I hope this plane goes down during turbulence.

A dramatic and inappropriate thought, sure, but almost being clocked in the head by someone's luggage is not setting the hopes high for this flight.

The owner of said luggage is middle-aged, I assume some type of lawyer based on his appearance and obviously mentally checked out, swinging the weight upward absentmindedly. His monstrosity of a suitcase doesn't even make contact with the overhead bin the first time, hence my very narrow escape from brain damage. It lands on the second try as the line of disgruntled passengers grows behind us.

Checking my boarding pass oh-so-unsubtly confirms that he is in fact my seat buddy. Lucky me. As if everything proceeding the actual forcing of myself onto the plane wasn't enough.

I was part of the second to last boarding group, so I know for a fact that the surrounding bins are full. But of course Mr. Man of the Year didn't take other people into account, so I struggle personally shifting his bag around in order to make space for my own, ignoring the impatient groans of the people still waiting behind me. As if they didn't see who the real perpetrator of the holdup was.

I finally move out of the aisle after a mortifying few seconds, plopping into my assigned seat in slight relief. Made it.

My phone screen lights up with a text notification but my eyes catch on the time. 4:47. I only booked an early flight so I could trick myself into napping through it, but the adrenaline of the last few minutes coupled with anxiety over my impending trip has squashed that plan. The reality slams into me almost as hard as bestie's suitcase would have if my reflexes sucked.

I am going home. Home. The place I so desperately ran from just a few months ago and promised never to return to unless someone died. But my actual best friend, Rachel, is getting married this weekend and that's something a girl can't miss. Apparently. Trust me, I tried.

I expect the text to be from Rachel, but the screen reads Thomas.

Before you bail or concoct a grand scheme to get kicked off the plane, hear me out.

How is he even up this early? It's not even the ass crack of dawn... But I find myself smirking at how well he knows my antics as I type out a response.

Awww darn, already being escorted out by security, how unfortunate.

I'm serious Delilah, listen.

Thomas is my other best friend and has been playing good cop despite all of my bad cop attempts to get out of this trip. I sigh internally at what I already know will be a solid argument from him. The typing bubble appears and disappears a few times before my phone vibrates with his next text.

No matter how bad you think this is going to be, you have me. And even if it is bad, we can toilet paper their houses and you earn the coveted rights of telling me I was wrong.

I snort at this, earning a heated glare from my seat buddy. I awkwardly angle myself away so he's out of my periphery.

Don't threaten me with a good time, Thomas, you know I love when I'm proven superior over the lowly peasants.

Tone down the ego Your Highness, but it's a true win-win situation so you better rethink screaming a bomb threat midair.

A wasted opportunity but you make an offer I cannot refuse.

Okay Don Corleone, stop texting so the plane doesn't shortcircuit.

Wait, that's an option??

Don't be an idiot. Be safe, I'll see you when you land.

I set my phone in my lap with a smile. I take a deep breath, inhaling in a way I hope will bring me zen but only results in an over-exaggerated cough from my arch nemesis, who has now spread himself out so much in his seat that I feel borderline claustrophobic. I don't care, I tell myself, and focus on my breathing as boarding finally ends and we're moving on the tarmac. It's only a three hour flight and then the real fun begins.

It can't be too bad, right? Maybe home isn't as awful as I'm remembering it.

My best friend is getting married and I couldn't be happier for her. Nothing can go wrong, it's going to be great...

At least, that's the lie I tell myself just as suitcase guy pukes during takeoff.

***

I ended up not sleeping on the plane, mostly because the aisle reeked of vomit. Seat Buddy– as I've chosen to deem him– hadn't even bothered to clean his own mess, let alone apologize to anyone for it. He stumbled over me, kicking my shins in the process of running to the bathroom and holed up in there for the majority of the flight. In a way, I felt smug and relished his bad karma for being such an inconsiderate douche. But it's hard to feel like a winner when that nasty of a stench assaults your senses. The flight attendants didn't offer me a seat change either.

Despite my shamelessly inappropriate wishes, we did not go down even when the forecasted rainstorm over Oregon caused some particularly gnarly turbulence, and by the time we land in California, I'm buzzing with anxiety. I risk a quick gaze out the window to my right– Seat Buddy only unglued himself from the toilet because of landing protocol– earning yet another steely glare. What is this guy's problem?

I feel the tiniest drop of sympathy for him as I do a quick once over. His suit is now rumpled, forehead shiny with sweat. He even looks a little green. Poor bastard. But whatever problem he has with me is clearly misogynistic. I might be small and overly ambitious but I have no qualms with decking the dude.

