I glanced back and saw his mother trying to buy his silence with a pack of gummy bears.
The passengers around him looked like they were trying to will themselves onto another plane. I smiled. Note to self: If I ever fly with Aubrey when she’s a toddler, bring a charged iPad, I thought before turning around.
Aubrey. I couldn’t wait to see her face. Two months ago I was bored to tears every single day, but now, all I wanted to do was spend a long afternoon on the floor playing blocks.
I looked out the window at the clouds. Everything just felt better somehow, and nothing had really changed. Well, except my phone was dead. I wondered if anyone tried to get in touch with me since the show aired.
I fished my laptop out from under the seat in front of me and fired up my email. Forty-three new messages! Most of them were old coworkers and friends saying they saw me on TV.
There was one from Nina. She’d sent it last night.
To: Ashley Keller
From: Nina Pikkering
Subject: Re: The truth about me
Ashley, we know. We’ve known for some time now. It’s not every day someone thinks “nipple confusion” means a baby can’t decide which breast to feed from first. We love you. Can’t wait to see you at the next meeting.
PS. You can stop feeding Aubrey in the bathroom now. We don’t care. Why should you?
For the second time that day, I was crying. Thank you was all I could write. There was so much to say. I’d say it the next time I saw them.
I saw an email from Joy and clicked on it.
We all watched you on TV together! Congratulations! You were beautiful. You looked a little tired and puffy though—what did I say about making sure you got enough sleep the night before? Check Instagram when you get a minute. When did you get a tattoo?
No. No. No. No.
I’d deal with that later, too. I closed my laptop and placed it in my bag under the seat.
My hand hit a paper bag. It was the pink lunch bag that Lorenzo had packed. I was starting to get a little hungry.
I put my tray down and set the gorgeous pink-and-white checked bag in front of me.
Inside a mesh cooler was a plastic container. Through the lid I could see a delicious-looking artisanal sandwich and some kind of potato salad, separated by dividers. Yum!
I opened the plastic and BAM: the scent hit me like a punch to the face. A wave of nausea rolled through my insides and quickly rose in me like a snake. I closed the container and jumped over the empty seat next to me before sprinting down the aisle.
Once inside the bathroom, my entire guts spilled out into the toilet. I didn’t even have time to lock the door. I held it closed with the back of my foot.
I took a deep breath. Maybe I was more hungover than I thought. I tried to make sense of this. I’d been feeling okay a minute ago.
Another wave came and I heaved into the toilet.
After a few moments I flushed, pulled myself up to the sink and washed my hands and face. I looked into the mirror. My eyes were bloodshot and my face ashen, but I felt better.
I opened the door.
A flight attendant was standing in the small hallway of the plane. He looked at me, concerned.
“Ma’am, are you okay?”
I tried to not look like I’d just left all of my internal organs in the flying porta-potty.
“Yes,” I said, steadying myself against some turbulence with the wall. “Just a bit sick from a long night.”
He smiled knowingly.
“That’s not it,” said the elderly woman in a green pleated skirt and matching argyle sweater seated in A1.
“Excuse me?” I replied, confused.
The woman looked up from a ball of peach-colored yarn and two quickly moving knitting needles. She wasn’t a day under eighty-five. She stared at my face as if she were studying every cell.
“I said, that’s not it. You’re pregnant.” She pointed a needle at my abdomen.
The flight attendant laughed.
“What? I’m sorry, ma’am, but...” My voice trailed off.
My period. It was late.
My eyes widened in abject terror and I looked down at the woman. She smiled, as if taking delight in my realization.
“I’m pregnant.”