A knock sounds at my door.
“Stella?” my sister calls to me, her voice concerned. “Are you ok?”
I let out a few silent sobs into my pillow before I can manage to respond.
“I’m sick.”
What’s one more lie in a stack of many? I can hear Jules lean up against the door.
“Oh no, what’s wrong? Can I get you anything?”
“I think it’s—” (pause for sobs)—“food poisoning. I just want to sleep.”
I hope the guttural drag in my voice is mistaken for a post-vomit affectation instead of a poorly disguised sob. But Jules seems to buy it, because she says, “Ok babe. Text me if you want me to bring you any coconut water.”
I hear her footsteps in the hall as she retreats, leaving me tomy tear-stained pillow. As much as I want to blame Matthew and Steven, they’re not at fault here. This happened because ofme.I am a hurricane, and Caleb is the wreckage I’ve left behind.
I was an idiot to think I could really live this fairytale. Because in a few moments, Caleb will be gone. And instead of being the girl worth taking a risk on, he’ll remember me as the mistake that ruined his life.
25
Istare out onto the tarmac, the sea air I’ve become accustomed to now replaced by the smell of wet wipes and jet fuel. I should be freaking out right now—this is normally the part of the plane ride where I descend into a full-on panic. But for the first time since I can remember, I don’t even have the energy to be nervous about our impending take-off. After Caleb left yesterday, I spent the remainder of the day locked in my cabin with a mysterious faux illness before getting up at the crack of dawn to catch my flight. I couldn’t face the Warrens, so I left even earlier than scheduled, hailing my own cab with Jim’s help to take me to the Nadi airport. I doubt he’ll get in trouble for that one, considering the ship’s chief rule-enforcer is halfway to Auckland by now. The only thing I left for Jules was a note:Heading home. I’m sorry. Don’t hate me.
I stare numbly at the scratched tray table in front of me, trying to keep the shameful look on Caleb’s face as I left his cabin out of my head. I was an idiot to think he cared more about me than his career. That two weeks spent with a man I spent most of the trip hating was enough to mean anything real. But if it wasn’t, why do I feel so fundamentally gutted?
God—I must be the most selfish person in the world. I’ve just single-handedly blown up Caleb’s life and I’m still thinking aboutmyfeelings. I should have kept to myself like I planned to. I should have stayed in Chicago. If I had, Caleb would still have his job. But it wasn’t enough for me to ruin my own life back home—I had to come here and ruin his, too.
I feel the floodgates threatening to open again and pull out the worn, unread copy ofGreat ExpectationsI’ve been carrying around like an emotional support animal this whole trip. My face is so puffy and red I’m surprised I didn’t get pulled aside for quarantine at security. Remember that crying switch I shut off years ago after Dad got sick? It’s officially been flipped back on. And no matter what I try, I can’t seem to get it back off.
I curl into the window and bury my head in the book, trying to save myself from more humiliation amongst the rest of the passengers. At least there’s no one in the seat next to me to witness my systematic unravelling. It’s not like getting back to Chicago will bring me any relief—once I’m back, I still have the mess I left two weeks ago to deal with.I’m not sure what makes me feel worse: the fact that I’ve spent twelve days lying to my sister, or the fact that I’ve realized how much I’m legitimately dreading going back to the career I’ve built my entire identity around. Either way, neither holds a candle to the knowledge that I’ve wrecked the life of the only man I’ve ever really fallen for. One who’s half way across the world. Whose intoxicating half-smile I’ll never get the chance to see again.
The flight attendant is busy locking overhead bins in the final preparation for takeoff when someone bursts through the curtains, nearly ramming into her. I don’t look up to see the latecomer, only catch a glimpse of a massive floppy hat and dark sunglasses as she “excuse me’s” her way down the aisle. She halts at my row, disturbing the passenger in the aisle to sneak by him, and I try not to audibly growl. So much for my empty seat.
The passenger flops down into the seat next to me, bopping me with the brim of her unnecessarily wide sunhat. I shrink into the wall to escape it as she pulls down her glasses and stretches a pair of delicate, manicured feet between the seats in front of us.
“Do you mind?” an elderly man hisses from the row ahead.
“Well I’ll tell you one thing,” my seatmate says as she kicks the broken footrest beneath her seat. “This certainly beats a private jet.”
I snap my head up, dropping my book into the abyss of snack bars and charging cords around my feet. No freaking?—
“Jules?!”
She props her chin up on her elbow expectantly, as if waiting for my shock to subside. Jules has no makeup on and her normally glossy hair looks like a literal seagull’s nest under that straw monstrosity, but unless I’ve transitioned to a full-on nervous breakdown, the woman sitting next to me is none other than my baby sister.
I look around, ready for the rest of the family to pop up in the seats behind me in some bizarre rendition ofPunk’d.I grab her baby-soft elbow to make sure she’s real.
“What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you, dummy!” she practically shouts. “You think you can just sneak out at five a.m. without saying goodbye? I practically had to bribe the desk agent to let me on this late, but lucky for you, here I am!”
“Jules, they’re closing the doors!” I protest. “You won’t be able to get off!”
“Just as well,” she says, tucking her glasses into the emerald Birkin bag on her lap. “That means you’ll have a little over ten hours to explain what the hell is going on.”
If I wasn’t panicking about my impending flight, I definitely am now. What can I tell her that won’t set off her whole alarm system?
“I told you, I got sick.”
