During beverage service, I ordered ginger ale.
When I tried lowering my tray table, Josh’s elbow was in
the way.
“Excuse me,” I said. “I need to put my drink down.”
He barely shifted.
I waited.
Then tried again.
“Josh, could you give me enough room to use my tray?”
He pulled out an earbud and sighed dramatically.
“Seriously?”
I blinked.
“I’d just like to lower my tray table.”
He rolled his eyes.
“You women can turn absolutely anything into a problem.”
I stared at him.
“Wanting to put down a drink isn’t exactly an unreasonable request.”
“Then stop making such a fuss about it.”
The flight attendant stood beside us holding my ginger ale.
I could feel other passengers nearby listening.
So instead of answering, I smiled at her.
“Thank you.”
I accepted the cup.
And held it in my hand until Josh finally decided to move his elbow.
I hated how small the situation made me feel.
Not because I was physically small.
But because I’d
allowed a stranger to make me feel unreasonable for asking for something basic.
Steven would have known exactly what to say.
He’d probably have made one dry remark that left Josh speechless.
I smiled faintly at the thought.
Then Josh stretched his leg again.
His knee pressed against mine.
I looked at the flight information displayed on the screen.
We weren’t even halfway through the journey.
I could hardly believe it.
A short while later, the flight attendant returned to collect our empty cups.
She paused beside our row.
“Ma’am, is everything okay?”
I looked at her.
Then at Josh.
He’d removed one earbud and was watching me closely.
This was my opportunity.
I could explain that he had repeatedly pushed into my seat.
I could tell her my hip was hurting.
I could ask for help.
Instead, I gave my usual automatic response.
“Yes, thank you. Everything’s fine.”
The
attendant smiled politely and moved on.
Josh replaced his earbud.
And within seconds, his knee was touching mine again.
I wanted to kick myself.
Why hadn’t I spoken up?
Because I hated confrontations.
Because I didn’t want strangers staring.
Because I’d spent decades believing that being kind meant tolerating discomfort rather than inconveniencing someone else.
I looked down at my book.
I’d read the same paragraph so many times that I could almost recite it.
