She let out a long breath.
“Thank you.”
I separated the hair into three sections and braided it loosely, keeping it neatly behind her shoulders so it would no longer fall across the seat.
The braid was simple, nothing elaborate.
But it reminded me of the braids my mother used to make for me when I was a little girl.
When I finished, Brittany reached back to feel it.
“I haven’t worn a braid in years.”
“It suits you.”
She studied the result using her phone’s dark screen as a mirror.
Then she turned toward me.
“I’m sorry, Martha.”
I waited.
“I’m sorry I kept putting my hair in your space. I’m sorry I ruined your lunch and your wine. I’m sorry I made fun of your age.”
She swallowed.
“And I’m sorry I acted like I was more important than everyone else on this plane.”
I nodded.
“Thank you for saying that.”
