by Meghan Quinn
“No, no, no, don’t say that. Let’s go over the tropes again,” Zoey says, slapping my leg. “Something might spark.”
“We’ve been through them five times already. There is nothing.”
“Small town, uh, brother’s little sister, roommates, my boss is my baby daddy.”
I shake my head, even though my boss is my baby daddy does do something for my imagination, but just as quickly as the idea ignites, it fizzles out.
Downing my shot, I place it on the coffee table and hang my head low. “This is pointless. I should just email my publisher now and tell them there is no way I can fulfill my contract.”
“No.” Zoey slaps the settee, which awakens Victoria, her eyes sharpening from the abuse to her precious furniture. “We are not giving up, and what you need is a refresher of what love is.”
“If you tell me I should set up a Tinder account, I’m going to punch you.”
“I would never suggest that.”
“You did last week when you said I was becoming a hermit.”
“Well, for fuck’s sake, Rylee. It’s summer and you’re wearing scarves inside your house with socks on your hands. A little Tinder action wouldn’t kill you.”
In my defense, I like it cold in my house, plus wearing socks on my hands feels nice, especially when I’m exfoliating and doing a deep conditioning on my hands. My fingers are the money makers. I have to treat them with respect, make sure they’re well oiled and ready to type all the words. Now if only my brain would kick it into high gear.
“I’m not doing Tinder.” I put my foot down. Tinder is not the solution.
“Well good, because that wasn’t my idea anyway.” Zoey bites into a Hot Pocket and talks with her mouth full. “What you need is to be in an environment of love where you can feel romance. I know you, Rylee, and the minute you’re put in a new situation, you start observing every little thing from the way a man casually presses his hand on the lower back of the girl he’s with, to the look a woman gives her man when they’re at dinner, a look that’s full of promises.”
She’s right. I’m an observer, a borderline voyeur at times, but it’s for the good of the books. That’s what I tell myself when I have my binoculars propped against my face, watching my neighbors from my window.
“Okay, so what’s your suggestion?”
Zoey sits up, mischief in her eyes. This is going to be good. “Next week, Art and I are going to Key West for a wedding. My cousin is getting married to her college sweetheart. They are the sweetest couple you will ever meet. Tiffany and Del, seriously, their love is so cute. And I think you should crash it.”
“Oh that’s very improper,” Victoria says, her lip curling from the idea.
“Yeah, I’m really not into that. I don’t know them, so that would be awkward.”
“That’s why it’s called crashing a wedding. I didn’t tell you to ask them for an invite.”
“Ehh, still a no from me.” I cross my arms and mull over the idea.
“Think about it.” When Zoey gets in this mode, there is no stopping her. “You fly to Key West for a few days, write off the trip as a business expense, and enjoy the sun while soaking up the romance. And who knows, maybe a little change of scenery and being in the presence of true love will help you come up with the most epic story ever.”
“It is an idea,” Victoria says, “but crashing someone’s wedding is rude.”
“The wedding is at The Hemingway House,” Zoey adds, a hand on her hip and a look of arrogance on her face.
Annnnnd she just dropped a bomb on Victoria. “Earnest . . . Hemingway?” There is a shake in her voice.
Zoey nods, smarmy written all over her. “The one and only.”
“Like the place where he wrote his novels?” I ask, feeling a little more intrigued.
“Yup. So think about it. Wedding, romance, beaches, Key lime pie, and Ernest’s ghost hovering over you, whispering into your ear every idea your little heart can desire. I can’t think of a more perfect place to get your writing groove back. Can you?”
I hate that she’s made it almost impossible for me to say no to this idea. I’m not one to crash someone’s wedding, not one at all since it’s a special day full of close family and friends, but . . . romance and Hemingway vibes. I mean . . . what romance author would say no to that?
“I’m only going if Victoria goes,” I blurt.
“Why are you dragging me into this?”
“Two seconds ago you were just salivating over the idea of being at Ernest Hemingway’s house.”
