another empty seat three rows behind,” she said quietly. “Would you be willing to sit there so we can finish boarding?”
I stared at her because I wasn’t sure I had heard correctly.
“You want me to leave my ten-year-old daughter beside a complete stranger?” I asked.
The flight attendant told me she would keep checking on Emma.
I understood that she was trying to solve a boarding problem quickly, but all I could think about was the reason I had paid extra in the first place.
I wanted my daughter beside me.
I wanted to know she was comfortable.
I wanted to be able to help both of my children without climbing over strangers or moving up and down the cabin.
The woman in Emma’s seat watched the conversation.
Then she smiled.
“Why should I move?” she said. “She’s the one who brought all this trouble onto the plane.”
Then she pointed at my sleeping six-week-old baby as if he were a piece of luggage blocking her way.
Something about that gesture bothered me even more than the words.
Oliver wasn’t crying.
He wasn’t causing a disturbance.
He was asleep against his mother while we stood in an aisle trying to reach seats I had reserved before the flight.
Yet somehow the woman had decided that his existence was the inconvenience.
Passengers behind us were getting impatient.
Someone sighed loudly.
Someone else complained about the delay.
I could feel the pressure building in that awful way it does when a private problem suddenly becomes public and dozens of strangers are waiting for someone to make it disappear.
I wanted to insist that the situation be fixed properly.
At the same time, Oliver was beginning to stir, the aisle was packed, and Emma was watching me with that worried expression
