I sigh.
I don’t have the heart to tell her that I already know about the engagement party, and that she could’ve stopped texting me her “Can’t wait to spend some quality time with you, sis!” ruse weeks ago.
Instead of ignoring her, I text her back. “I won’t forget.”
“Ma’am?” A deep voice suddenly says, making me look up.
“Yes?”
“Are you waiting on something to happen? Is there a reason you haven’t placed that bag on the belt?”
I look over my shoulder and see the desk agent from minutes ago speaking to two security guards, pointing in my direction.
Jesus.
I slide the bag off my shoulder, and before I can set it down, a TSA agent grabs it and takes it over to a table.
Unsurprisingly, when I step through the metal detector, the alarm sounds and announces that I’ve been selected for a “random” security check.
I lift my arms as a woman waves a wand over my body, as she makes extra passes around my stomach.
“I take it you all are just bored today?” I shake my head. “There are plenty of other suspicious looking passengers for you to harass.”
“So, you admit that you look suspicious? Send her through the detector again, Rob!” She yells over her shoulder.
I walk through it two more times and watch as my bag is emptied, stuffed, and re-emptied again. Then they finally allow me to head to my gate.
After meandering through the hordes of holiday travelers and boarding the plane, I realize that I’m doing this.
I’m really leaving him.
Two
By the time my plane lands, I’ve realized three things: 1. I need to hurry up and rewrite my list of resolutions. 2. Babies should be forever banned from all flights. 3. Some people think sharing a row means they have to divulge their entire life story to you.
I’ve learned more about the complexities of shoveling cow dung than I’ll ever need to know, thanks to the man who was sitting next to me.
“I hope I didn’t bore you too much with my talk, young lady.” He smiles as he stands up. “If you’re ever in California, remember to visit my ranch. I’ll show you how to make the finest manure you’ve ever seen.”
“I will definitely do that.” I wait for him to walk away and look over my shoulder. Several passengers have yet to get off the plane, so I’ll wait to get up; my next flight won’t board for another few hours.
Pulling out my phone, I notice that I have new voicemail messages. Before I can see who they’re from, my best friend David’s face flashes across the screen.
“Hey, David.”
“Hey, David?” He mocks me. “Where are you?”
“Um…” I hesitate.
“Um? It’s Friday and I’m at Starbucks, ready to listen to a week’s worth of ‘Fuck Adrian’ talk. I practically look forward to this every week.”
“What? No, you don’t!”
“Of course, I don’t.” He scoffs. “Seriously though, where are you? Are you close by?”
“Is Atlanta considered close by?”
The line is suddenly silent. Then I hear him laughing hysterically.
“Is that the name of a new restaurant downtown? What street is it on? I’m on my way.”
“Atlanta as in Georgia, David.” My voice cracks a bit.
“What?”
“I um, I decided to leave Adrian this morning. I don’t want to marry him.”
“Then you could’ve just said you didn’t want to marry him. You didn’t have to fly out of the state to make your point.” He sighs, and then he gets into his overprotective mode. “How long do you plan to be gone?”
“Two weeks.”
“Two weeks?” He sounds shocked. “Do you have any money? Did you tell your boss?”
“No, and I kind of told my boss to fuck-off a couple hours ago.”
“Should I assume that Adrian has no idea that you’re in Atlanta?”
“You should.” I can practically picture him shaking his head and crossing his arms. Even though we’ve been best friends for over a decade, he treats me like I’m his little sister. Especially when I’m upset. (And he hates Adrian. Always has.)
“Okay. I’ll have my secretary wire you a couple thousand. Is Atlanta your final destination?”
“Boston.”
“Boston, Paris?” He raises his voice. “You don’t know anyone in Boston! And you—” He stops. “What do you honestly expect to happen when you come back to Nashville in two weeks? Did you plan this runaway trip, or did you wake up this morning and decide to jump on a plane?”
I don’t answer.
“Figures.” He lets out a long sigh. “I’ll make some hotel arrangements and have a driver meet you. Do you plan on calling anyone before tonight’s event, or are you going to make them hire a search party?”
“You can tell them I’m not coming at exactly six fifty-two.”
“Why six fifty-two? Wait, you know what? I don’t even want to know.”
“Fine. Just don’t say a word about it until then, okay? Not even to Amy.”
“Who is Amy?”
“Your girlfriend.”
“From last week.” He snorts. “This week it’s Rachel. Can I tell her?”
“No!”
He laughs, and then he clears his throat. “I’m very proud of you, Paris. Glad you finally woke up and saw the light—even though the way you’re going about it is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Now, if only we could find someone who knew how to fuck you right.”
I hang up and roll my eyes. Conversations with David always end in sexual innuendos, and whenever we’re together, people always assume that we’re more than friends.
We’re not. Far from it.
Although he’s insanely attractive and women cling to him like magnets, in my eyes, he’s still the boy who popped my bra straps in middle school.
Maybe he’s right, maybe this plan IS stupid.
Then again, he critiques porn for a living…
Chapter 2A
An hour later
I’m two seconds away from jumping out of my chair and screaming, “Please shut the hell up!” to the arguing couple beside me. They woke me up with their twisted insults, and I haven’t been able to sleep since.
Apparently, the douchebag boyfriend is insisting that she suck up her tears and act happy whenever they land to meet his family. She, on the other hand, hates his parents and is threatening to go home and leave him by himself.
I’m tempted to turn around and tell her to leave his ass, but they suddenly start kissing.
Ugh.
“Passengers heading to Washington DC,” a voice calls over the intercom, “we are about to begin the boarding process. At this time, I ask that any passengers with disabilities and any passengers traveling with small children make their way to the desk.”
Knowing that this process will take forever, I pull a notepad from my purse and start to write my newest resolutions. I want these to be my best ones yet.