"Flight attendants, please prepare for landing." The loudspeaker startles me awake, and I check my face for hints of drool and/or smudged eye-makeup. Through the corner of my eye, I glance to the seat beside me, finding the guy reading a book. I can’t tell what he’s reading, but by the glossy black cover, I assume it’s a thriller of some sort.
"You’re into romance novels?" I ask, trying to sound serious.
"All of them," he says. "You should see my collection at home. It’s embarrassing."
"I bet," I say, reaching for my purse.
He closes the book and places it down on his lap, providing me a glimpse of the title:
The Devil’s Cut: A Perfect Blend
The Devil’s Cut?There’s nothing weird about the title … if he’s a murderer.This is why I shouldn’t talk to random men.
"I hope whatever reason you had to travel today serves you well," the man says.
"I think the flight attendants are the ones who say this,” I reply, smirking for good measure.
The man shrugs. "Maybe."
"It was nice to meet you.” While I wouldn’t have hoped for an awkward conversation with a good-looking man throughout this flight, I suppose I could have experienced much worse. Plus, he distracted me a smidge.
"Likewise," he says, his smile curling to one side. The plane touches down onthe runway, shoving us in every direction like little pinballs. It must be windier than usual. "Hey, totallyrandom, but I want to do the old-fashioned thing and give you my number. You are welcome to toss it in the trash if you think I’m crazy, but for the small chance you don’t think I’m nuts—" he hands me a receipt with his number written on the back. No name.
I stare at his number for a moment before glancing up into his golden eyes. "You never know what life has in store for us, right?"
I’m in no place to be calling men, and this man has no clue I just broke up with my boyfriend of four years so I can move home to be with my dying father. The gesture, though, it was nice. "Right," I reply as if my response is automated.
The very second the passengers spill into the aisle, and the man beside me steps away, I feel the rush of reality crashing back down on me. Or maybe it’s just my carry-on, which falls out of the overhead compartment. Either way, it’s obviously a sign.
My walk down the thin aisle feels lonelier than it did when I stepped onto the plane. I can feel each step in the basin of my stomach and in the hollow of my heart, knowing Journey and Mom will be at baggage claim. The looks each will have on their face will remind me of the last time we all felt this way. At least last time, we had hope.
The airport is overcrowded today. Burlington Airport in Vermont is never bustling with people like other city airports. I walk as fast as I can with my carry-on rolling behind me, and though I know it’s only in my head, I can’t help but feel like everyone is staring at me. It’s like they know something terrible is about to happen, and they feel sorry for me.
Maybe I just feel sorry for myself.
The escalator will drop me right in front of the baggage claim area where I expect to see my sister and mother slouched on a bench by the window.
I see them as I step off the escalator. Mom and Journey are both smiling and waving at me as if I’m coming home for a good reason. How can they be smiling?
Journey springs forward and throws her arms around my neck, squeezing the air out of my lungs. She isn’t saying anything while she does so, and Mom, she wraps her arms around both of us, uttering the words, "My girls."
Those two words have nothing to do with Dad or for the fact I’m here because he is sick. Still, the three of us burst into tears at the same moment, and we cry together in the middle of the airport, while the world looks in at our falling house of cards.
When the film of tears clear from my eyes and I look over my sister’s shoulder, I catch the nameless man gazing with intensity, but when we make eye contact, he snaps his head away as if I didn’t see him gawking at us like everyone else in the area.
We all sniffle and inhale to compose ourselves. "How many bags do you have, sweetie?"
"Just one. I’ll send for the rest of my stuff later."
Mom’s brows furrow with confusion, and Journey’s right brow arches with a look of question. "The rest of your stuff?" Journey asks.
"I broke up with Ace," I say, my breath catching in my throat.
Mom and Journey clutch their chest, and their shoulders relax as if I offered them relief rather than shock. "Did he cheat?" Journey asks, blunt as ever. "I’ll castrate the jerk."
"No, no, I—" I lift my left hand and wiggle my bare ring finger. "It wasn’t in the plans for us, I guess."
"I know," Journey says, wrapping her arm back around my shoulders. "We knew you’d come to your senses someday." Typically, I’d pick at what she’s saying and ask how long she’s been betting my relationship with Ace wouldn’t last, but at the current moment, I don’t care enough to ask.
