1
Jolene
“I hate everything about today!” My words are said loudly as I push through the crowded lobby of San Francisco International Airport.
My carry-on suitcase is getting caught on the heels of people standing in a mob, staring at the television screens above with the word Canceled on all the departures.
As a flight attendant for Escape Airlines, I’m used to delays. But I was looking forward to going to Paris. Instead, I’m stuck … here.
It’s a foggy night in the City by the Bay—and not the sexy Twilight-themed kind where Edward Cullen is going to appear. No, this is the kind of thick, dense fog that grounds flights—and people—from taking off.
To top it off, my middle ear is clogged from the cabin air pressure and still hasn’t popped. I voraciously rub it and roll my jaw, but nothing happens.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I take it out to see a text.
Don’t be mad, Jolene. You know it was just sex.
Oh, and did I mention that during the turbulent landing we just endured, I found out the guy I’ve been dating is sleeping with my coworker?
I scrunch my nose at the nerve of Paul. I thought he was dapper and funny, a stand-up guy who actually liked me. Turns out, he’s just another playboy pilot looking for a ticket to the Mile-High Club.
He’s lucky I didn’t kick him in the joystick when I found out.
“Taxi!” I hear someone yell as I step outside the terminal.
Clearly, she’s not from here. Any local knows you have to stand at the taxi line to get a ride, and from the looks of said line, she’s not getting out of here anytime soon.
With my phone still in my hand, I thumb over to the Uber app. Just my luck, only ride shares are available, and they want seventy-five bucks to get to the city because the airport is actually nowhere near San Francisco. Add in traffic with the twenty-mile drive, and it can easily take an hour.
My phone buzzes again.
Meet me at the hotel lobby bar. We need to talk.
I laugh out loud at Paul’s text. If he thinks I’m staying in the airport hotel, he’s crazy. Even though the airline did book me my own room, I refuse to stay in the same building as that creep.
I have more respect for myself than to be near a man who thinks taking me on a date one night and then shagging another flight attendant the next is acceptable. I’m so glad I didn’t have sex with him, or I’d really have hurt him south of the horizon.
Looking back at the Uber app, I consider my options.
Seventy-five dollars is a bit out of my price range, but it’s a shitty night, and if I’m going to be stuck here, I might as well call up Monica, my childhood best friend who lives in the city. I send her a text, and she responds immediately.
Of course you’re welcome! Just don’t mind the living room covered in train tracks.
Her reply is the most welcoming thing about this night. Looks like I’m headed to the city.
I hit Confirm on the app and walk back inside where it’s not so cold. Sometimes, I forget how frigid San Francisco can be. I wrap my coat around my body and fight off the chill that has just crept up my stocking-clad legs. I’m actually a fan of the uniform for my job—black pencil skirt, black jacket, white blouse, and a necktie. I hear other women complain about having to wear pantyhose, but it reminds me of when air travel was a luxury, not just a convenience.
Around me, people are arguing with agents at the ticket counters, and others are making a campsite for themselves on the floor, knowing it’s gonna be a long night.
This is the one aspect of air travel that I hate. As a flight attendant, I’m lucky that the airlines put me up in a hotel. I hate seeing elderly people sitting in their wheelchairs for hours on end and children lying on the floor, crying into their mother’s arms that they just want to go home.
There’s a family standing nearby. The mother is trying to console her daughter, who looks to be about four years old. From her puffy eyes and reddened cheeks, I can tell she needs a bed to sleep in. Who knows where they flew in from and what time zone they’re used to.
The couple’s older children are on the floor on their iPads. Lord knows they’ll be uncomfortable from sitting on the hard surface in no time.
I walk up to the father, who is on the phone, trying to get a hotel room, and I tap him on the shoulder. He turns to me with a confused frown.
“All of the airport hotels are booked solid,” I say to him and take out my phone to find the conformation the airline sent me, showing him my screen. “I have a room I’m not using. You should take your family there.”
His brows furrow deep as he stares at me, a complete stranger, wondering about the catch. The wife, with her crying child in her arms, walks up next to him.
“I’m a flight attendant, and the airline put me up in one of the adjacent hotels,” I explain, even opening up my coat so they can see my uniform and badge.
The man shakes his head. “We could never take your room—”
“I have a friend in the city I plan on staying with. It’s really late, and your children need a bed. You should take this one. Please.” I look to the wife and smile, letting her know I’m one hundred percent genuine in my gift.
They take in my uniform under my coat and the pinned-up hair, which is pretty standard for workers on this particular airline.
The father seems desperate, although weary, but hangs up the phone and nods his head. “That is very kind of you. How much do you want for it?” he asks.
I hold a hand up in refusal. “Nothing. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Thank you.”
He takes the hotel confirmation number from me and gathers his family. I take his name and call up the hotel, adding him as a guest to the room so he can get a key. I use my mobile app to check in for them.
“Bless you,” the wife says, and I’m taken aback by her hug, complete with her toddler still in her arms.
I haven’t been hugged or blessed in a long time. If she only knew how rotten my little heart has been in the past, she’d know just how much my soul needs that blessing.
As the family walks out the revolving doors, I glance at my phone again and see the Uber’s nearby. I send a quick text to Monica and let her know I’m on my way.
She texts back.
Good luck with traffic and getting out of that place!
I keep my phone in my hand and walk outside, staying under the awning as I search for Jim, the driver who’s supposed to pick me up in a white Toyota Camry.
I can’t see past a few feet in front of me, so I wait until the icon says my ride is here before making my way to the curb. Cars are honking; the congestion around the passenger pickup is a nightmare. I rush over to the car where he has the trunk already open. I put my carry-on in, slamming it shut before opening the door and sliding into the car.
“You’re Jolene?” the driver asks.
“That’s me,” I respond, getting situated in my seat.
A police officer knocks on the window, telling us we have to move, but Jim explains he’s waiting for one more fare.
As the officer is saying he can’t wait any longer, the backseat door opens, and the figure of a man wearing dark jeans, black boots, and a leather jacket appears. He barrels into the car, his large frame taking a seat next to me as he slams the door behind him.