Seat 2A

by Dela

  We picked the pool table next to Jake’s, where Kendal introduced me to his friends. They formed a tight semi-circle around me, and I noticed Kendal was so much better looking than his thin and scrawny and somewhat-chubby friends. His fit physique made it easy for his white T-shirt to fit snug over his biceps and he wore blue jeans that hugged tightly, too. He was the best dressed one, thuggish still, just not as bum-looking.

  “Guys, this is Brooke,” he said.

  I drew my eyes narrower when they all relinquished an astonished look.

  “Vixen?” the tallest one asked—or clarified.

  “Vixen?” I wondered, confused.

  Kendal laughed. “Yes. Remember? Doe-eyed and naïve.” He said it too casually. I nudged him in the stomach and he flinched with a shrug. “Would you prefer Bambi?”

  I snickered as Kendal turned back to his friends, pointing from left to right. “Brooke, this is Long, Pea, Chip, Bee Sting, and Marlo.”

  I pointed to Kendal and asked his friends, “What’s his name?”

  Their jaws fell open and a simultaneous laughter ricocheted around us.

  “Dickweed,” one blurted out. He was short and had freckles underneath his dark skin. I knew his hair would be dark too, but most of it was covered by a beanie.

  “Pipe it, dirtwad,” Kendal shouted back, then he turned to me. “My nickname is Rags.”

  “Rags?”

  “Yeah, Rags.” He smiled crookedly as his buddies huddled closer and patted his back. I wondered why they were patting his back when one of them stepped forward.

  “I’m Paul,” said Long, the tallest with shaggy brown hair.

  “I’m Eddy,” said Pea, the African American one. He was tiny like a pea, but very good-looking.

  “Ryan here is our memory chip,” Kendal noted as I looked to him. He was the same mid-height as Kendal, but much thinner, and with blonde hair. His shirt was baggy and slouched over his thin jeans. “He remembers eeeveryyything. You have to watch out for him.”

  Chip grinned goofily, and it reminded me of Gretchen on Mean Girls, and her hair so full of secrets.

  “Teddy, but I prefer Bee Sting,” he said. He was the largest one, a little on the heavy side, but his face was the most boyish with pudgy cheeks and soft brown eyes.

  “Ya hate bees?” I asked.

  Chip laughed. “You should have seen him when one landed on his arm.”

  Bee Sting, who was a foot taller than Chip, noosed his arm around him and knuckled his fist into his chin. Chip only laughed as he tried to squirm out.

  I turned to the last friend on my right. “And Marlo, short for what?”

  “Not short for anything. That’s my real name.” His hair was long and curly. A coil lowered over his right eyebrow.

  “How come you don’t have a nickname?” I asked Marlo as Kendal started putting the balls in the triangle.

  “I haven’t given these junkheads a reason to give me one,” he laughed, taking a swig of beer.

  “Would you like a drink?” Kendal asked.

  “I don’t drink.”

  A slow and steady smile crept into his cheeks. His tongue clicked as he winked. “Me either.”

  Me either? So the alcohol I could smell yesterday wasn’t coming from your breath?

  I grabbed my pool stick, trying to act cool even though inside I tormented myself trying to read into that stupid reply. Why was he lying? Then, for the tiniest fraction of a second, I wondered if it was for me. Jessie, he doesn’t even know your real name, I reminded myself. Pathetic!

  Kendal’s friends grew louder the more drinks they consumed. They were that group. You know, the kind every stranger in the vicinity stared at because of their off-beat inside jokes and silly behavior. Michael and Brad seemed to be getting annoyed, but I found myself laughing at everything they said.

  “Marlo, are those scooters on your sweater?” Bee Sting asked.

  “Yeah man, thanks for noticing. My buddies in med school think I’m the coolest guy to ever wear a shirt with scooters on it.” He paused, and took a small breath before chuckling. “They wear the stupidest clothes, with collars and buttons, looking like wannabe doctors and all.”

  “Yeah, like boat shoes,” Chip belted out, laughing hard at his own joke.