“Yes, I was because that would be an amazing place to not only visit but to get married in.” She brushes a piece of lint off her chinos. “But that doesn’t mean I’m about to crash the most important day of someone’s life. I’ll pass.”
“Ridiculous,” Zoey mutters as she gets up and walks toward the bathroom.
Victoria continues to pick lint off her pants, her turtleneck looking a little too tight around her neck right about now.
“Victoria . . .”
“I’m not going.”
“Come on. I need this.”
“Then go by yourself. I don’t need to go with you. You’re a big girl.”
Sighing, I say, “You and I both know if I go with Zoey and Art, they’re going to end up doing some couples thing like they always do, leaving me behind. I need a partner in crime, someone to help me stare at people.”
“As appealing as that sounds, I’ll pass.”
“Victoriaaaaaaa,” I whine, trying to think—aha! I’ve got it. “If you go with me to this wedding, I’ll go with you to that historical ball thing you wanted to go to at the end of the month.”
Lifting an eyebrow in my direction, Victoria asks, “You’ll go to the Historical League’s Annual Summer Solstice Ball?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ll wear a traditional dress from the 1800s.”
“A replica of sorts.” I swallow hard, starting to realize what I’m signing up for.
“You’ll wear a traditional dress from the 1800s with gigot sleeves and everything?”
Goddamn you, gigot sleeves.
Forcefully smiling, I nod. “Yup. Bring on the gigots.”
“Fine.” Victoria tilts her chin to the side. “I’ll go to your wedding, but I will tour The Hemingway House on my own. I don’t need you rushing me through it. And I require my own room, as I refuse to share with you.”
“Because I make fun of your sound machine?”
“Yes, I would rather sleep in peace than listen to your moaning about my machine all night.”
So many jokes, so many sexual things.
“I didn’t want to share a room with you anyway,” I answer just to save face. Can’t let Victoria think she holds all the cards in this deal, even though she does.
“Sure you didn’t.” Victoria starts gathering the plates and shot glasses when Zoey walks in clapping her hands.
“Did you girls figure it out?”
“We’re going,” I answer, hope blossoming inside me, hope for a possible book idea to finally come to mind.
“You’re going?” Zoey’s voice gets louder.
I match her enthusiasm, really starting to feel excited about my decision. Standing and throwing my arms in the air, I cheer a little too loudly, “We’re crashing a wedding!”
Chapter Two
BECK
Would you like anything to drink before we take off, sir?”
“Oh, I’m good, thank you.”
I’ve never felt so out of place in my entire life. Chris and Justine upgraded our flight to first class, even though I told them multiple times not to, but they didn’t want me sitting in the back when they were “boozing it up with the yuppies.” Their words, not mine.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I’ve been waiting for this phone call so I answer on the first ring.
“Hey Cal.”
“Beck, how are you doing?”
“Good, really good,” I answer, watchin
g the passengers board the plane. A mom and her baby sit in front of me, next to a girl who’s buried in her computer. I hope she has noise-cancelling headphones in that huge, quilted bag of hers.
“I’m glad to hear that. What are you up to?”
Cal Pipkin, yes, that is his name, has been calling me every Wednesday around ten his time for the last eight years. I’ve come to grow quite fond of his rough, no-nonsense tone. At first it had terrified me, but now it puts me at ease.
“I actually just boarded a plane headed to Key West.”
“Key West, huh? Looking to get a little R and R?”
“Yeah, something like that.” No need to go into details with Cal.
“Are you going by yourself?” I know what he’s getting at. He usually asks point-blank, but now, he beats around the bush, testing me.
“Chris and his wife are going with me. We’re attending a wedding, and then we’re going to have some beach fun.”
“Chris is a good man.” A good man who keeps me straight. There’s no doubt in my mind that Cal is happy about this information.
“He is.”
“Will alcohol be served at the wedding?”
Biting on the inside of my cheek, I nod even though he can’t see me. “Open bar, sir,” I answer, becoming formal with my sponsor.
