But not today. Not for a long time.
Whatever. Doug will be back in a few minutes, and he’ll help me with the fries. I don’t need her. I don’t need her now and I sure as hell don’t need her on this trip.
Chapter 14
ONE MONTH LATER
Alex
With the amount of luggage we’re carrying with us through LaGuardia airport, you’d never guess we’re only going to be gone for a grand total of five days.
It’s my fault—I know it. All this shit is mine. If Doug were going alone, he’d have one bag and maybe a small carryon. Nellie showed up with nothing but a backpack and her purse—I can’t even imagine how tiny the dress she’s planning to wear to the wedding is. When I asked her about it, she shrugged and said, “How much space do shorts and a couple of T-shirts take up?” I didn’t want to ask if she was planning to wear shorts and a T-shirt to the wedding.
The rest of the luggage is all mine. Bags and bags of it—and I’ll be screwed if the airline loses any piece of it. One bag is my clothes, which is probably the least important. I’ve also got a bag with my laptop and chargers and other computer-related paraphernalia. I needed another bag to fit my hand splints and the boots I wear on my legs at night. My medical supplies take up yet another bag—I brought a two-week supply of my medications, as well as an equal supply of catheter bags, changing materials, and cleaning materials, as well as padding for the bed. I’ve also got my travel shower chair with me, which folds into a piece of luggage that Nellie is pulling along behind her. Nellie and Doug are both struggling with all my bags, and there’s one on my lap too. So at least I can help a little.
“This isn’t too much for you to carry?” Doug asks Nellie.
She adjusts the bag hanging off her shoulder and I can see it’s left a red imprint behind. “And what if I said it was?”
“Uh…” Doug scratches at his head. He’s trying to be gallant but he’s sort of a dumbass because he’s already got more than he can comfortably carry. “We could probably put another bag on Alex’s lap.”
“No, we could not put another bag on Alex’s lap,” I speak up. There isn’t going to be room for my chair controls if my lap becomes a tower of bags. Also, the top bag will undoubtedly slide off the bottom bag, hit me in the foot, and break a toe or something.
“Or I think there are people who can assist us with our bags…” Doug says.
Nellie flashes him a crooked smile. “No, I’m good.”
Thank fucking God. Whatever else I can say about Nellie, she’s no diva.
It’s a relief when we finally get to the line to check our bags. Of course, I’m nervous as hell about separating with any of my stuff, most of which will be impossible to quickly replace if it gets lost. That’s why my one carryon bag is my medical supplies—that’s the thing I’d least like to lose.
“What about the wheelchair?” Nellie asks. “Where does that go? We can’t take it on the plane, right?”
“It goes in the cargo area,” Doug says.
I start freaking out every time I think about my chair being taken away from me and stuffed under the plane. Of all the things I really, really do not want lost or damaged on this trip, my chair tops the list. I’m going to keep the cushion with me on the plane, and Doug will disassemble it as much as possible before they take it, but it’s still scary as hell. I bugged him to book a plane with a large enough cargo area that the chair wouldn’t have to be tipped on its side to fit inside.
“They said I could keep my chair till it’s time to board, right?” I ask Doug.
He shrugs. “That’s what they said.”
I hope he’s right.
Possibly the only benefit to flying with me is we get to use the handicapped security line. Nellie and Doug stroll through the metal detector, but that’s not an option for me. I wait on the other side of the detector for someone from TSA to assist me. Nellie, who amazingly did not set off the metal detector with any of her piercings, looks at me curiously.
“You’re not going through?” she asks.
People love asking dumb questions. I didn’t realize how much until I ended up in this chair.
I give her a look. “What do you think my chair is made of?” When she doesn’t answer, I add, “The metal will set off the alarm.”
“So what do you do?”
“They’re going to pat me down.”
Nellie’s face lights up. “You mean they’re going to frisk you?”
I don’t know why the idea of this delights her so much. Fine, I haven’t exactly been nice to her. You might even say I’ve been an asshole to her. But still.
