Future flights
I’m a flight attendant. My husband, Mark, is
successful, but he doesn’t love me. Every
month, he’d be on one of my flights, always
with a different glamorous woman. It cut me
like a knife, but I played my part, plastered a
smile on my face, and pretended everything
was okay. The last time, as the plane was
landing, I leaned in and whispered, “Mark, I
agree to the divorce. I’m off tomorrow. Let’s
do it.”
The plane cruised smoothly at 30,000 feet. I
was in the galley checking meal carts when
the senior purser approached. “Sarah,” she
said, scanning the inventory sheet, “You’re
ready for first class. Why not apply for the
promotion?” I straightened up. “I don’t think
I’m quite there yet. I still need more
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experience.” “Humility is a virtue, but too
much can hold you back. Anyway, let’s get
these meals heated.” She handed back the
sheet and returned to first class. My gaze
followed her, landing on the passenger in seat
1A. No one knew that the prestigious black
card holder in 1A was my husband. And the
stunning woman beside him? Another new
face. I couldn’t bring myself to go up there, to
squat down with a fake smile and offer
perfect service to my husband and his latest
fling. Even though we’d been married for a
year, our marriage was a sham.
Mark and I were set up by our grandfathers,
who were old war buddies. On our wedding
night, he’d half–undressed, then walked out
onto the balcony to smoke. Midway through
his cigarette, he turned. “I have plenty of
places to stay,” he’d said. “I won’t always be
here. You do your thing.” He meant it. He
came to our marital home maybe once a
month. Then the tabloids started running
stories about him and other women. Before I
could even call him, he called me. “If you
want a divorce,” he said, “I’m ready whenever
you are.” His words choked me. “I
understand,” was all I managed. A while later,
he came home. “Not divorced yet?” he asked,
and it hit me he was desperate to end it. I
–
feigned sleep and ignored him. My pillow was
wet that night. No one knew I’d been in love
with him for years, since a chance encounter
seven years ago. He, of course, didn’t
remember.
“Here’s your chicken, sir. Enjoy.” I pushed the
meal cart past business class. Mark was
working on his laptop. The woman beside
him, draped in a vibrant silk scarf, gazed out
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the window at the clouds. The senior purser
knelt beside them. “Sir, would you like to
change into slippers? I can help you.” “I’m
good, thanks,” Mark declined. “Ma’am, may I
help you with your shoes?” The woman
turned. “Thank you.” As Mark looked up, our
eyes met. I quickly averted my gaze and
hurried away with the cart. Two hours later,
we landed. “Goodbye, have a safe journey,” I
repeated mechanically as passengers
disembarked. The woman looped her arm
through Mark’s. The wind caught her flowing,
auburn hair.
“Still staring? They’re gone,” a colleague
nudged me. I turned, realizing everyone else
was grabbing their bags, ready to leave.
“Sorry,” I mumbled to the senior purser. “Like
him, do you?” she asked gently. I shook my
head. “No.” She patted my shoulder. “Don’t
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pass up the next promotion opportunity,” she
advised, with a knowing smile.
Mark came home that night. I hadn’t expected
him. I was on the couch with damp hair,
staring blankly at the TV. He walked in, tall
and imposing, and the room suddenly felt
smaller. I’d wanted to ask him something, but
the image from the plane flashed in my mind,
and the words died in my throat. He sat on
the other end of the couch and took a call. I
opened a bag of chips and ate mechanically.
“Nine a.m. meeting tomorrow,” he said,
hanging up and looking at me. I met his gaze.
“Nothing you want to ask?” I shook my head. I
put the chips down and went to the
bathroom. My reflection was pale and quiet.
When I came out, he was on the balcony. A
few seconds later, the light from his phone
disappeared. He turned, a fleeting smile
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touching his lips before vanishing. I stood
frozen, speechless. His happiness had nothing
to do with me.
He slept in the guest room. I left early for
work. He was already up. In the elevator, we
stood on opposite sides, the silence heavy.
On the ground floor, I stepped out, and he
continued down to the garage. The weather
was terrible that day. We hit severe
turbulence; the plane lurched and dropped
repeatedly. When we finally landed,
passengers were crying and hugging each
other. The flight made headlines. In the
bustling airport, I checked my phone. Not al
single message. My fear, my relief, meant
nothing to him.