Cal is a veteran who’s spent his retired days coaching and sponsoring not only retired military but civilians who are alcoholics. Eight years ago, my life changed. Luckily, I met Cal, the strong voice of reason driving me forward.
“How do you feel about that?”
“Good. Strong. It’s rare when I want anything other than water.”
“That’s good to hear.” He takes a moment and then says, “I’m proud of you, Beck. Your confidence knowing there is an open bar at the wedding is commendable. Stay strong. I don’t have any doubt that you’ll do fine.”
“Thank you,” I say uncomfortably.
“You’re welcome. I’ll let you go because I’m sure you have to get off your phone soon. Don’t be afraid to call if you need me, especially if temptation finds you.”
“I will. Have a good one, Cal.”
Temptation. Funny thing, it hasn’t found me in over eight years. The cravings diminished the minute I found out what I did, who I broke, and who I destroyed. Perspective hits you right in the gut when you flip another human’s world upside down, and fuck did it hit me hard.
I hang up and stare at my phone for a few seconds, taking deep breaths and slowing down my racing heart. Give yourself a moment, Beck. I understand the nature of my wrongdoings. I am in a process of recovery. I am willing to make amends to those I’ve harmed. I have accepted my past decisions and whom they affected. And as I often do when I get off the phone with Cal, I take a second to remember the little boy who haunts my dreams.
“Was that Cal?” Chris asks, leaning over the aisle, talking between boarding passengers.
“Yeah, just doing his weekly check in.”
“He must have an alarm on his phone to remind him about calling you because honestly, I don’t know how he remembers. I can barely remember to get the kids dressed in the morning. If it was up to me, they’d go to school in their pajamas.”
“That’s why you’re not in charge,” Justine says over Chris’s shoulders. Growing serious, Justine asks, “How’s Cal?”
“Good.” I nod my head. “Just a quick check in. Never misses one.”
“Did he ask about the wedding?”
A lady carrying a tiny dog in a bedazzled dog carrier stands between us so I wait to answer until she passes, her dog eyeing me through the mesh, his teeth snarling. Listen, dude, I’m not the one who put you in the damn thing.
“He did. He trusts me. A few years ago, he wouldn’t have been as easy to get off the phone.” Cal was relaxed as we spoke and knowing he also believes in me is all I need.
“He has no reason to worry.” Justine leaves it at that, knowing my background and where I stand now, how I’ve drastically changed.
There is loud clanking on a keyboard in front of Justine and Chris. I peek around the seat and eye a woman hunched over her computer, rapidly pressing the backspace on her Word document, muttering something to herself. One by one, her words vanish from the white screen on her laptop followed by a long sigh and a hand to her forehead.
She seems so annoyed, so I’m glad I’m not in her position. Whatever the hell she’s doing, or trying to do for that matter.
Sitting back in my cushioned seat, I attempt to relax as the girl now brings her phone to her ear and starts speaking rapidly, just loud enough that I can hear her.
“You should have paid extra to sit next to me. I would have paid extra. I need you. I have no ideas.” She pauses. “You’re so cheap, Victoria.” Pause. “No, I just deleted everything. It was pure shit. It wasn’t even the least bit riveting. What?” She sighs. “My first sentence? Why does that matter?” More sighing. “It was . . . Look at the bottom of my shoe.” Pause. “Yes, I know that’s a terrible first sentence. This is what I’m dealing with, Victoria. I wish you were here. I need your bosom.”
Eh?
“You can be on the phone right now, Victoria. The cabin door hasn’t closed. Just give me . . . don’t be such a square. You can be on the phone. Christ! Just give me a sentence, any sentence. Hello? Hello?” Sighing out of more frustration, she puts her phone in her lap and starts typing again.
Okay, I know I shouldn’t be looking, hell, I shouldn’t have even listened to that conversation, but now I feel invested. What is she trying to write and why does she need Victoria’s bosom? And if Victoria is such a square, it doesn’t seem likely she’d lend out her bosom to begin with. Is Victoria her lover? And what kind of a first sentence is “Look at the bottom of my shoe”? That doesn’t seem like a great first sentence for anything.