“It’s not that big a deal,” I say. “You can go ahead to our gate.”
“Not a chance,” she says. “I’m not missing this.”
Great. Real nice.
A few minutes later, a sweaty TSA worker comes puffing over to us. He’s got at least an extra fifty pounds on him, and there are large pit stains on his blue shirt. I look at the badge on his chest. His name is Wayne. No relation to Nellie’s dad, I assume.
Wayne turns to my brother, “This him?”
He’s talking over me like everyone else fucking does, but I don’t have it in me to be snarky right now. I just let Doug answer in the affirmative.
Wayne looks me over. Last time I flew, they just did a quick pat-down. I’m hoping that’s what we’re going to do now. “Sir,” he says to my brother, “can you undo the straps so I can frisk him?”
So much for getting a quick pat-down. I shoot Doug a pained look, but he shrugs helplessly. I don’t like having my straps undone unless I’m being transferred. That in conjunction with his use of the word “frisk” is making me very nervous. But it’s not like we have much of a choice.
I use the controls to tip my chair back a bit so I won’t slide down when the strap across my chest comes undone. When Wayne leans in close to me, the stench of his sweat is so overpowering, I have to breathe through my mouth. Christ, I hope he’s faster than he looks.
Except he isn’t. This guy is being thorough as all hell. He starts with my shoulders, working his way down my arms, feeling under my arms, then around my belly. Because that’s where I’d strap the bomb, I guess.
“Can you lean forward, sir?” he asks me.
Well, at least he’s speaking directly to me this time. But the answer is no. If I had any trunk control, why would I have a strap across my chest?
“I’ll need help,” I say.
Doug has to help me lean forward. I rest my head against his shoulder, and he pulls my upper body forward so Wayne can make sure I don’t have a bomb hiding on my back. When he’s done, Doug asks if he can strap me back in.
“Yeah, but leave his hands free,” Wayne says. “We need to swab him for explosives.”
“What the fuck?” I say before I can stop myself. It’s probably not how I should be speaking to a TSA agent. And it makes Nellie laugh out loud.
“It’s just a quick swab,” Wayne says.
I sigh and lean my head back against the headrest. I’m starting to regret this whole trip. Well, at least I’m strapped in again.
Wayne continues with his intensely thorough frisk. He starts feeling my left leg, and his eyes widen when he hits the bulge on my left leg.
“That’s my leg bag,” I tell him, cursing myself for not having warned him.
“Can I have a look?” he asks.
“It’s a medical device,” I say through my teeth. “To collect urine. I’m a quadriplegic.”
But Wayne needs to see the damn leg bag, which is at least nearly empty. I swear to God, I’m never flying again. This is the last time. I’ll have to live in Vegas.
After he’s done frisking me, Wayne swabs me for explosives. He swabs my palms, but also my shoes, my armrests, and my wheels. Nellie giggles into her hand at the look on my face when he swabs my shoes. I’m so sick of this. I don’t understand why I’m getting this kind of treatment. Does he think I’m a terrorist?
As I watc
h him doing his job, I comment, “You know, Wayne is my friend over here’s favorite name.”
Wayne lifts his eyes to where Nellie is standing. His face lights up, presumably at the sight of her knockers. Nellie shifts in her sandals.
“Your favorite name, huh?” Wayne says to her.
Nellie glares at me but manages to force a smile for Wayne. “It’s my father’s name, actually.”
“Oh, I get it.” Wayne gives her a smile that makes my skin crawl. “You’re one of those…”
“I’m not one of those.” She’s eyeing the beads of sweat on his hairline. “I’m the opposite of one of those.”
Wayne sticks the swab in the tester. It flashes green, and he pats me on the shoulder. “All good, buddy.”
“Thanks,” I say. If it were positive, I have no idea what the next step would be. They already fucking frisked me, after all. Full body cavity search? I don’t want to think about it. All I want is to get the hell out of here.
