The humiliation began with the soft plastic crack of a food container tilting sideways.
Maya Washington saw the pasta coming before she understood that the flight attendant was not going to stop it.
Cold penne, strips of roasted vegetables, lettuce, and dark tomato sauce slid over the lip of the clear container and landed across Maya’s chest and lap.
A thick streak of red-orange sauce ran down the front of her chocolate-brown evening gown.
A piece of pasta caught briefly in the long black waves resting over her shoulder before falling onto the armrest.
Her infant daughter startled awake.
That was the only thing that made Maya move quickly.
She turned her body away from the falling food, wrapping one arm securely around the baby while the other hand protected the child’s head.
The container emptied.
For perhaps three seconds, the entire first-class cabin of Crown Atlantic Flight 284 went silent.
No glasses clinking.
No low conversations.
No tapping keyboards.
Even the normal mechanical hum of the aircraft seemed louder.
Maya looked down.
Her daughter Amara was safe.
That mattered first.
Only after confirming that did Maya look at herself.
The gown had been beautiful when she left the hotel.
Solid chocolate brown.
Sleeveless.
Fitted cleanly through the bodice and waist.
Dark feathered detailing began near her hips and cascaded toward the floor in a dramatic sweep that had made her sister laugh when Maya admitted she planned to wear it on an airplane.
“You’re flying with a six-month-old baby in that?”
“I’m going straight from the airport to dinner.”
“With a baby?”
“With a babysitter waiting at the hotel.”
“You are insane.”
Probably.
But Maya had liked the dress.