September 2022

A delayed plane pushes an estranged mother and son together My shoes clack satisfyingly, importantly on the airport floor. The wheels of my suitcase spin not-quite silently on the ground as I head toward the gate. I reach the big sign that says GATE 4, and under it in scrolling digital letters: SNA Orange County, California. I sit tentatively down on a chair that looks relatively clean. But it’s not like I have a wide selection of seats to choose from; the terminal is packed with travelers. A pregnant woman rests one hand on her stomach and with the other holds onto the arm of a man who I assume is her husband. They wander through the rows of chairs, searching for a seat. I stand up and offer mine. The woman gladly accepts. As I rest against a big white pole, I hear a voice. “Always painstakingly slow. I don’t understand why they can’t just let us on the plane.” “They’re cleaning it, Mum,” I say without looking at her. “Hmph,” she grumbles. She rustles her shawls in annoyance and agitation. There is gum on the ground beside my shoe. It was lucky I didn’t step in it. Some people are disgusting. They act like the world is a bin. In front of me, a father tries to calm his two rowdy children. They are hopping up and down on their seats, talking about how fun it will be in California. I wish I felt that excited. It’s usually great going back home, but not for such a sad occasion. Gramps was the best. He was never the center of attention, but he was always the one who got everyone to laugh. Dad flew out a few days ago to help with the preparations for the funeral. He insisted I travel with Mum because she is “getting old.” Although she is really not; she is sixty-five and extremely capable. But his father just died, so I’m going to do as I’m told. “Attention all passengers traveling to Orange County, California: your flight has been delayed until eight a.m. tomorrow morning due to a severe thunderstorm on the flight path.” The message repeats twice more from the speakers on the wall. And then the voice finishes: “Thank you for your patience.” For most parents, I think this would be a nostalgic moment, sleeping in the same bed as their 35-year-old son who has been away from home for a long time now. Everyone groans and gets up. They collect their things and shake small children who have fallen asleep in their chairs. My mother is remarkably still. As am I. We’re both realizing what we’ve gotten into. Finally, I speak. “I guess we should get hotel rooms. Get some sleep before the flight.” She nods. We go to the airport hotel, and I book myself a room for the night. I wait for Mum to get herself a room, but she just turns and looks at me. “Well? What are you waiting for?” she walks away from me, leading me toward the hotel room I booked. “Wait!” I call halfheartedly after her. “Aren’t you going to get a room?” “Do you really expect me to pay for a room when you’ve just booked one that’s perfectly fine for the both of us?” she huffs and continues to walk away. I unlock the door to our room and Mum walks in ahead of me. She sniffs at the drab furniture and not-so-clean-looking carpet. The room isn’t much to my taste either, but it’s only one night, and I’m not going to show her that I’m anything less than pleased. I look at the one large bed in the middle of the room. It occurs to me that I haven’t slept in the same room, let alone the same bed, as my mother since I was about three. For most parents, I think this would be a nostalgic moment, sleeping in the same bed as their 35-year-old son who has been away from home for a long time now. My mother just looks annoyed. After I take a shower, I step out of the steamy bathroom with a towel wrapped around my waist. I get my pajamas out of my suitcase and start humming along to a song that’s playing in my head. I “Knock it off,” my mother snaps. “What are you so happy about, anyway?” “I’m just humming,” I say. “Well, stop.” I do, though I can’t help but dance around a bit to the tune in my head. Mum goes to take a shower. I sit on the edge of the bed, thinking. Her phone is on the side table. It pings as she gets a notification. I look at it. Her lock screen is a picture of her and my younger brother on a beach somewhere. My brother is the manager of a car dealership. He lives in a large house with his wife, three children, and a cat. Needless to say, my mother is very proud of him. She steps out of the bathroom, having already changed into her nightclothes, and pulls a book out from her suitcase. “Is that a book from the list?” I ask. Mum has a list of famous books she wants to read and famous art she wants to see before she dies. “As a matter of fact, it is.” She shows me the cover. I’ve never heard of it; I nod and smile like I have. A few minutes pass. The rhythm of her heavy breathing nearly knocks me out. “Your grandfather,” Mum says. “It makes you realize that you never know how much time you have left.” “I mean, it’s not like we didn’t know Gramps’ death was coming. He’s been sick for a while, and he’s not exactly young.” “You know what I mean, Simon!” Mum snaps. “Stop trying to be contrary.” I raise my eyebrows in an I’m-sorry-but-I-wasn’t-really-doing-anything kind of way. She untucks the covers. They have