Wayne flashes Nellie another of those creepy smiles. “Where are you headed, Miss…?”
“Brown,” Nellie says. “Lucy Brown.”
“Well, where are you headed, Lucy?”
“India,” she says. “I’m moving there. Forever.”
“Oh.” Wayne’s face falls. “Sorry to hear that. New York is unlucky to lose you.”
“And I’m unlucky to lose New York.”
Wayne seems uncertain what to say to that, so instead he looks back at me. “Sir, I’m going to bring you an aisle chair, and then we’ll check your wheelchair for you.”
My stomach sinks. Any relief I felt when that light on the tester turned green immediately vanishes.
An aisle chair is a small wheelchair the airports use to transport passengers who can’t walk to their seats on the plane. They’re awful. Just plain awful. “We were told I could stay in my wheelchair until it’s time to board.”
“I’m afraid not,” Wayne says. “This is our policy.”
I’m not thrilled with the prospect of being stuck in the aisle chair until I board. I know from last time how unstable I felt in that chair—it’s very narrow without much padding.
I look at Doug for help, but he just shrugs. Maybe he doesn’t care, but I do. I don’t want to do this. We’ve got two hours until our flight, and that’s if it doesn’t get delayed. Also, if I get out of this wheelchair, I will lose the little amount of independence I have. Someone will have to push me for the remainder of the time.
“The thing is, Wayne,” Nellie says, taking a step in his direction, “one of your people told us on the phone he could stay in his own chair until it’s time to board. They guaranteed it.”
Wayne’s cheeks redden. “I’m sorry, but our policy is—”
“You can’t make an exception for my friend?” Nellie blinks at him a few times. Is she pushing her chest out? Christ, I think she is. “Just this one time? We’d really appreciate it.”
It’s almost funny how Wayne’s eyes are glued to Nellie’s chest. “Um…”
“Please?” she asks again.
And she touches his sweaty arm.
“I… I guess it’s all right this one time,” Wayne stammers.
Holy shit, I can’t believe that worked.
“Thank you so much, Wayne.” Nellie flashes him a smile. “I knew Wayne was my favorite name for a reason.”
And he blushes like a schoolgirl. I’d laugh if I wasn’t worried it might make him change his mind.
Chapter 15
Nellie
I have a secret: I’m afraid of flying.
I’m not the kind of afraid where I avoid planes like the plague and have to take five Xanax before I’ll set foot in an airport. I’m not insane afraid. But I definitely do not enjoy flying. I tell my parents I love them before any flight because omg what if it’s the last time I ever see them?
It’s not an irrational fear. Frankly, I don’t know why people aren’t more scared of flying. We are soaring through the air, suspended by nothing. Given my understanding of gravity, that should not work. (Granted, I never got more than a C in physics. Still, these are the basics, people.)
Also, I know they always joke about the black box in a plane, and why can’t they make the whole plane out of the black box, but I think that’s a very good question! Why can’t they make the whole plane out of the black box? If the plane goes careening to the ground, how come the only thing that survives is a freaking box?
I wish I weren’t afraid of flying, because otherwise, I’m sure I’d be having the time of my life. We’re flying in business class, which is something I’ve never done before and—let’s face it—probably never will again. The seats are really comfortable and I have lots of legroom, and I’m not jammed between a fat man and a crying baby like I was on my last flight. (Why would anyone put a toddler all alone in the window seat? Why?) Whenever I ask the flight attendant for anything, she brings it to me. I haven’t yet devised a request she hasn’t been able to comply with. I swear, if I asked her to bring me Yodel, my dog who died when I was eight, she’d make him appear.
Doug and Alex are sitting on one side of the plane, and I’m across the aisle from them. Doug is in the window seat, he’s got a pillow and a blanket, and he’s snoring softly. Alex is on the aisle, a stone’s throw away from me. Alex has a blanket covering him, which Doug draped over him before he went to sleep, but he’s got his headphones on and is watching the inflight movie. I had started watching the movie too, because it’s free in business class (!), but it was this dumb comedy that was just too awful for words, so I took off my headphones.
