365 Days Of Love. Day 13

He didn’t want to eat alone.

I begrudgingly boarded my plane from Minneapolis to Dallas this morning. As to be expected the day after a bachelorette party, I was sick to my stomach, running on fumes, and excited to board the plane only to immediately get some shut eye.

I sat in my 11^th row seat by the window and watched as other passengers filed into their seats. The flight attendant’s announcements regarding security and electronics began and there was still no one next to me. Was I really seated in a row all by myself? Just as I pulled my winter coat up to my chin, a gangly man in his sixties meandered onto the plane and sat down in the aisle seat in my row. Frankly, his presence didn’t phase me. Normally, I scope my row partners out for potential conversations, but truthfully, I only wanted to sleep.

The gangly man, who I later found out was named Phil, took my -any other day that is not the day after a bachelorette party-traveling approach and started questioning me immediately. Less than chipper in my responses, I hoped that he would get the hint, I wasn’t in the frame of mind or condition to hold any sort of conversation. As we ascended into the bitter Minnesota sky, my eyes couldn’t bear the weight of the previous night anymore. I slept. Soundly.

Occasionally, my peepers would pry themselves open only to see Phil chewing sunflower seeds and enjoying the complimentary beverages American Airlines offered. I woke up with only 20 minutes before our plane and the DFW runway rendezvoused. At the sight of my eyes, Phil immediately commented on my incredible airplane sleeping ability. I replied with a story about my lack of sleep the night before and finally afforded him the conversation he’d been searching for from the get go.

As the wheels hit the runway, he invited me to lunch. I paused for a moment and accepted, slightly confused by this man’s interest in me. We chose to eat at the first restaurant that greeted us in the DFW terminal, Friday’s. As I literally downed multiple glasses of water, he told me about his grandson and daughter. His story took a sad turn as his tears formed in the corners of his eyes and words of his divorce escaped his lips. Sparing me the details, he looked up and said, “Forgive me for inviting you to lunch.” My face must have marked my confusion because he went on to explain that, to him, eating alone is the height of loneliness. I refrained from telling him that I love eating alone and instead turned my ears forward as he shared his fear of the looks and whispers induced by solo dining. I was immediately humbled and overly grateful for his invitation. I wasn’t worthy to be this man’s lunch partner. In fact, hours before, all I wished is that he had never sat down next to me. I wanted sleep and water, he wanted conversation and someone to share a meal with.

As I left Friday’s, wishing him well on the rest of his journey and thanking him for lunch, he shook my hand and said, “It’s been my pleasure.”

Sometimes, love is just accepting an invitation.