I pop the lid off and peer inside. It’s a vivid, crimson red—definitely not my style—and I tuck it into my bag, wondering what to say. Does she even know me at all?
“I know it’s not a color you would’ve chosen,” she says. “That’s the point. It will make you feel sexy and bold. It’s for Harriet 2.0.” Before I can respond, she whips something else out from her bag. I recognize the tiny square wrapper immediately and my face warms. Typical Steph to brandish a condom in a public place like it’s no big deal. There arechildrennearby.
“Steph—”
“And I have a feeling,” she continues, tucking the condom into my bra with a devilish grin, “Harriet 2.0 will need this.”
“You’re being ridiculous.” I move forward in the line again and try not to let her see me blush. When I said I wanted to shake things up, I didnotmean red lipstick and condoms. But when I glance back at her, she looks disappointed and I feel bad. The condom is a joke, of course, but she must have gone to a lot of trouble to choose the lipstick shade for me.
I soften, smiling. “Thanks for the gift. It’s really thoughtful. And I’ll think about the whole Harriet 2.0 thing, okay?”
“I hope so,” she says, putting an arm over my shoulder and giving me a squeeze.
3
Iswirl the gin around in my glass and breathe a deep sigh of relief.
It’s been a rough night and I desperately need this drink. You see, the thing I didn’t realize as I boarded the flight from Auckland to Houston for the first leg of my journey, is that I’m afraid of flying.
No, not afraid.Terrified.
I should have seen that coming, but I was so focused on how scary the New York part of this trip is that I didn’t even stop to think about the flying part. And once I was on the plane, it was far too late to reconsider. I only made it through the hideous ordeal thanks to the kindly older lady seated beside me, who offered me an Ambien. I didn’t want to take it, because I have a staunch don’t-accept-drugs-from-strangers policy, but I kept thinking of Steph’s suggestion to take more risks. And when we hit an especially bad patch of turbulence and I had to clutch onto the lady’s hand for emotional support—like I’d done during take-off, by the way—I thoughtfuck it, and accepted the drugs.
But then I slept for twelve straight hours, through breakfast and landing, and was the last one off the plane. By the time I ran through the airport, went through the TSA line and located my terminal, I thought I’d missed my connecting flight. I arrived at the gate, breathless, only to discover the next flight had been delayed, and I now had a couple of hours to catch my breath and prepare for once again launching my body into the sky.
At first, I sat and gnawed on my nails, unable to even think about grabbing a snack because my stomach was all tangled again. But then I thought, what would Harriet 2.0 do? She wouldn’t be sitting with one knee bobbing up and down so much that the whole plastic row of seats shakes and the woman beside her keeps shooting her daggers. No; she’d grab a drink and relax, ready to enjoy her trip to The Big Apple. And not just any drink. She’d probably drink a martini or something super classy.
So here I am, cocktail glass in hand as I sit at a bar near my gate, about to drink a martini. I’ve never tried one before, but here’s to new things, right?
I take a big gulp and wince as it burns all the way down the back of my throat.
Holy hell, this tastes like pure alcohol. It’s like I’m swigging straight from the gin bottle. Why on earth do people drink these?
I glance down at the liquid in the glass. Just as I consider pushing it away, a warm sensation spreads through me and the knot in my middle loosens.
Wow, okay. There might be something to this.
I hold my breath and down the rest of the martini. While I wait for it to work its magic, I rummage in my bag and pull out my compact to check my appearance. Steph talked me into trying the red lipstick and it’s still stuck fast to my lips. As a sign of commitment to my exciting new self, I reapply a thick, glossy coat, before adding some mascara and spritzing myself with perfume. I slide my glasses back on as I hear them calling for my row to board.
The airport sways when I push to my feet. I adjust my cotton jersey dress as I wobble towards the gate, and it occurs to me that perhaps knocking back a martini on an empty stomach wasn’t the best idea. I’m trying to walk in a straight line but I’m not sure it’s working. God, what if they don’t let me on? What if I look like a drunk and they think I’m going to start a riot on board?
No, don’t be silly. They wouldn’t have alcohol at airports if you weren’t supposed to drink. I bet it’s how half of these people can face boarding this death machine.
Besides, I feel quite good now. My limbs are buzzing, my head is warm and fuzzy, and my whole body feels more relaxed. Maybe I’ll make it through this flight with my dignity intact.
I show the attendants my boarding pass, doing my best to stand straight and not give away the fact that the room is swimming around me, then teeter down the gangway to the plane. Once on board, I weave between passengers, giggling. I can’t remember the last time I felt this loose. Turns out Harriet 2.0 is pretty fun!
My seat is by the window, in the very back row. I turn to my right, about to clamber to my spot, and notice there’s someone sitting in the middle seat.
Not just someone. A guy. He must be in his mid-thirties and he’s tall, his long legs awkwardly folded in behind the seat in front. He’s in a pale blue business shirt with a navy colored tie around his neck. His eyes are closed, his head rests back against the seat, and his short, dark hair is a little ruffled. He looks so peaceful, I don’t want to disturb him.
I glance at my seat by the window. I’m quite sure I can squeeze over him.
Hoisting my bag up onto my shoulder, I creep into the row, grabbing hold of the headrest beside his to steady myself. Then I turn and face him, carefully lifting one leg over his lap and hoping he doesn’t open his eyes at this exact moment.
Okay, halfway there.
Ooh, he smells quite nice. What is that? Some kind of aftershave? I lean in closer and inhale the spicy, woody scent, noticing how lush and dark his eyelashes are against the creamy skin of his cheek.