  “Marlo, you’re a wannabe doctor too,” Kendal reminded. He couldn’t keep his laughter in.

  “I know man, but don’t remind me. I’m still me. I don’t really like this sweater; I just wear it because I found it at the bottom of my drawer one day and it was clean. I think my mom bought it for me last Christmas.”

  At around one in the morning Jake, who had bags under his eyes, grabbed my hand, “You good?”

  Regina looked tired, too. She was half-asleep on the couch, blowing bubbles with her mouth. I knew they were sticking around for me. Regina and Jake would never leave me alone with someone I’d just met, and they’d never ask me to leave if I was having a good time.

  “I’ve got to go home now, Kendal,” I said, producing a yawn at the exact same time. I was far from tired, elated actually, but I couldn’t make Jake and Regina wait for me any longer.

  “I figured. I’m stuck here for a while with these guys. Someone volunteered me to be the designated driver.” His green eyes had a knack for flirtatiously accusing.

  “I knew it! You could have had a drink if you wanted,” I stated, crossing my arms.

  “That’s not up for discussion. You busy tomorrow?”

  I put my coat on and zipped it up. “I promised Regina I would taste test some cakes since Jake hates cake.”

  “How can you hate cake?”

  “I know. And I have to help Regina with the flowers, too. She’s on a budget.”

  “She’s a DIY girl, very cool.” He took a deep breath and I swore worry glazed over his expression. “I wish you luck with that Vixen, and with everything else you need to do.”

  “Thanks.” When it was clear he wasn’t going to ask for my number I took a step back and gave him a playful jab. Hey buddy, want my number? “See you around, barf buddy.”

  He grinned, his eyes smoldered with stubbornness, and he put his hands in his pockets. “See you around, Bubblegum.”

  I nodded and started walking away when he suddenly called my fake name. I turned with hopes.

  “I like your rags,” he winked.

  “Huh?”

  “Your jeans, I like them.”

  “Oh.” I chuckled. “Thanks.”

  My heart fluttered like a giddy schoolgirl before falling quickly like a rejected giddy schoolgirl. It was dumb, but I left with more disappointment than I knew what to do with.

  On the ride home my mind drove me mad. Why didn’t you ask for his number, Jessie? Because that’s crazy and I don’t do crazy. I was just a normal grad with a normal degree after a normal breakup. Normal, normal, normal. All I ever wanted was a predictable normal life with an average normal career and a beautiful normal marriage that would somehow produce wonderful—and normal—children. It was never my intent to venture off the normal path, because that’s not the way to a normal life. Right?

  But Kendal wasn’t normal. He seemed pretty brilliant to me—and brilliant wasn’t part of my plan.

  Suddenly, as we drove under the hotel awning and the icy air greeted us, I knew through the hollow of my existence—just as the sun was no doubt a star—I was not normal.

  Chapter Five

  Jessie

  “Jessie!”

  It was Bridezilla, all five feet, seven inches of her, pounding on my door at an hour so early I couldn’t see straight. My eyes fizzled open against my wishes. “Jessie, I need you. Wake up! Oh gosh, please don’t make me go to my appointment with Jake’s aunts.”

  I sat up, moaning. It was a smaller wedding, one that I now greatly detested. Regina knew this when she chose to get married in Canada. Airfare, too pricey; hotel, forget about it; plus it was during the holidays. Nobody could make time to get away. So naturally that left me, the maid of honor, and t
he only friend able to come. I got dressed in aggravation and opened the door.

  Regina was sitting on the floor in the hallway playing on her phone. “Oh, good. You’re up. Let’s go.”

  “What would you do if I didn’t come out?”

  A puzzled look came across her face and she shrugged. “Break in?”

  The bakery was on the outskirts of town, nestled in a patch of trees along the seat-to-sky highway. A French man with a heavy accent greeted us and sat us down at a small café table. We tried traditional flavors at first: chocolate, French vanilla, and strawberry. Then he brought out more interesting combinations: lemon-lime with honey-crisp frosting, prickly pear cactus with rosewater cream, and black velvet with an orange meringue topping.

