Jayne stuffed her cocktail napkin into the plastic cup, along with the pretzel bag wrapper. The flight attendant would be around soon to collect the trash. She looked out the window, trying to imagine what it would be like to land in his city. Without him. She wondered, would she be able to sleep in his childhood room, tucked under his old, soft flannel sheets and comforter? She'd tried to gracefully decline the invitation to come to St. Louis for his birthday weekend, but his mom sounded so rough, so tearful on the phone. She lay her head back and closed her eyes, finally drifting off; there hadn't been much sleep last night. "May I?" said the flight attendant, her voice high and bright. Jayne's eyes snapped open, and, wondering if this woman was rude or just completely oblivious, she decided to make the moment difficult. "May you what," she asked, raising her eyebrows. "Well, take your trash," said the attendant, shaking her outstretched hand over the top of the cup. "Oh, no," said Jayne. "I wanted to hold on to that." "Really." The attendant pursed her lips. "Really," said Jayne, using the same tone. "So don't even try to take it away from me." The flight attendant clucked her tongue and turned away, muttering something that sounded like "whatever." Jayne picked up the trash and put it in her purse, zippering it up in the center pocket. She hugged it as tightly as she could to her for the rest of the trip. She thought she might never let it go.
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