“You’re stuck with me. Someone needs to have your back. Besides, I have to be here when JP gets back. Remember, you’re not the only person I’m working for here.”
I give him another peck on the cheek. “You’re the best intern ever, Max. I’ll see you when I get back.”
“No, I’m vice president,” he says lamely.43
On the way to the airport, I get gas. Because I only have cash like it’s 1999, I walk into the station.
God, I want a fucking slushie.
Just as I think that, I know the impulse is true and honest. I love slushies! I grab one. If JP loves me, maybe he loves slushies too.
I count out a few dollars and change for the slushie, slap it down on the counter, and head back to the car.
The Ferrari looks like I’ve been living out of it. Fast food bags with muddy footprints on them are shoved into the corners of the footwells, and the previously pristine cup holders are starting to fill with the debris of life: straw wrappers, change, and crumbs. It even smells like Friday’s tacos. When I stepped into it a couple of days ago, it looked like I just drove it off the lot. Is JP a neat freak or does he have an army of people sweeping up taco lettuce and coffee cups behind him?
Traffic isn’t bad for LA, surprisingly. I drive past billboards for all the important shit, like new Netflix specials. A giant billboard of JulesBrand underwear dominates the view just past the Carson exit. Jules stares over the 405 toward Compton like he has a secret.
If my investment in him doesn’t pan out fast, I’m going to jail. That’s my secret. Well, one of them.
Does JP know this? How much of my life have I shared with this man?
I follow the directions to Terminal 7 and pull up behind a line of Ubers, which reminds me that I probably should have made JP take an Uber. Why did I volunteer to drive to the airport? Because that’s what you do for the man of your dreams, I remind myself.
I tap out a quick text.I’m here. Baggage claim 7.
I haven’t felt this nervous since two days ago when I turned the key to the door of the pink house on Ocean Boulevard. I’m about to meet the person I chose: a guy with a too-clean car, a perfect house, and a square jaw. I feel like I’m floating above the world, watching my life unfold. My hands are on the wheel, my foot is on the gas, and I can hear myself breathing too fast. The AC blows too cold on my face and I open the window.
Immediately, the sounds of car horns honking angrily in an enclosed space and the smell of exhaust assaults me. I can hear people yelling at each other to get out of the way. A cop motions for me to move along and I manage to push the gas pedal down and drive a couple of car lengths ahead.
I can’t get Max’s voice out of my head. Am I really picking up a man who might’ve smashed my skull in less than a week ago? Both Max and the cop I talked to thought JP was the prime suspect. But my memories of that night tell me he isn’t the one. Sure he showed up in that memory, but it seems likesome angry chick did it. But WTF do I know? Do I only pay attention to things that validate my theories and opinions? That’s basically what Max accused me of doing. That’s probably how people live fairy-tale lives, though—they only see the good things. Fairy tales only exist if you keep your rose-colored glasses on, like in that movie with Amy Adams, which, come to think of it, was all about confirmation bias.
Shut up, Mia.My mind is racing in every direction now.
I don’t think I’m hyperventilating but I don’t feel good. I lay my forehead against the steering wheel and shut my eyes. Someone behind me honks but I don’t even lift my head. If I don’t move, I can’t get into more trouble. Just stay put, Mia. Don’t move.
I hear a knock on the passenger-side window. If it’s that goddamn cop, I’m going to tell him to move the car for me. I need help. But when I look up, I see JP.
JP.
When he sees my face, his smile changes to genuine concern. “Mia, are you okay? What’s the matter?” His voice sounds far away, and I can see his mouth moving, but I can’t understand anything. What am I even doing?
I’ve been wearing the same dress for days and I’m wearing a hat to cover the staples in my head. JP wants to kill me or marry me, and I just made out with Max in a science lab.
JP hurries around the car to my door and opens it, grabbing my hand and pulling me out. I stand as tears well up in my eyes. My legs feel like jelly. I open my mouth to talk butI’m just breathing. I can’t say anything and I can tell that I’m making a hideous face. I’m in the throes of a light panic attack.
“Oh my God, what happened to you?”
He puts his arm around me to prop me up and basically drags me to the passenger side. I’m done. I know it. I don’t know what I’ve been doing, but I can’t do it anymore. He opens the door and helps me into the low-slung seat. I lean my head back and shut my eyes tight. This is the weirdest introduction to the man who is going to propose to me, assuming I understood his text correctly.
While I shut my eyes, too freaked out to confront the first person from my real life, JP quickly loads his luggage in the trunk and runs to the driver’s side.
“Mia, are you okay?”
I nod. There aren’t many places to pull over and rest on the way out of the airport, but he takes the first exit and turns into a parking lot.
“Mia, you’re not okay. What happened?”
“I’m sorry,” I say, “I started feeling so…sick all of a sudden.”
