling of his arm against mine, and greedily absorbed as much warmth from him as I could.
Two quick cracks of his neck was all it took to skim his eyes over me, but his face revealed none of his thoughts. He just turned to look out the window, his fingers continuing their steady beat on the armrest. Finally, he reached under the seat in front of him and pulled out a book from his backpack, and began to read.
I closed my eyes and tried to ignore him, though I could still smell
