me.” I left out the part that the dedication was a total lie. And that my name was spelled wrong.
“Oh my,” she gasped. “It’s like you’re famous!” She leaned in. “I really shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered, “but why don’t you two go on in? Any close personal friend of Lulu Lavoie’s is definitely Admirals Club–worthy.”
I turned to Jack and flashed him a smile. I was hoping to find him impressed by the fact that I knew a major celebrity, but instead he looked embarrassed that I was the one who got us in and not him. I know I should have been all “equal rights” and stuff, but I thought it was beyond sweet that he wanted to impress me like that. Michael had given up trying to impress me a month after we started going out.
But by the time the doors hissed closed behind us, Jack was back to being his confident self.
As we strode over to the table with the free snacks (okay, maybe not strode, because we were both dragging our carry-ons), I realized I had finally arrived. Maybe at Castle Heights I’d always be invisible (or worse, exceptionally visible—especially since the calendar fiasco), but here at the Raleigh-Durham International Airport, all eyes were on me for all the right reasons. Or maybe it was because I kept bumping into things because my hat was too big. Still, it was nice to get the attention.
“Great view, huh?” asked Jack as he threw some roasted peanuts back and chased them with a swig of his complimentary soda. He really needed to be more careful about potential choking hazards.
“Oh yeah,” I agreed, sipping my Diet Coke. This place was so fancy, they even put a slice of lemon in the soda. We were so close to the tarmac that I could actually see one of the baggage handlers smoking a cigarette next to a tank that said, WARNING: FLAMMABLE .
“It’s like having third-row center seats at a Neil Young concert,” he said.
I had never considered looking out at a runway strip all that interesting before, but with Jack, everything seemed exciting. As I listened to him crunch his ice, I was hit with one of my psychic premonitions. They didn’t happen often, and they usually had to do with pop quizzes, but in this case I had the vision of us sitting in Admirals Clubs around the world while Jack toured with his band. Instead of places like Raleigh and West Palm Beach, we’d be in airports in Paris and Rome and Tokyo.
My iPhone buzzed, and I almost knocked over my soda. Sure, I was totally focused on Jack, but maybe there was the
teensiest
part of me that was wondering if Michael would finally come to his senses and realize how badly he’d screwed up. Not that I was interested in pushing the play button with him again. I looked at the screen. Just an e-mail from Always 16 about an upcoming sale.
Jack pointed to my phone and shook his head. “I gottasay—I don’t get that being-in-constant-communication thing. I mean, sure, I have a cell and all, but I can’t get my e-mail on it. Sometimes you just want to be unplugged and enjoy the moment, you know?”
I nodded. He was so…
Buddhist
.
“So how long have you been with your boyfriend?” he asked.
The image of Jack and I enjoying a crepe at an outside café in Paris was replaced by Michael’s face covered with chicken pox. Talk about a buzzkill. “My boyfriend?” I repeated.
He laughed. “Yeah, your boyfriend. Didn’t you say on the plane that you had one?”
Not only was he Buddhist, but he was
psychic
. He must have intuitively known that even though I had no interest in getting back together with Michael, I was still waiting for that e-mail saying he had been an idiot.
I pointed at his soda. “So are you a Coke person or a Pepsi person? Personally, I like Tab best, but it’s really hard to find,” I blabbered nervously. “I’ve only found two mini-marts in L.A. that carry it, and even then, they don’t have it
all
the time. Just, like, every three months or so.”
He gave me one of those
“Oh my,” she gasped. “It’s like you’re famous!” She leaned in. “I really shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered, “but why don’t you two go on in? Any close personal friend of Lulu Lavoie’s is definitely Admirals Club–worthy.”
I turned to Jack and flashed him a smile. I was hoping to find him impressed by the fact that I knew a major celebrity, but instead he looked embarrassed that I was the one who got us in and not him. I know I should have been all “equal rights” and stuff, but I thought it was beyond sweet that he wanted to impress me like that. Michael had given up trying to impress me a month after we started going out.
But by the time the doors hissed closed behind us, Jack was back to being his confident self.
As we strode over to the table with the free snacks (okay, maybe not strode, because we were both dragging our carry-ons), I realized I had finally arrived. Maybe at Castle Heights I’d always be invisible (or worse, exceptionally visible—especially since the calendar fiasco), but here at the Raleigh-Durham International Airport, all eyes were on me for all the right reasons. Or maybe it was because I kept bumping into things because my hat was too big. Still, it was nice to get the attention.
“Great view, huh?” asked Jack as he threw some roasted peanuts back and chased them with a swig of his complimentary soda. He really needed to be more careful about potential choking hazards.
“Oh yeah,” I agreed, sipping my Diet Coke. This place was so fancy, they even put a slice of lemon in the soda. We were so close to the tarmac that I could actually see one of the baggage handlers smoking a cigarette next to a tank that said, WARNING: FLAMMABLE .
“It’s like having third-row center seats at a Neil Young concert,” he said.
I had never considered looking out at a runway strip all that interesting before, but with Jack, everything seemed exciting. As I listened to him crunch his ice, I was hit with one of my psychic premonitions. They didn’t happen often, and they usually had to do with pop quizzes, but in this case I had the vision of us sitting in Admirals Clubs around the world while Jack toured with his band. Instead of places like Raleigh and West Palm Beach, we’d be in airports in Paris and Rome and Tokyo.
My iPhone buzzed, and I almost knocked over my soda. Sure, I was totally focused on Jack, but maybe there was the
teensiest
part of me that was wondering if Michael would finally come to his senses and realize how badly he’d screwed up. Not that I was interested in pushing the play button with him again. I looked at the screen. Just an e-mail from Always 16 about an upcoming sale.
Jack pointed to my phone and shook his head. “I gottasay—I don’t get that being-in-constant-communication thing. I mean, sure, I have a cell and all, but I can’t get my e-mail on it. Sometimes you just want to be unplugged and enjoy the moment, you know?”
I nodded. He was so…
Buddhist
.
“So how long have you been with your boyfriend?” he asked.
The image of Jack and I enjoying a crepe at an outside café in Paris was replaced by Michael’s face covered with chicken pox. Talk about a buzzkill. “My boyfriend?” I repeated.
He laughed. “Yeah, your boyfriend. Didn’t you say on the plane that you had one?”
Not only was he Buddhist, but he was
psychic
. He must have intuitively known that even though I had no interest in getting back together with Michael, I was still waiting for that e-mail saying he had been an idiot.
I pointed at his soda. “So are you a Coke person or a Pepsi person? Personally, I like Tab best, but it’s really hard to find,” I blabbered nervously. “I’ve only found two mini-marts in L.A. that carry it, and even then, they don’t have it
all
the time. Just, like, every three months or so.”
He gave me one of those
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