But I do catch her singing “Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge” to herself.Great, my life is a movie and Chachi thinks I’m bravehearted and wants me to take my bride away, if the translation of the title can be believed.
“I never said I was in love,” I yell after her. She probably shouldn’t have been the first person to say I was in love. That should have been me. To the person I’m in love with. Or Priya. Because best friends know everything about each other and know it first.
I don’t get a response. Nor did I expect one. But I’ve got a jet to catch, apparently, so I’ll ignore it.
Now what does one wear to grovel?
Turns out, among other things, one of the perks of flying in a private jet is that you get to take up all the space and turn it into a private dressing room at forty thousand feet. The flight attendant, who has probably gotten some unique requests in her day, doesn’t bat an eye when I ask her what I look best in.
She dresses me in the blue gingham dress, suggesting that “the farmer might be more receptive to an apology if you’re dressed like you just got done milking a cow.” I mean, it couldn’t hurt.
She also gets a lot of backstory that she probably isn’t prepared for. But again, she’s a professional and is attentive to my drama. She asks if I want to go over my grovel speech, but since I still haven’t written it yet, I decline.
I figured it would come to me after I had the perfect outfit. Then over Virginia I look great, but it still doesn’t come to me. I watch an episode ofVeep, thinking all the great writing will stimulate my creativity.
That doesn’t help, although it is enjoyable. So alcohol must be the answer. The first whiskey is not illuminating but does make me care less that I don’t know what I’m going to say, and the second makes me yell, “Turn this plane around!” so I don’t have to come up with the speech.
Everyone on the plane takes their orders from Chachi apparently, so we do not turn around. Which leaves me in a tiny regional airport, in a very cute gingham dress with a bow in the back, tipsy, and with no idea what to say to make this right with Beau.
The flight attendant, probably still on those orders, calls a car for me before I can change my mind and get back on the jet.
So helpful.
The car drops me off in front of Beau’s house and drives away. Probably on similar orders as the jet to abandon me here until this is sorted. I stand in front of the door, giving myself a pep talk to knock. I remember how much I love Beau and how good his arms are going to feel if he forgives me.
But that’s not what makes me knock. I finally realize that they probably heard the car and since they’re in the middle of nowhere, they know it’s for them. They’re going to wonder if someone’s being creepy around their property.
I knock and wait a few seconds for them to answer. “Oh well, I tried. Maybe I’ll try again in a few months,” I say to the door, so the house knows I’m not a coward.
I turn around and hear the door open. Damn it. I turn back around to face whoever it is that answered the door. “Heeeey.”
Reed is in his pajamas. His eyes are squinted like he’s getting used to the light and also probably in confusion.
“Is Beau here?”
“Didn’t you leave?”
“Just for a little work emergency. Like the mulch.” While also being nothing like mulch.
“And do you know it’s one in the morning?”
A fact I didn’t realize till now. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it would be this late after the flight...and car ride...”
“He was really broken up when you left.”
“Um. Oh.”
“You shouldn’t do that again.” Reed has censure in his voice.
“I’m going to try really hard not to.” I don’t really want to move down here, so that might still be a problem. Not that Iwon’tmove here. But I’m really hoping we land on any other option. A New York option. Hell, an LA option would be fine.
Reed grunts and steps aside to let me in.
I sag in relief and step inside. Being on the receiving end of this is not fun. But I did hurt Beau and I deserve this. I just hope Reed doesn’t passive aggressively clean a gun in front of me, warning me off his precious son like some deranged toxic-masculinity type.
He doesn’tseemthe type.
“Fine, then. I’ll get him. You can help yourself to some sweet tea in the kitchen.”
