"We're going to land in ten minutes. That might make it worse for you."
I heard him as if from a distance, but he sounded concerned again.
"Oh great. I can't imagine how that will go." I didn't dare open my eyes. It seemed to make the nausea worse.
"I think it would help you if we switched places and you flew in the direction of the flight."
"I don't think I can do that," I murmured.
I sensed him move and then push something soft under my left ear, where I’d been leaning my head against the windowpane. It smelled just like him. He'd put his suit jacket under my head.
"Are you more comfortable now?"
"Yes," I replied honestly, "thank you."
He wasn't lying. The remaining ten minutes were truly, honestly, and sincerely awful.
"Try breathing in through your nose very deeply and then let the air out just as slowly."
I tried to follow his instructions. To my astonishment, it worked.
"Focus on your breath—the bridge of your nose or your nostrils, wherever you feel the air coming in."
His instructions reminded me of a meditation app I'd tried recently. I didn't know if it was his voice or the breath itself that calmed me, but I felt much better... right until the plane’s wheels hit the ground. I nearly dropped my bags full of vomit but caught them at the last moment, keeping them tightly in my hands. The last thing I wanted was for them to spill all over this elegant, expensive plane.
After we landed, I kept my eyes closed until we stopped moving, and then I opened them. Miraculously, my head cleared up. I sat up straighter in my seat. Jake was looking at me intently.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Better. It's like the brain fog lifted. If I weren’t holding these bags, I would've thought I imagined the whole thing."
"You definitely have motion sickness," he said. "Be careful when you step out. Sometimes being on solid ground afterward can confuse your brain."
"Like sea legs," I said, things suddenly clicking for me. I cringed. "How am I going to fly back?"
"There are remedies for this. I’ll get you something."
"Thank you." I unstrapped my seat buckle with one hand, holding the bags firmly in the other. Then I handed him the carefully folded jacket. That had been a very gentlemanly thing for him to do.
"After you," he said as soon as the pilot opened the doors.
I put my handbag over my shoulder and carefully walked down the stairs. The pilot took the barf bags from me and quickly disposed of them.
"Thank you." I said, feeling truly grateful because I didn't want to be around them anymore. I knew if I caught even a whiff of the smell, I'd be sick all over again.
Jake was right; the second my feet were on solid ground, I felt my brain whirl a bit. I turned to him. "Where to?"
He pointed left to the small building that was most likely for airport arrivals. I was a bit unsteady on my feet, and I walked slowly.
"Do you need assistance?" he asked.
"You were right about having sea legs. I’m pretty sure my legs think they’re still on the plane."
The next second, I felt a strong arm around my lower back. My entire body sang with excitement.
"Oh!" I exclaimed in surprise.
"Are you going to be sick again?"