front galley. She was putting away the champagne she’d poured not too long ago and the glasses she’d recently collected from our trays. First class was an entirely new experience for me and probably one I’d never have again. But for this flight, I’d gobbled up every course that was offered and accepted all the refills of wine even if beer was more my thing.
The warm buzz in my body reminded me of the time Whitney and I had gotten drunk on the way to Cancun. It’d happened a bunch of years ago, a spring break trip during college, and it was Whitney’s first time flying. She was so anxious about the flight. I fed her beers at the airport and champagne once we boarded. Within an hour, she was asleep on my shoulder and didn’t wake until we landed. But that was the moment she fell in love with flying and had dreams of seeing the world. She talked about it endlessly, kept lists of all the places she wanted to go.
As she got older, those dreams didn’t make it out of her notebook.
My best friend didn’t know how to live.
She only knew how to work.
That was why, when her phone rang the morning of the marathon, the number for Mass General showing on the screen, I debated about what I should do. I just wanted my girl to have a little fun, and I’d planned a whole day of it. So, while I listened to that obnoxious ringtone jingling away in my palm, I wondered if I should send the call to voice mail and secretly delete the message. Or if I should run into the bathroom and tell her who was calling. The problem was, Whitney wasn’t like me; she had an impossibly difficult time saying no. She had the biggest heart in this whole world, and her patients meant everything to her. Therefore, I knew, if I gave her the choice, she would go into work.
But I couldn’t be a shit friend who took that decision away from her, who hacked into her phone and deleted messages. I had to give her the option.
So, I went into the bathroom and told her who was calling, and I followed that up with every reason why she shouldn’t answer. I was convincing as hell—I should have been a lawyer, not a teacher, as I knew how to negotiate with the best of them.
By the fourth ring, she’d made up her mind.
I remembered her answer so distinctly. The look that had crossed her face at the time, the suds of soap bubbling around her neck. The high, messy bun that she hadn’t wanted to get wet since I’d shown her the glorious invention of dry shampoo.
I sighed, shaking my head, thinking how that day felt like only yesterday. Yet, in many ways, it felt like a hundred years ago.
I glanced out the plane’s small window, the ground getting closer, the sky a hazy, dark orange, as the sun was just starting to set. I watched the clouds move higher above us, the runway closing in as the wheels eventually touched down. We were zooming across the pavement until the brakes slowed us, and we taxied to the gate. I reached under the seat in front of me and grabbed my bag, setting it on my lap. When it was time to stand, I slung the strap across my shoulder.
I smiled at the woman who had sat across from me. “Good flight,” I said, as we’d spoken a few times while we were in the air.
“Glad we’re finally here,” she answered.
“That makes two of us,” I heard from behind me, a hand patting my empty arm as I stood in the aisle.
The door opened, and I was one of the first to get out, slowly making my way across the short bridge before arriving at the gate. I’d never been to this airport, so I paid close attention to the overhead signs, making all the necessary stops before getting to baggage claim.
I’d forgotten how long it took when flying internationally.
I saw Whitney when I was halfway down the escalator. She was even tanner than normal, and her hair had gotten longer; she was wearing it in a braid that hung over her chest. She had on a BU T-shirt, cutoffs, and flip-flops. Of course, there was a pink Boston Red Sox cap on her head.
As soon as she spotted me, the biggest smile filled her face. One I hadn’t seen