Before we take off, the young woman in the window seat is on her phone. “Did you get my text?” She pauses. “Did you get my text?” She pauses. “No, I didn’t get your reply.” She pauses. “I feel so awkward right now.”
A half-hour into the flight, she turns to me. “Where are you from?”
I tell her.
“Where you live with...?”
I tell her no one.
“Are you divorced?”
I tell you yes.
Later, she says, “I’m worried. May I ask your advice? My bag is in the overhead bin back there.” She gestures back several rows. “When the plane lands, how should I get my bag? Should I wait for everyone to get off the plane? Or should I fight my way past people to go back and get it? Or should I ask people to pass it up to me?”
I tell her that she seems to have formulated three good options.
She says, “This morning, my mother told me that my grandfather was very sick.”
I say I am sorry to hear that.
“Don’t be sorry. My mom was upset. I don’t know how to talk with someone who is upset.”
I suggest that everyone struggles with that.
“Really? You just made me feel better.”