In an attempt to distract myself as the front of the plane unboards, I take my phone out of airplane mode and check messages. There's nothing aside from a text from my mom asking me to call her. I absentmindedly refresh, then click on my message thread with Rachel even though I know it's pointless. She never responded to the text I sent last night about my excitement over the wedding. I'm used to her being so busy recently but she usually finds time to respond. I swallow the disappointment down as the passengers a few rows ahead begin wrestling their suitcases from the overhead bins. I'll text her again later, I don't want to look needy and she's probably preoccupied with bride jitters anyway.

I proceed to send variations of the same 'hi, I'm back in town, let's meet up' text to a handful of my old California friends. I'm in the middle of typing guess who's back, I'm back again to Rebecca's fiancé Peter (also my friend) when the screen lights up with a call.

The ringtone causes my mortal enemy to grumble his annoyance from the window seat even though it can barely be heard over all the noise and movement around us. Seeing as things can't get any more unpleasant in the ten-ish minutes left of unboarding and I feel like a petty bitch without my daily IV of caffeine, I answer.

"Sweetie? Are you there?" My mother's voice cuts in and out and I cringe at the terrible cell service.

"Hi, you're breaking up but I just landed," I say, moving to stand now that the aisle is almost clear.

Seat Buddy grunts impatiently as he also stands, invading my personal space. The grin I plaster on is probably more of a snarl but I frankly don't care anymore.

"I can't hear you, did you land safely?" She's shouting into the phone in the way most baby boomers do, like their volume will magically help cell service.

I wince as I attempt to hold the phone between my ear and shoulder while simultaneously pulling my carryon from where it's wedged. This is definitely not my smartest idea.

"Yes mom, I landed," I sigh, finally freeing my stupid luggage and hurriedly making my way up the aisle.

She hesitates and my chest constricts. I need off of this plane. Or to get on another one back where I came from.

"Oh...good," She finally says. The obvious tinge of sadness in her voice transports me back to being a kid again and my chest definitely hurts. Am I having a heart attack?

I smile in quick thanks to the flight attendants and step out into the tunnel. Ah, solid ground.

"Well," Mom continues. "I just wanted to ask if you'll have time to visit at some point before your friend's wedding."

I step to the side of the boarding tunnel and pause, pinching the bridge of my nose. Her request alone is bringing a migraine on. Also, my adventure with the vomit lawyer finally reaches its thrilling finale as he speed-walks past while spitting some expletives my way. I scoff and flip him off. The gesture's been a long time coming, good riddance.

"Delilah, honey?"

Oh, right.

"Sorry mom, I can't before, but I'll try to drop by the day after. But I just got off the plane and need to find my ride, can I call you later?"

"Of course, we love and miss you," she concedes.

I'm pretty sure my chest is caving in on itself and suffocating me with her obvious discouragement.

"I love you too, bye," I end the call and shove the phone into my coat pocket like it's on fire.

I know I sound impossible, but ever since I moved away earlier in the year, it's gotten harder to talk to either of my parents, especially my mom. Of course I want to see them, that's not my issue. Not really. But it can not be this week; not in that awful town. Not when my brain is literally stress-eating itself. Being this close to home stirs up all the guilt and fear I otherwise compartmentalize. I thought shoving shit down and putting some states between it and myself would do something, but alas...

I think I've become a soap opera. And not the cute Grey's Anatomy kind.

I don't even register that I've started walking again until I'm at the gate. For a split second, I feel an overwhelming urge to cry. I shake the feeling away fast, reminding myself that crying is something the old Delilah would do. Sorry, the old Delilah can't come to the phone right now. Why? 'Cause she's dead, OH–

Almost by reflex, I pull my phone out again and dial, scanning the faces scattered around the surrounding gates.

"Don't tell me you're actually here," Thomas's husky lilt comes to life on the other end of the line.

A sigh of relief escapes me.

"You'd be surprised how long three hours truly is when you have such pleasant company," My reply drips with sarcasm. "But yes, I'm actually here."

He chuckles conspiratorially, like he somehow knows what I've just endured and is prepping the getaway car following Seat Buddy's murder.

"I'm guessing you made a friend? Is it my replacement?"

I'm maneuvering through the crowd haphazardly now, trying not to hit anyone with my suitcase.

"Not unless you've grown more insufferable since the last time I saw you," I quip. "Yet you'd still be a massive improvement from the asshole I was stuck sitting with."

"Delilah, I am nothing if not my own brand of asshole," he jokes, and I laugh.

Not just laugh but straight up cackle. In the middle of the airport. It's not even LAX, it's a much smaller one closer to home that masquerades as an international airport, but that's beside the point. It's just as chaotic and claustrophobic and I'm a delirious mess of pent up exhaustion.

I hear a sharp intake of breath and quickly gaze at my phone screen in confusion.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you to look where you're walking?"

I gasp, whirling around to face the voice.

He looks exactly the same yet not at all. His olive skin is tanned and his dark hair is mussed from sleep. He's also– way more toned? Is that weird? I'm very delirious, but–

My best friend, in the flesh.