*
I was sore.Reallysore.
The idea of sitting on an airplane for six hours sent me searching the terminal shops for ibuprofen because there was no room for the constant, throbbing memory of Matthew and last night’s nonstop sex festival on this flight. And it wasn’t like we could only blame last night. It had been four straight days of this.
Suggestive taglines on the covers ofCosmopolitan,Allure, andGlamourcaught my attention, all professing the secrets to making my man happy in bed, and I scowled back at them. Those stories required a warning label: ‘You and your man will be happy in bed, but you won’t be able to sit down for three days. And P.S.: he might bite the shit out of your shoulder.’
I knocked back three tablets, pulled on my darkest sunglasses, and wandered the terminal. Once my flight was called, I discovered sitting was exactly as uncomfortable as I expected. Wiggling into a tolerable position, I prayed for smooth skies. I skimmed my emails while passengers boarded, busy clearing issues from my inbox and crossing tiny items from my action plan, and didn’t notice the unopened text message icon in the corner of my screen until the flight attendants started their safety procedures.
07:08 Matthew:have a good flight sweetness. call me whenever.
I stared at those words, those simple, innocuous words, and heard them as if he was whispering into my ear.
“Miss, you need to turn that off.” The flight attendant nodded toward my phone with a steely glare. “Now.”
I spared the text one last glance before deleting it.
Chapter Sixteen
MATTHEW
From: Matthew Walsh
To: Erin Walsh
Date: September 28 at 11:32 EDT
Subject: On the topic of citrus fruit
…Clementines.
Birthday: August 16.
And I need you home at Thanksgiving or Christmas. Get your ass back to Boston. I need you to meet her.
From: Erin Walsh
To: Matthew Walsh
Date: September 29 at 04:30 CEST
Subject: RE: On the topic of citrus fruit
M–
I was going to congratulate you on gathering basic information about your new friend, then I realized how absurd that would be. So. As you were.
And by the way, if architecture doesn’t work out for RISD, tell him there’s work for him calling the plays at high school football games. I can’t tell you how wonderful it was to hear him recap your little in-office molestation, even if his texts are slamming my data plan.
But here’s the real question, kid: did you read her in?
–e
From: Matthew Walsh
To: Erin Walsh
Date: October 4 at 22:56 EDT
