say quietly into her ear as we get in line. "I love you very much. Please don't put any undue pressure on yourself with this. Just do your best, and that's enough for me."
She kisses me right there in front of everyone. When she pulls away, I half expect the sleepy crowd to explode into uproarious applause, but everyone just remains with their heads buried in their phones.
”Text me when you get there," she says.
"You, too," I say, knowing that my flight will be there before hers, and she'll be in the air unable to receive my messages.
But that doesn't matter; what matters is the sentiment.
"Everything's going to be okay, right?" Jacqueline asks one last time.
I nod with as much confidence as I can muster.
"It's going to be fine," I say, scanning the ticket on my phone and not really believing my own words.
14
Jacqueline
After I say goodbye to him at the gate, I walk around the airport trying to get the mist out of my eyes.
I miss him already and don't want to spend an hour away from him, let alone a couple of days. I've never felt this way before. There's this great sense of loss, and I have no idea where it's coming from.
I feel like a fool. It's ridiculous, actually.
I'm going to see him in just a few days. Or even if it's a week, why would that matter?
There's even a possibility that he may fly up from Salt Lake City to Seattle and show me some of the sights.
But even if that doesn't work out, who cares? And yet, that feeling, that nagging need to just be in Dante's company persists.
Finally, it's my turn to board the plane, and as soon as I find my seat, I open my laptop and try to focus on something other than this all important interview that I have in front of me.
I have already gone over the answers to all the possible questions I might be asked a million times. Dante has quizzed me, trying for the best type of wording, and even made a recording on my phone that I could listen to on the flight if I forget what to say.
It's not about the details of the job. It's nothing like that. It's more about how I present myself, the words with which I tell the story. It's the entire performance, and that's what it's going to be.
When the flight attendant comes around to ask me what I would like to drink, she catches me by surprise.
I've never sat in first class before, but I follow along with the person next to me and request a hot tea with a lemon wedge. A few minutes later, she shows me how to pull out the little table on the side and places a porcelain cup along with a saucer, a teabag, and even a personal-sized bit of milk and sugar on the tray.
I feel like I'm the queen. Usually, flying on a plane involves sticking myself in the last row because the flight was booked late or too cheaply. The seats can’t even recline.
The last time I flew anywhere, I had a terrible backache for nearly two days that no amount of Advil would cure. But flying first class? Well, this is an entirely different experience.
Dante had bought the ticket last minute and told me not to worry about it. I guess Vasko’s people assumed that I'd be able to afford something like this, even if it weren’t first class.
But it's just one of those other situations that would prevent anyone else from getting this position, at least anyone who didn't have independent means or family to support them if necessary. I could just imagine borrowing the money from my mom, or even from Allison, and then not getting the job, paying for a coach ticket of at least $300, followed by a night at the hotel. Let's say it's even $150. You're in for at least half a grand before you even have a chance to make a case for this position. Sometimes I feel like the deck is completely stacked against regular working people.
The flight goes a lot smoother and faster than I think it will, though occasionally my thoughts return to Dante. Usually, I'm able to push them aside and instead focus on something else to distract my attention.
I grab my iPad and open a book that I was in the middle of reading. This is a family saga about a woman who has to