Tasty Mango by JJ Knight
Havannah
Holy baloney, this private jet is something else.
I step outside of the limo directly onto the airfield. Like, literally, planes are going down the runway a couple of football fields away.
The wind is high with so much unbroken ground. I hold Rebel’s baby bucket car seat in my arms and take it all in. The airport control tower, off in the distance. The plane, long and sleek and silver, right in front of us. The driver asks if I would like him to carry Rebel up the narrow steel steps leading to the jet door.
Uh, no way. Nobody’s carrying my baby up those stairs but me.
“No, thank you,” I say. “But I’ll give you this.” I pass him the diaper bag, my purse, and the sling I expect I will need on board.
“Very good, ma’am,” he says, and adds my items to the pile of luggage moving from the trunk to a rolling cart.
Man. One baby and you go from a miss to a ma’am.
Donovan walks around the car from where he was directing another man to handle the bags. “You got him okay?” he asks.
I clutch the handle of the bucket seat closer to me. Do I look too pathetic to carry my own baby? Geez. “I’m fine.”
It might be my outfit, though. I’ve really done it up.
I had to do it. Big black movie-star sunglasses. A bright gold scarf wrapped around my head and a second one tied around my neck, left long to fly with the wind. Ankle-breaking gold heels. Finally, my feet aren’t swollen anymore, although it was a bit of a squeeze. I have a feeling I might be a permanent half-size bigger, which sucks for my stiletto collection.
I poured myself into shaper lingerie I bought when I was first pregnant and trying to control my bulge.
I outgrew it within a month, but it’s coming in handy today to keep all the jiggly parts reined in.
At first, I regretted letting Magnolia borrow so many of my great dresses, but quickly realized that the ones that fit her weren’t going to work on postpartum me.
Thankfully, my entire wardrobe isn’t made of skintight hooker dresses. Today’s outfit is a loose-fitting sheath that hits just above the knee.
I’m going for an Audrey Hepburn vibe, despite the weather pushing ninety degrees in the shade. If the paparazzi were here, I’d look like a million bucks.
Donovan takes my arm and leads me to the stairs. “I’ll follow close behind. If the baby gets too heavy, say the word.”
I nod. I’m about halfway up the steps when my arm starts to shake, but I grit my teeth and keep going. Still, when we reach the inside of the plane, I’m relieved to set the baby down.
A cheerful mid-fifties woman in a smart slate-blue pencil skirt and cardigan approaches. “You’re here!” She looks down at Rebel. “Oh, what a precious little boy!”
Okay, I already love her.
She shows me where we can lock his base onto a long padded bench. “We have a spot here to strap in his car seat so he’s good and safe. Looks like he’s out like a light.”
He snoozed through the car ride, which is typical. The motion soothes him. Only when he’s strapped safely in do I turn around and look at the interior of the jet.
Two rows of wide leather seats fill the part of the cabin closest to the front wall, which I assume leads to the cockpit. On the far wall, a beautifully appointed dining table with a tablecloth and crystal goblets awaits by a window
On my side, two swivel chairs take up the corner, then the padded bench holding Rebel’s seat.
Donovan glances around and nods. “Everything looks perfect, Bianca. Thank you. I’m going to speak with Simon about the flight plan. Show Havannah around so she knows where everything is should she need something for the baby.”
Bianca smiles. “Of course. Looks like he’s going to sleep for the moment. Let’s take a tour.”
Donovan heads to the front of the plane. Bianca presses a button on the back wall near the swivel chairs, opening another compartment. “Through here,” she says.
We pass through a small galley with a sink, microwave, and refrigerator. Clearly this is where the crew stores food and things.
“If you need to warm up a bottle for the baby, let me know. We can do it in the microwave, or I can boil a pan of water and set it inside. Whichever you like. Do you have some refrigerated things?”
“I brought some breast milk.”
“Very good. We’ll get it stored.”
“I’m not sure where they put the diaper bag,” I say.
“It will end up here, I’m sure.” She presses a button, and the back panel opens to another room about a third of the size of the first one. “This is the bedroom. The leather sofa folds out into a queen.”
Everything is luxurious and spotless. The air smells like the inside of a freshly filled linen closet.
Bianca says, “Let me know if you want me to turn down the bed for you and Rebel. Donovan will sleep up front. The bench Rebel is on also can turn into a bed.”
“Oh, should I take that one instead?” I ask.
Bianca shakes her head. “You should be back here. You’ll want to be next to the bathroom.” She presses one more button, and another panel slides open.
How long is this jet? But I can tell by the shape of this room that we’re at the end. It has a glass and steel shower, a toilet, and a gleaming steel sink.
“We don’t have a changing table, but I’m guessing any surface will do,” Bianca says. “I’ll make sure some small plastic bags are around for the diapers. Are you cloth or disposable?”
“I brought disposable for the trip,” I say.
She nods. “That’s easy, then.”
We head back to the bedroom. “I do hope I get an opportunity to rock the baby,” Bianca says. “My children are that age where they are grown, but I’m still quite far from grandchildren. I love getting to steal someone else’s.”
I laugh. “I’m sure you will get your chance.”
I take the sunglasses from where I pushed them up on my head and unravel the scarf. I feel silly, all gussied up, when I should be more practical. As I pile the items on a small table, the limo driver enters with the diaper bag, my purse, and the sling and sets them on the bed.
As we pass back through the galley, I ask Bianca, “Will you be traveling with us once we get to France?”
