Learning from M.O.M. - Dawn and Johanna (1/3) (Patreon)

Johanna had been thinking lately that memories were strange things.

People liked to speak of them as treasures—small pieces of life carefully tucked away, proof that something had mattered enough to stay with you.

And maybe they were.

But sometimes a place could hold so many memories that there was barely any room left for anything new.

Their neighborhood had begun to feel like that.

The bakery on the corner still smelled exactly the same in the mornings. The old woman downstairs still watered the same flowers every Sunday. The streetlights outside their window still flickered twice before finally glowing properly, just as they had for years.

Nothing was wrong with any of it.

That was almost the problem.

Johanna walked slowly that afternoon, hands tucked into the pockets of her coat, barely noticing the familiar faces passing by. Someone called hello from across the street and she answered automatically, smiling before she had even registered who it was.

She was comfortable.

Painfully, beautifully, dangerously comfortable.

Her days fit together a little too neatly now. Morning coffee. Familiar streets. Familiar shops. Familiar conversations. Even the unexpected had begun to arrive in recognizable shapes—especially with Dawn around.

Johanna smiled at that thought.

Dawn was perhaps the only person capable of turning an ordinary Tuesday into an insurance claim.

Still, even chaos developed patterns eventually.

Johanna slowed near the little square at the edge of the neighborhood.

She remembered bringing Dawn here years ago. Rainy afternoons. Warm summer evenings. Forgotten umbrellas. Arguments that had once felt enormous and now seemed almost embarrassingly small.

There were so many memories here.

Perhaps too many.

Sometimes Johanna felt as though every corner around her had already been filled in, every street already carrying a story she knew by heart.

And for the first time in a long while, she found herself wanting something empty.

Something unwritten.

A place where she didn’t already know what waited around the next corner.

She lowered her gaze to the pavement.

“How dramatic,” she murmured.

Apparently she had reached the stage of life where solitary afternoon walks came with unsolicited reflections on the passage of time.

Expensive wine would probably be next.

Then a questionable haircut.

And someone convincing her that bangs were “a fresh start.”

Johanna smiled faintly.

“Absolutely not the bangs.”

A gust of wind swept through the square.

Several loose papers lifted from a nearby advertising stand and scattered across the pavement. One sailed into the street. Another disappeared beneath a bench.

A third slapped directly against Johanna’s legs.

She stopped.

For a moment she simply stared down at it.

Then she sighed.

“Fine.”

She bent and picked it up.

The flyer was glossy and far too elegant for the battered neighborhood noticeboard it had apparently escaped from. Across the top was a photograph of a sleek private jet against a golden sunset, with two impeccably dressed women standing beside the stairs.

Johanna nearly tossed it away.

Then she noticed the headline.

TIRED OF THE ORDINARY?

She stared at it.

A little longer than necessary.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Underneath, in smaller letters:

PRIVATE CABIN CREW WANTED — TWO FLIGHT ATTENDANTS REQUIRED

Johanna’s eyebrow rose.

She kept reading.

Short-term international charter.

Private clientele.

Accommodation included.

Training provided.

Professional appearance and confidence essential.

Discretion appreciated.

Flexibility preferred.

Johanna paused.

“Of course it is.”

There was something about the word flexibility in expensive advertisements that immediately made her suspicious. Then she reached the compensation.

Johanna blinked.

She read it again.

The number remained offensively large.

“Well.”

Apparently existential crises came with competitive salaries now.

She glanced around as though someone might be watching.

An elderly man was feeding pigeons. A woman pushed a stroller past her. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked twice and was immediately shushed.

Nobody appeared particularly concerned that the universe had just answered Johanna’s quiet dissatisfaction with a recruitment flyer.

She looked down at it again.

Two attendants required.

That was when the idea arrived.

Small at first.

Ridiculous.

Almost embarrassing.

Dawn.

Johanna folded the flyer immediately.

“No.”

She continued walking.

Three steps later, she stopped.

Unfolded it again.

Private flight.

International travel.

Excellent pay.

Something unfamiliar.

Something she would normally dismiss before allowing herself enough time to want it.

Johanna looked toward the street ahead.

She knew exactly what was waiting around the next corner.

The pharmacy.

Then the bakery.

Then the little alley with the broken streetlamp.

She even knew roughly how long it would take her to reach home.

For some reason, that thought landed differently today.

Johanna looked back at the flyer.

Then, without giving herself enough time to reconsider, she folded it neatly and slipped it into her coat pocket.

-------------------------------------------------

She slipped off her shoes in the hallway and paused, listening to the apartment settle around her—the faint hum of the refrigerator, pipes murmuring somewhere behind the walls, music drifting lazily from the bedroom.

Everything exactly where it should be.

Everything exactly where it had always been.

Johanna touched the folded flyer through her coat pocket and sighed.

Something new.

The thought had followed her all the way home.

She headed toward the bedroom.

Dawn was sprawled across the bed like someone who had devoted the afternoon to achieving absolutely nothing and had been remarkably successful at it. She lay diagonally across the blankets, feet swaying behind her, phone in hand, laptop open beside an untouched notebook that seemed to exist purely as evidence that productivity had once been considered.

Johanna leaned against the doorway.

“Busy?”

“Very.”

“With?”

Dawn glanced at the laptop. “Avoiding responsibilities.”

“At least you’re committed.”

Johanna smiled and walked in, hanging her coat over the chair before sitting on the edge of the bed.

The flyer remained in the pocket.

For a moment she simply watched Dawn scroll, perfectly comfortable among pillows, chargers and unfinished plans.

Then her eyes wandered toward the bedside table.

An envelope sat half-hidden beneath a book.

Johanna recognized the university logo immediately.

Another repayment statement.