Needing to know more about this girl and her rather comical situation, I study her computer in front of her across the aisle. Yup, I’m that person right now, and I don’t even care.
She types a sentence and quickly deletes it. Curious, I start reading along with her typing.
Did you just walk in here naked?
Delete
Snakes, there are snakes in my bed!
Delete.
Ahoy, sailors. Is that a buoy in your pants?
Delete.
I just made apricot pie. Come on in and take a bite . . .
Delete.
Cats. Cats. Cats. Dog. I hate my life, this baby smells like a turd, and if the lady next to me elbows me one more time, I might use my computer as a crocodile device and chomp the hell out of her breast.
Delete
I snort to myself, kind of enjoying this girl’s sense of humor and also slightly confused by the cats, cats, cats, and dog part of that sentence, even though it was entertaining.
From the look of it, this girl is going to have one hell of a long flight.
Please put your trays in the upright and locked position as well as your seats. Gladys will be around to collect your trash before our final descent into Key West. Thank you for flying with us, and we hope you have a wonderful time under the sun.”
Chris shakes my shoulder with a little too much enthusiasm. “Almost there, buddy. I can smell the jet skis.”
“I can taste the pineapple rings you’ll be eating off my nipples.” Justine wavers forward, drinking the rest of her wine straight from the bottle. “Vacation, here we come.”
I guess this is what vacationing with parents gone wild is like: pineapples and nipples. And we’re not even off the plane yet.
“I’m going to eat those pineapple rings so hard.”
Lips pressed together, I mutter, “Excited to share a wall with you two.”
“Dude, we’re going to bang all night long. Get ready.”
“All the banging,” Justine follows up, giving me an over-exaggerated thumbs up.
Wonderful. Just what I need, to hear my best friend and his wife having sex, especially when I’m h
orny as fuck.
More clacking comes from in front of me. It’s been like that the entire flight, typing and then aggressive backspacing. Combine that with the toots from the baby and the incessant crying, this has been one magical flight. But I can’t complain. The lady in front of me, the one trying to calm her baby down, has had it worst. I can’t imagine what she must be feeling right now. Harried.
The girl with the black hair tied into the messiest of buns on top of her head, wisps of hair fanning around her head, slams her computer shut and rips her earphones out of her ears. Huffing, she stuffs everything in her backpack and then sits back and crosses her arms over her chest only to look out the window.
I want to tap her on the shoulder and tell her things could be worse, but knowing an unwelcome pep talk from a stranger will do no good, I sit still, trying to read her a little better. I don’t know why I’m so interested in her, in her every move, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so outwardly expressive with their displeasure in life. It’s as if she thinks she’s in her own little bubble, and no one can see what she’s doing.
“First things first when we land, get me a piece of Key lime pie. I don’t want anything else, I just want a pie shoved in my face.”
“I want to try all the Key lime pies from every pie place and decide which one is best,” Justine says. “I say we get an Uber and drive around to all the pie places, one at a time, picking up slices.”
“Or we can rent one of those golf carts and do the driving ourselves.” Chris becomes far too excited about this idea. “Putt Puttin’ in our fucking golf cart for pies.”
“Putt Puttin’ for pies.” They both high-five. Did I mention Chris had some drinks as well?
“How about you two check in to our rooms first and then you can go putting for pies after a nap and lots of water consumption.” I give them a knowing look that straightens them up.
Chris, looking a little shameful says, “Good idea, water, nap, then pies.”
At this new idea, Justine high-fives him again. “Water, nap, and pies!”
The plane gradually descends, turbulence shifting the cabin back and forth, up and down, every which way you can possibly think. The baby in front of Justine is screaming, her mom shooshing constantly, making me feel like reaching over to give her a break. Thankfully no one is annoyed in first class. Including the girl with the weird first sentences, most are more understanding than anything.
