Prologue
Eva
This has to be some kind of torture device.
I squirm in the impossibly tight airplane seat, trying to ignore the growing ache in my back. I hope whoever designed these things has been prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law for their crime. Hour one of the flight was nice. Unfortunately, for my sore muscles, hours two, three, and four have grown exponentially pinchy.
“First time flying?”
My head snaps to the right, meeting the smiling face of the middle-aged man who stole my armrest at takeoff and has been hogging it ever since. He leans in, close enough that I can smell the gin from his last cocktail—number five—and smiles wider.
“Wow, you have the biggest eyes I’ve ever seen.”
“Thanks?” I answer-ask, failing miserably to lean away from the Christmas-tree-drinking-armrest-bandit.
“You don’t need to be scared. This is the safest way to travel,” his face softens as he leans even closer, mistaking my twitchy behavior for a fear of flying. “This is far safer than driving. You’re way more likely to die in a car than on a plane.”
Gin-breath does have a point. Perspective is key. I could be spending my Friday, dying in some blaze of glory instead of merely turning my life upside down. No need to explain to him that aside from the cramped coach space, flying isn’t my issue. It’s what happens after we land that has me sweating like a pig before a luau.
It doesn’t matter that what I’m leaving behind barely counts as a shell of a life. Or that last night I was filled with giddy hope. So much so, I even attempted to create a dance outside in public.
By public I mean dark deserted beach but whatever. Today, I’m ready to put that barf bag to good use.
“So, what’s bringing you to the great Huntingdon City?” Gin-breath asks with a lascivious smirk. “Business…or pleasure?”
Yikes.
I offer a very slight, very silent shrug, and turn my head back towards the window. Judging by the wedding band on his finger, draped casually over my armrest, I’m thinking that fifth cocktail was one too many. It’s probably best for me to mind my business and look at the clouds some more.
My fingers itch to reach into my purse and pull out the worn slip of paper clipped to an almost empty blue pen, but I try to resist. I promised myself I wouldn’t open it again until I’m actually standing in my new apartment. I’ve waited years to begin crossing things off The List. I can wait a couple more hours.