  “What do you think?” she asked, licking the orange frosting off her finger.

  “I don’t think it matters what I think. It’s not my wedding.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  “I don’t know, Regina. Which one do you like the most?”

  She pondered with her gaze to the clouds. “I think I like the cactus.”

  “So get that one.”

  She moaned and threw herself across the table.

  “What?”

  “I feel like picking a cake is some political move. If I get the cactus, then Jake’s family will argue and say they could have chosen better. But if I get the safe flavor, then my family will think I’m submissive, and that I should have chosen what I wanted.”

  I stared back blankly, almost amused. “Regina, that’s your answer right there.” I stood and put my coat on. “Get the cactus.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “If you don’t get the cactus, then you didn’t get what you wanted, and your family will be upset with you for not getting what you wanted on your wedding day. Let’s be honest, Jake’s family is going to be critical of whatever flavor you pick, so it really doesn’t matter, does it?”

  She sat there, pondering a longer minute than last, then stood with a solid, determined smile. “You’re the best damn maid of honor.”

  “Damn right I am.”

  Our next stop was Regina’s room, where the fresh stems had been delivered and were lined up against the wall in large buckets. Her room was the wedding suite on the corner of the same floor as mine and had the space for us to work. There were so many beautiful flowers: garden roses and dusty millers, and other sorts I couldn’t name, in pale peaches, whites, and grays. We spent three hours snipping, tugging, and tying, ordered room service during our quick break, then got right back to work for another two hours. We finished right before dinner, and I crashed in my room hard that night.

  The next day I had time to myself while Regina and Jake took pictures somewhere in the woods. I walked to the Village Stroll to find the Starbucks I spotted on our way to Cinnamon Bear Bar. The place seemed small, but the paved walkway went on over a small river and into a skating rink where the Olympic Rings stood. Shops adjoined to two-story hotels on the first floor, while restaurants on the second story offered perfection as promising smells beckoned down to me outside. Christmas lights and greenery hung from light poles and stair rails. It was all just too incredible not to like.

  I was crossing a fork in the road watching the morning light glow along the snow when something hard ran into my shoulder. I caught my footing quickly and turned to see if the other person was okay. Kendal was there, dressed in baggy snow gear, his snowboard in hand keeping him in balance.

  “Brooke! I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” He was searching me over for injuries, but really, his wide, dimpled grin couldn’t hide his elated surprise.

  “Yes, it was just a little nudge. But why do you keep running into me?”

  “Why do you keep letting me?” he joked.

  “I suppose I’m just a small, innocent doe.”

  He grinned and looked at his watch. “Where were you headed?”

  “Starbucks.”

  “Can I join you? I’ve got a bit of time.”

  We continued along the slick pavers for another minute, then Kendal picked his snowboard into a fallen patch of dirty snow outside the coffee shop. I was surprised to see its weight held up straight.

  “What do you like?” he asked loudly over the brewing machines. He removed his goggles and I noticed his tan line had gotten worse since I last saw him. Then he took off his beanie and I chuckled under my breath. He had the worst bed head.

  “Just hot chocolate.”

  He turned to the young girl at the register. “Two caramel apple ciders and one hot chocolate.”

  “Who’s joining you?”

  “Nobody. You’re going to change your mind when you try mine, and I’m not in the habit of sharing.” His symmetrical smile with perfect, straight teeth melted me right then and there; its whiteness glowed more than usual against his newly acquired tan, and suddenly I didn’t need the hot chocolate anymore. Drew would have never gone in public with his face like that, all two-toned and . . . absolutely perfect.

  “Are you going to force me to drink both? Because I just might barf again if you do.”

  He laughed, handing me the steamy cup. “I’ve got plans for the extra one. Promise. Airport morning was a stupid whim.”

  “Airport morning?”

  “That’s what I’m calling it. You can call it whatever you’d like.”

