More Muffia (The Muffia Book 2) Read Free Page B

out who owns all this stuff?” I draw a question mark in the air and indicate all the passengers. “Because I’m pretty sure I few people on this plane have exceeded their baggage limit.”
    I wag my finger to indicate somebody has been very, very bad. “So if we were to do that, then we could put all their excess stuff under the plane.” I end my demonstration with a flourish, swinging a pretend suitcase in one hand, sliding it under the other—simulating the underbelly of the plane—and slamming the non-existent door before finally, brushing my palms together with a smile.
    “Sorry,” Kitty says, reaching for my Tumi and not the least bit sorry about it. “You late. Take seat and adjust seat belt low cross lap; we taking off soon.”
    “But—” I protest, holding onto the bag. “I only have one bag!”
    She won’t let go. “Put under plane.”
    “No!” I say, realizing I shouldn’t be having this fight with Kitty. “I mean — ” I try a softer tone. “What are rules if nobody enforces them? Let’s get a few people with more than one carry-on to put their unfiltered sake under their seats.”
    Where was Maddie, the mediating Muff, when I needed her? Oh, right, asleep in L.A., unsympathetic to my plight, unsympathetic to her own plight!
    “Sit—down!” Kitty says, trying to take my Tumi. For such a tiny figure, she’s surprisingly strong.
    “Let me...have my... ugh —” I use all my weight to snatch the Tumi from Kitty’s clutches. “Bag!” My ankle is really killing me.
    We stare at each other for a few seconds, while I’m quite sure she is considering telling somebody in the cockpit there is a terrorist on board.
    I compose myself. Inhale: Yes, yes, yes, yes; exhale: thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you. “I’ll just put it under the seat in front of me and have leg cramps and back trouble from your airline’s flawed policies and this twenty-hour flight. Thank you for your help.”
    Once I’m back on the other aisle of the Jumbo Jet, I continue to limp into the bowels of the plane until I finally reach my row—forty-five—and stare at the spot that is my seat. It’s a bit of red and purple upholstery, barely visible between a sumo wrestler and a woman in the shape of a tent who met my gaze with an expression that dared me to even try squeezing between them.
    Casually, I glance over my shoulder, desperate for another place to put my ass for the duration of the flight, but it’s quite clear that every seat is taken. Not only that, it seems like most of the people occupying the seats are huge—even the Japanese passengers.
    When did that happen? Japanese people, other than sumo wrestlers, of course, are usually thin. Could childhood obesity be wreaking havoc in Japan, too? With human cargo this size, we might not get off the ground.
    Oh, why was there no empty seat next to Viggo? If we’re going to crash, it might actually be all right if I could just be near him. If I were to perish in a plane crash, at least I’d be spared further grief from my mother about how I missed out on having kids and how terrible Hollywood is. More importantly, I’d be spared any further thought about how she might be right. Breathe—I am destined for great things!
    Resigned to the situation, I sigh and fish out my e-reader, on which The Glass Castle , the Muffia Book Club’s current read, awaited me. There was nowhere to go, and no one was going to help me better my situation. But at least Kitty hadn’t gotten me kicked off the plane. So make the best of it, Quinn. This too will pass.
    I take another deep breath, pick up the Tumi, and squeeze past tent lady into my sliver of a seat, wedging my bag under the seat in front of me. It’s going to be a very long flight, but I’m heading home. And though my seatmates’ combined mass is four times mine, should either of them attempt to monopolize an armrest, they do so at their own peril. I may have very little control over anything in my life, but