We had to wait about two hours at the gate before we could board our flight, and Alex barely spoke to me at all during that time. I thought he’d be grateful to me after I convinced that TSA guy Wayne to let him keep his wheelchair, but apparently not. He didn’t even thank me. And he should have, because I saw how limited he was after they put him in that aisle chair. It was this narrow wheelchair that he could barely sit up in, much less control on his own. Once he was in it, we pretty much had to wait right in front of the runway.
But no, Alex blatantly dislikes me, even after I went out of my way to help him. And trust me, I’m not one of those people who everyone has to like. I’m okay with some people disliking me. I mean, you’re talking to a girl who dumps drinks over people’s heads left and right.
But I want Alex Warner to like me. I just do.
“Hey,” I say to him.
He doesn’t respond. His eyes are still pinned on the screen in front of him.
“Hey!” I say, louder this time.
He rotates his head about a quarter of a turn. I thought his headrest was limiting how much he could move his head, but now it’s clear he can’t move his neck that much. “What is it?”
“This movie sucks.”
He rotates his head back to look at the screen. “I like it.”
“Liar.”
“I think it’s good. Maybe your taste isn’t refined enough.”
I study his face, examining it for traces of a smile. I see none. But damn, he’s good-looking. Just sayin’. “Fine. Tell me what’s so good about it.”
“It’s reminiscent of Robert Altman’s films,” he says. “The camera browses the scenes, looking for interesting bits of human interaction.”
“Yeah, but all those interactions are fart and dick jokes.”
Alex opens his mouth as if to respond, but then he thinks better of it. He leans his head back against the headrest. “Okay, you win. It’s awful. Worse than awful.”
“So why are you watching it?”
He shrugs, a tiny gesture that shifts his arms ever so slightly under the blanket. “I don’t know. I’m bored and Doug put the headphones on me.”
“I could take them off for you,” I offer.
He hesitates for a moment. I know he wants to pretend I don’t exist during this trip, but I refuse to let him. “Fine.”
I reach over and pull the headphones off his ears. My fing
ers brush against the sexy dark stubble on his chin, which seems to have sprouted over the last hour. I wonder if he’s the kind of guy who shaves a second time if he goes out later in the evening.
Of course, he wouldn’t shave at all. Someone does it for him these days.
“You know,” I say, “you never thanked me for charming ol’ Wayne at the security line.”
“Are you instructing me to thank you?” He arches a dark brown eyebrow at me. “That’s classy.”
“No,” I say, “I’m just pointing out if you had any manners, you would have thanked me without my having to say anything.”
Alex looks down at the headphones like he wishes they were still on his ears, then back up at me. “I guess I was raised badly.”
He doesn’t thank me. Not that I expected him to. Oh well.
“Do you need anything else?” I ask him. “Your phone? Do you want the headset back on?”
He’s quiet for a moment. He finally looks up at me, turning the full impact of his gray eyes on me, which simultaneously turns me on and makes me uncomfortable. I appreciate he’s looking at my face, rather than my boobs, at least.
“What do you need two-thousand dollars for?”
I suck in a breath. “What?”
“You bulldozed my brother into insisting you come on this trip,” he says, “even though you knew I didn’t want you here. You need the money badly. Why?”
I almost tell him it’s none of his goddamn business. But I’m trying to make nice right now.
“I got fired from my waitressing job,” I explain. “I need to pay the rent. Because the cardboard box outside my building’s already got a waiting list.”
Alex nods, considering this. “How come you got fired?”
I wince. “You’re really want to know?”
“I asked, didn’t I?”
I sigh. “This douchebag customer grabbed my boob and I poured a beer over his head.”
My Ex's Wedding: A Fake Boyfriend Romance Page 8