She shakes her head. “Sadly, no. Donovan’s brother Dell will be coming from New York. So as soon as we land and the pilot gets a good night’s sleep, we’ll be heading right back to New York to fetch him.”
“Oh. I got the impression they were already in France.”
“Arianna and Grace are. She wanted to take her time. She’s pregnant, you know.”
I vaguely recall Dell mentioning that during our mentoring sessions two months ago. “When is she due?” I ask.
“Not until November.”
“So she’s in the easy phase,” I say.
Bianca nods knowingly. “She’s quite energetic still. We can’t wait to find out what they’re having.”
I’m glad Bianca is here. It will help with the awkwardness of traveling with a man I barely know.
In the main section of the jet, Donovan waits by the baby. Rebel’s eyes are open, and he’s looking around with interest.
“We were having a little man-to-man,” Donovan says. “I’m teaching him the finer points of jet ownership.”
I laugh. “I’m sure that will come in handy with our humble lives.”
Donovan’s face gets serious. “Dell and I grew up mucking out greyhound stalls as kids. It can happen to anybody.”
“Oh. I see.” I realize how little I know about him.
The cockpit door opens and a friendly man with an orange-gray beard peers out. This must be Simon, the pilot. “We’ll be taking off in T-minus Starr’s arrival.”
“Thanks,” Donovan says. “Though I might leave her this time.”
Simon laughs. “You always say that.” He ducks back into the cockpit.
Rebel starts to fuss, so I unbuckle him and cradle him on my shoulder. “What did he mean by that?”
“Starr is the other member of the crew. She’s an assistant pilot, whip smart, but terribly tardy.”
“I wouldn’t have thought you or Dell would allow anything but perfect, impeccable staff.”
He laughs. “Starr is worth it. She can do anything. Fly a plane. Jump from a plane. She’s a bodyguard, too. She should be in an action movie.”
Bianca approaches. “Havannah, would you like me to warm up a bottle, or do you plan to nurse him through the takeoff?”
I glance at Donovan. I didn’t think some of this through. Getting Rebel to latch is often a tussle of boy and boob.
“We can start with the bottle,” I say.
“Would you like your baby sling?” she asks.
I nod, and she heads back to the galley as I settle in one of the swiveling chairs. “I like her,” I tell Donovan.
He moves to the seat beside me, kicking up the footrest and leaning his head back in his hands. “We all do. She takes good care of us.” He yawns. He’s probably been going nonstop since leaving France to pick me up.
A noise beneath the plane startles me. Rebel senses my sudden lurch and lets out a cry.
I pat his back. “I’m sure we’re going to be in for some tears as this gets going.”
“No worries,” Donovan says. “We have everything well in hand.” His eyes are already starting to droop.
So the man is human.
Bianca returns with the bottle and sling. “Let me help you get settled. Give me that sweet baby so you can buckle in. Simon takes off smooth as glass, but sometimes we hit some turbulence.”
I set the bottle on a small table bolted between our chairs and pass her Rebel. The seatbelt is smooth leather, unlike the merely serviceable ones on regular planes. I pull it around my waist and tighten it. The sling goes across my shoulder easily, and I open it wide.
Bianca nuzzles Rebel. He’s stopped crying. “All right, I’ll give you up,” she says, and passes him back.
When he’s settled in the sling and quietly slurping the bottle, I relax.
“Anything else before I strap myself in?” Bianca asks.
“I’m good,” I say. I glance at Donovan. I think he’s out cold. “Does he always fall asleep this easily?”
“Not always. But he was in an anxious state flying over here to get you.” She walks to a cabinet over the padded bench and extracts a pillow and a blanket. “But I can see why it was so important.”
She sets the items on the cushion with a wink and heads back through to the galley.
A long minute passes. Rebel drinks greedily. He’s always fast on the bottle. I wonder if the other pilot is going to show.
But as Donovan said, right as it seems everyone’s ready to go, boots clang on the metal steps, and a willowy young black woman bursts through the doorway. “I’m here. Don’t leave me.”
Donovan opens an eye. “Glad you could make it, Starr.”
Starr whips around to close and secure the door behind her. She stops short when she sees me. “Now I see why we flew back to the States.”
Something metallic clangs right outside the door. I assume that’s the stairs being disengaged and moved aside.
“I told you,” Donovan says.
Starr gives me a nod and a grin. “Don’t put up with any of his smart-aleck remarks. I don’t.” She disappears into the cockpit. Shortly after, the engines start up with a rumble and whine.
I look down. The baby has already slurped almost all of the bottle, and we haven’t even taken off. Uh oh. I glance at Donovan. He’s belted into his seat, eyes closed again. I don’t know if he’s asleep.
I guess if the boob comes out, the boob comes out. He saw a lot more of me when Rebel arrived, if he was looking.
Whew. This is a lot.
I realize I’ve told no one I’m coming. Not even my sister. As the plane starts to taxi, I fumble to pull my phone out of my bra, the only place I had to stash it.
I quickly tap out a text to Magnolia. Donovan came to fetch me. Headed to France. See you tomorrow. Talk more later. About to take off in his jet.
I lean down to kiss Rebel’s head. He’s fallen asleep. “Now this is a story to tell my grandchildren,” I whisper.
I tuck the bottle into the folds of the sling and lean back in my chair.
As the plane goes airborne with both the boys asleep, I can’t even believe where I am right now. I don’t know how I’ve managed it, but I’m on my way to France with a billionaire by my side, and a baby in my arms.