Me: No promises.
The lounge was busy, and the only open seat I could find was at a long shared table near the windows. I set my coffee and my croissant down carefully, like a guest at someone else’s house.
“Dorothy,” said the silver-haired woman beside me, offering her hand. She had to be in her eighties, with a cardigan buttoned all the way up and a paperback mystery open on the table.
“Sarah.”
“Daniel,” said the businessman across from us, who had a laptop open and the tired face of a man on his third flight of the week. He nodded toward a young woman at the end of the table who was filming herself. “Do you know who that is?”
I did. “Victoria. She’s a travel influencer. My daughter follows her.”
Victoria was beautiful in the expensive, effortless way that takes a great deal of effort: sleek hair, cream cashmere, gold jewelry, designer loafers. She held her phone at arm’s length and beamed into it.
“Guys, another First Class flight! Honestly, I can’t imagine traveling any other way.”
Then she lowered the phone, and her face changed completely. She turned to Grace, who was clearing a nearby table.
“Could I get another glass?”
