His costume made him look like an asshole. Owen had to admit that he might very well be an asshole. He pinged himself at least three times a day to better understand humanity in that regard and got nothing but his own brand of joy. He was an asshole in a world of different varieties of asshole.

Today he had the window seat.

A woman scanned the numbers along the aisle bulkhead and stopped next to Owen’s row. She drew back at the sight of him. He was used to it, if not almost all the way pleased by it.

“Wow! I’m glad I’m little. Bet you’re glad, too. They don’t leave us a lot of room, do they?” She shoved her bag, bright and unscuffed at the corners, into the overhead bin. “If you split the difference between me and you, you’d get a normal-size person out of it.”

She wasn’t that little. Average size. Cute. Curvy. Tight enough in the important spots. But still. You could tell a lot about someone by the yardsticks they used to measure themselves. She was utterly delighted to be traveling.

Owen cared not at all.

She kept her lid on until the first pass of the drinks cart. Owen asked for black coffee.

“I’m going to splurge,” she said, leaning into him as if it were the key to a conspiracy. She ordered wine and handed over her credit card.

If a screw-top split of economy-class chardonnay is a splurge, lady, that is also a yardstick.

But he nodded when she declared it not too bad.

In ten minutes, he knew her name was Charlotte (which she felt she had to clarify after introducing herself as Charlie, lest he think she was a Charlene or transgender), and he knew that she was headed to her sister’s wedding. Charlie herself had a wedding band on, but didn’t mention any husband.

Said sister had been married once before. She had three kids from that first marriage and still snagged herself a new man who was financially well-off and, get this, almost five years younger. The new husband didn’t even have any kids himself and treated Charlie’s nieces and nephew just like his own.

“Must be nice,” said Charlie, but she sniffed as if it didn’t exactly smell so by her estimation. The happy couple was making a huge, elaborate production—white dress, sit-down dinner, a string ensemble and everything—and Charlie thought that was fine, because why shouldn’t people celebrate good things?

Owen could only agree out loud and wish an aneurysm on her silently. He started calling her Ann in his mind and wished he believed in wishes. Aneurysm Annie. He fought the corners of his mouth as she blathered on.