Dawn rarely made much of the debt. She paid what she could, complained when another statement arrived, and occasionally referred to the debt as “the ex that somehow still knows my address.”

But Johanna knew roughly how much remained.

She also knew why Dawn never asked for help.

Johanna had offered once.

Dawn had immediately shaken her head. “My degree, my debt, my monster.”

And that had been that.

Johanna looked toward her coat.

Suddenly, the absurd salary printed on that absurd flyer seemed a little less absurd.

She had spent most of the walk home thinking about what the job might give her: a break from routine, a little adventure, something she hadn’t already done a hundred times.

For Dawn, it could do something much simpler.

It could make that number smaller.

Much smaller.

Johanna leaned back slightly.

“Dawn.”

“Mhm?”

“How suspicious would a short-term job have to be before you refused a ridiculous amount of money?”

Dawn’s thumb stopped.

She looked up.

“That is a worrying question coming from you.”

Johanna laughed. “Just answer it.”

“How ridiculous is the money?”

“Interesting priority.”

“I have debt. Priorities evolve.”

Johanna glanced toward the envelope.

Dawn followed her gaze and immediately pushed it farther beneath the book.

“No. That does not exist during relaxation hours.”

“You’re still paying it off.”

“Technically.”

“Slowly?”

“Painfully.”

Johanna smiled.

Dawn dropped onto her back with a sigh.

“I’ll finish eventually. Past Dawn simply had very expensive ambitions.”

“Present Dawn does too.”

“That’s called consistency.”

Johanna laughed softly.

Then her eyes returned to the coat.

Perhaps that was the final little push she needed.

She stood.

Dawn watched her cross the room.

“What?”

“I found something today.”

Johanna reached into the pocket and brought out the folded flyer.

Dawn sat up.

Johanna handed it over.

Dawn unfolded it and began reading.

The photograph of the private jet caught her first.

Then the headline.

Then the details.

“International charter… private clients… two attendants… training provided…”

Johanna waited.

Dawn reached the compensation.

Stopped.

Read it again.

Then slowly straightened.

“Johanna.”

“Yes?”

“This number has too many digits.”

Johanna smiled. “I had the same reaction.”

Dawn looked at the salary again.

Then at the university envelope peeking from beneath the book.

Then back at the private jet.

The grin arrived almost instantly.

Johanna knew that grin.

Dawn tapped the number with one finger.

“Well.”

“Well?”

Dawn looked at her with sudden, solemn conviction.

“I believe I may have discovered a lifelong passion for aviation.”

Johanna laughed.

“Since when?”

Dawn glanced at the salary.

“About thirty seconds ago.”

-------------------------------------------------

Their first day began far more elegantly than either of them had expected.

The uniforms were waiting in the crew lounge when they arrived: deep red, perfectly tailored, with gold buttons and a soft satin sheen that caught the light whenever they moved.

Dawn stepped in front of the mirror and turned once.

Then twice.

“Well,” she said, smoothing the skirt over her hips, “if nothing else, I look expensive.”

Johanna adjusted one cuff and glanced at her own reflection.

The red suited her.

Perhaps a little too well.

They checked the cabin, learned where everything was stored, reviewed the safety procedures, arranged glasses, and folded napkins with the intense concentration of two women determined not to reveal that neither of them had done any of this before.

By the time the aircraft was ready, Dawn leaned against the galley counter with visible satisfaction.

“This is easy.”

Johanna looked at her.

“You should never say that out loud.”

“Why?”

“It invites consequences.”

Dawn waved the warning away.

“We smile, serve drinks, stay charming, collect our money, and go home financially improved.”

Johanna gave her a patient look.

“You’ve doomed us.”

The cabin door opened.

Their first private guest stepped aboard.

Johanna moved forward smoothly.

“Good afternoon. Welcome aboard.”

He returned the greeting with an easy smile before settling into one of the wide leather seats.

Dawn moved toward the galley to prepare his drink while Johanna remained beside him, perfectly composed.

“Anything else before departure?”

He looked up at her.

“Depends.”

Johanna raised an eyebrow.

“On?”

“How seriously your company takes that part about personalized service.”

Johanna’s smile barely changed.

Behind her, Dawn’s pouring slowed.

Their guest continued casually.

“The agency also mentioned that you were both very flexible.”

Dawn coughed.

Johanna turned her head just enough to glance at her.

Dawn immediately became fascinated by the glass in her hand.

So.

Flexible.

At last, one of the flyer’s more suspicious words was beginning to make sense.

Johanna looked back at the guest, still smiling.

“How fortunate that they gave us training.”

His eyebrow lifted.

“For everything?”

Johanna held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary.

“That,” she said calmly, “remains to be seen.”

Behind her, Dawn coughed again.

This time Johanna was fairly certain it had nothing to do with the drink.

His fingers began to travel upward along the red fabric.

Johanna glanced down at his hand, then back at him.

“So this is the practical examination?”

“Something like that.”

He stood, close enough now that Johanna had to tilt her head slightly to keep his gaze. With an almost casual confidence, he loosened his shirt and made it very clear that drink service was no longer what he had in mind.

From the galley, Dawn had gone completely still.

For several seconds she simply watched, glass forgotten in her hand, while one very responsible part of her brain suggested that perhaps this was the moment to reconsider the entire career change.

Then another part remembered the number on her university statement.

That part was considerably louder.

Debt.

Dawn set the glass down.

Very large debt.

She walked over.

She reached them just as the passenger’s hand nudged the hem of Johanna’s skirt a little higher.

Dawn caught his wrist.

Everyone paused.

The passenger looked at her.

Johanna did too.

Dawn smiled brightly.

“If we’re testing the training, you should know I took an extra course.”

The passenger leaned back, amused.

“I like initiative.”