When Life Holds Up a Mirror

I make no secret that I met my husband when I was in middle school — in fact, I’ve made it part of my personality. Just like everyone else, my version of normal feels like the only way to live. I wouldn’t choose any other life, but sometimes you meet someone who makes you wonder, just for a second, what if?

Yesterday, the kids and I flew home from San Antonio to Tucson. I’ve flown with two kids more times than I can count, but this was my first time flying with three. Normally I can plant myself firmly between Abby and TJ and keep the peace no matter how many hours we’re trapped in a plane or airport. This time, though, I had a six-month-old to keep fed, happy, and docile through a full travel day.

As luck would have it, from the time we cleared security in San Antonio to the time we landed in Tucson, Abby and TJ decided they were best friends. They even helped each other with the activity books Bubs’s mom bought them.

That left me with a unique problem: I had no idea how to strap in Ashley’s car seat without ruining the miracle truce happening across the aisle. My plan had been to have Abby hold Ashley while I strapped in the seat. Anyone who’s parented knows — you never interrupt quiet children.

Now, one thing about being married to an actual pilot is that he’s very serious about safety protocols. We wear proper shoes. No loose clothing. Every kid gets their own seat. No “baby on laps” in case of emergencies. Is it annoying? Yes. But I also don’t have to sit through annual safety briefings about aviation disasters like Bubs does, so I can cope.

Still, there I was — juggling a squirmy baby and a car seat in a crowded plane. The woman who would be sitting in our row saw me struggling and offered to hold Ashley while I buckled the seat in. I hesitated for about half a second, but she seemed calm and sure-handed. Ashley took to her immediately, cooing like she’d found a new friend.

Once we settled in, the woman and I started talking. She was a couple of years younger than me — actually just a few weeks older than my younger sister. From Dallas, worked in hospitality, raised not too differently from me.

She asked how many kids I had. I nodded toward Abby and TJ across the aisle, heads bent over stickers, and whispered a quick prayer that the peace would hold. Then came the usual small talk, and inevitably: “So how long have you and your husband been together?”

I said it without thinking: “Since seventh grade.”

There’s always a pause after that. Most people find high school sweethearts rare; middle school sweethearts sound borderline criminal. Her eyes widened — the usual mix of disbelief and curiosity — but then softened as we talked more.

She told me she was flying from Dallas to Tucson to meet a guy who had literally slid into her DMs on Instagram. He'd first liked a pic of her in a bikini on her sister's bachelorette trip (somewhat ironic, I know). Thirty-one, four serious relationships, one engagement that ended a month before the wedding. She’d been on hundreds of dates, and somewhere along the way decided that flying to meet a man she’d never seen in person was an acceptable solution to what she called her “biological clock ticking away.”

That probably sounds negative, but honestly, I felt a flicker of envy. How exciting it must be to board a plane and fall into the arms of someone new. To feel that flutter of possibility, to agonize over how long to wait before texting back, to rediscover the thrill of first kisses and clean slates.

I love Bubs with my whole heart — truly. But if he chews ice in front of me one more time I don't even want to say what will happen. Some times I see us featured in a  Dateline will feature us in an exposé called “Murder in the Mountains,” and way more than half the audience will take my side when they hear I pushed him over a waterfall for telling me I’m using hiking poles wrong.

At the same time, I could feel her envy, too. She said she longed for the security of being loved by someone who knows her. She hated the idea of being picked up at the airport by a man who, statistically speaking, probably wouldn’t be around by next week. She looked at Abby and TJ and said, “If I ever have kids like that, I’ll be forty by the time they’re that age.”

There’s no single right way to do this life, but the conversation reminded me just how lucky I am. Not better, just lucky — to have fit into a life I love. Three kids who drive me batshit crazy, a husband who still shows up every day (but tugs a little too hard when I try to hold his hand after not seeing him for three and half weeks), and a story that only exists because a seventh-grade math teacher thought pairing us for inequalities practice was a good idea.

At baggage claim, I watched my new friend throw herself into the arms of a man she’d never met — hopeful, brave, and glowing. Beside me, the guy who’s known every inch of me since we were thirteen grumbled about the price of airport parking. 

And honestly? Both scenes made me smile.

Before we left, I gave her my number and told her to call me anytime — day or night — if things went sideways. She gave me hers, said she might text if she gets bored while he’s at work.

I guess time will tell which one of us calls first.