Then the laptop.
Then his boarding pass.
“Window?”
“Yes.”
She stood slightly to let him pass.
“Go ahead.”
No irritation.
No judgment.
Just efficiency.
He slid into the window seat.
She sat again.
The middle seat between them remained empty.
That seemed impossible on a full flight, but perhaps the universe occasionally offered mercy.
The Single Dad placed his backpack beneath the seat.
Opened the laptop.
The Female CEO turned slightly.
She was looking at the blue planet sticker.
“My son.”
He pointed at it.
She smiled faintly.
“I wasn’t going to ask.”
“I know.”
He opened a file containing the science program schedule.
Orientation.
Safety briefing.
Engineering challenge.
Materials lab.
Parent presentation.
He had highlighted everything.
The Female CEO returned to her phone.
Within seconds, emails began arriving.
Her fingers moved quickly.
She seemed to process information at a speed that made the Single Dad tired just watching.
For the first forty minutes, neither spoke.
He liked that.
People often assumed single fathers wanted conversation because they looked exhausted.
Sometimes exhausted men wanted exactly what exhaustion suggested.
Silence.
The aircraft climbed.
Chicago became grids.
Then clouds.
The Single Dad read through the orientation packet.
Page four contained payment information.
He avoided it.
The second installment was due in twelve days.
He had no idea how he would pay it.
Something would happen.
Overtime.
A repair call.
Another thing sold.
He had solved worse.
Beside him, the Female CEO closed her eyes briefly.
Her phone vibrated.
She opened them.
Answered another message.
Closed them again.
Another vibration.
The Single Dad looked over.
“You know you’re allowed to ignore those.”
She opened one eye.
“Am I?”
“Pretty sure.”
“Did someone change the rules?”
“No.”
“Then unfortunately I’m not.”
He smiled.
“Sounds expensive.”
That made her look at him properly.
“What does?”
“Being important enough that everyone thinks they own five minutes of you.”
The Female CEO considered him.
Then smiled.
Not business smile.
Real one.
“Something like that.”
The Single Dad returned to the laptop.
She asked:
“Work?”
“Not mine.”
“Your son?”
He nodded.
“Science program.”
“How old?”
“Nine.”
“Robotics?”
“Everything.”
He scrolled.
“Robotics, engineering, basic coding.”
The Female CEO leaned slightly closer.
“Let me guess. He already believes he knows more than the instructors.”
“He knows more than everyone.”
She laughed.
The sound surprised both of them.
Several passengers looked.
The CEO seemed almost embarrassed by it.
The Single Dad smiled.
“My son would like you.”
“Why?”
“You laugh like you haven’t done it recently.”
She stared.
“That is a terrible compliment.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be one.”
“Good.”
She looked toward the laptop.
“Is the program expensive?”