  I smiled and took a sip of the cider. I sighed with a subtle grin, not because of the amazing sweetness of the cider but because . . . airport morning. He watched me like a kid on Christmas morning, waiting for me to reply with an explosion of “Mmm, I love this!” and “Ooh, this is so good!”

  “Now what do we do with the hot chocolate?” I replied bleakly, holding the other cup as he reached for his board with an “I told you so” grin.

  “Care to join me for a walk?”

  I followed him south to the end of the Village Stroll and up a small slope of snow towards the lifts. When we reached the bottom, Kendal handed the hot chocolate to a kid shoveling snow. He wore a badge so I assumed he worked here. He put his shovel down and glanced over curiously. When he noticed Kendal was giving him a hot chocolate, a fresh smile—probably his first of the day—knocked the stoned daze right off his face.

  “Thanks man!” he swooned, but our backs were already to him as we headed back the way we came. We stopped at the edge of the snow and Kendal checked his phone.

  “Bee Sting forgot his board and they had to run back for it. Mind hanging around till they get here?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  Kendal set his drink into the snow and placed a foot into his binding. “How’s the wedding coming?”

  It was hard to focus when he was bent over, butt in the air. The bagginess now pressed tightly enough to highlight the round shape of his butt. My mouth dropped for a split second, before I used what little control I had to shut down my oozy stare with a hard blink.

  “It’s coming. Regina and Jake are busy today with last-minute stuff, so I’m sort of on my own.”

  “Really? You’re not doing anything with bear and mouse?”

  “Very funny.”

  He cocked his head back and snickered. “Of course you’re not because you’re waiting for me to ask you out.”

  “Who says?”

  He straightened up and looked down. I hadn’t realized he was a whole foot taller than I. “Why are you still standing here then?”

  It hit me like a POW! and a BAM! I froze in silence with my awe and my lust. And then it became awkward.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Are you?”

  My face flushed the color of licorice and there was no undoing it.

  “Brooke Evans, would you like to go out with me?”

  Cue the butterflies in stomach. “I . . . um . . . ”

  “Perfect. I’ll pick you up in four hours.”

  “I didn’t say yes!”

  He grinned edgily, placing his beanie and goggles back on. “Didn’t need to.”

  “I act
ually have plans tonight. Bachelorette stuff.”

  “That’s fine. We’ll spend the day together and then you can go off with your . . . girlies.”

  “Kendal!” Multiple voices called at once. I whipped my head towards them. The guys were approaching with smoldered nods. “Vixen,” they greeted.

  I flushed a deeper red. Great, I was probably the shade of Regina’s wine cloth by now. It didn’t help when the boys dropped to their bindings to snap them up. So many butts in the air. I have to get into this sport.

  “One o’clock. Meet me in your lobby,” Kendal hollered, skidding one foot across the snow, sliding further and further away.

  It was one o’clock and I was wearing the jeans Kendal liked, staring at the grandfather clock in the corner of the lobby when he walked in. His dark hair was messy and windblown and he wore a loose plaid shirt with the top two buttons undone. I stood, expecting him to come over, but his finger pointed, asking me to wait. He said hi to the valet man who was coming on to him, the concierge, and then the man standing in front of the restaurant I’d been sitting near for the past ten minutes.

  “You want Honda sir?” the Asian valet man asked behind him. His eyebrows were angled upward, confused.

  “Yes, Cheng, the Honda is fine for me today.”

  “Mr. Va—” he started, but Kendal swiftly held up his hand.

  “Please, don’t offer me anything else. I’m only here to pick up a guest.”

  “You know these people?” I asked, as he neared me with a rather peculiar grin.

  “I’ve stayed here with my family before.”

  “You must have made an impression on them.”

  He nodded strangely, answers hidden behind his straight face, making him look uncomfortable. “Something like that.”

  He pressed a hand to the small of my back and scooted me along towards the green Honda in question.

  “First off,” he said with an old English accent, pulling onto Blackcomb Way. There was so much snow it had been piled like a barrier on the side of the road. “I want to thank you for accepting my offer to go out with me.”

  I couldn’t help but giggle at his horrible accent.