by Gia Riley
“Forever,” I tease, mostly because he promised he’d stay awake.
“Shit, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’m doing really fine,” I tell him, slightly slurring my words.
He notices and laughs. “How much have you had?”
I grab the collection of bottles from my bag and hold it open. Wirth’s eyebrows rise, and then he reaches forward and rips the foil off both of our champagne bottles.
Once the caps are unscrewed, he hands me one. “Are you up for one more?”
Nodding, I take the bottle, and Wirth taps his plastic against mine.
“To the end of one chapter and the beginning of the next,” he says. “This is our year, Chandler.”
Our year. Those two little words set loose a million butterflies. They have Wirth’s name written all over them, and I feel silly for the crush I have on this mostly stranger. He’s just some guy I’ve shared a few drinks with and feel like I know better than I actually do.
When I tip the bottle, the tiny bubbles tickle my nose and the back of my throat, but I keep drinking until the bottle’s empty.
“Five, four, three, two, one …” When the flight attendant gets to zero, a round of applause and some hoots and hollers sound around the plane.
I stay completely still, and so does Wirth. Time seems to stand still, and once again, I’m zoned in on Wirth’s lips.
I don’t realize what I’m doing until I’m leaning into him.
He licks his lips, suddenly aware of what’s about to happen.
This isn’t right.
We barely know each other.
But I don’t care. I’ve never wanted a kiss more than I do right now.
I don’t ask for permission.
Wirth doesn’t make me.
We meet in the middle over the armrest, and he threads his fingers through my hair, holding on to the back of my neck. Our lips touch, and it’s a gentle sentiment to celebrate the occasion.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
I panic that he’s not into this, so I start to pull away. But Wirth doesn’t let go.
Our foreheads are pressed together, and the warmth of his breath sends chills up my spine.
“Where are you going, Chandler?” he whispers, like he knows I want more than a chaste kiss.
His tongue licks the seam of my lips, and I taste the mixture of whiskey and champagne.
We deepen the kiss at the same time, just as the plane drops in altitude. It levels out before it dips again. A rumble beneath the seats sets the landing gear free, and I latch on to Wirth’s arm. I hate landing even more than taking off.
“I’ve got you,” he mumbles against my mouth.
I believe him.
I know I do because we don’t stop kissing until the wheels skid down the runway, and we’re jolted forward, knocking teeth from the force of the landing.
My stomach flip-flops, and when the first seat belt unclicks, our little New Year’s Eve bubble explodes. Wirth was right; the hustle and bustle of everyday life is thrown in our faces. Ready or not, we’re in New York.
I don’t know what to say once the kiss is over, so I pull out my phone, just like he said I would.
Wirth
When I grab Chandler’s carry-on from the overhead compartment and set it in the aisle, she glances up from her phone with a shy smile, like she wasn’t expecting the gesture. That shy smile is the exact opposite of the one she gave me when she leaned in to kiss me.
“Thank you,” she says as she holds on to the seat to steady herself.
It’s clear by the way her fingers grip the leather that she drank too much. And I feel bad for encouraging the champagne right before we landed.
“Do you have anyone? Do you need anything?”
“I’ll be fine, Wirth. They’re getting annoyed.”
There’s a line of people behind us, waiting to deplane. I can feel the guy behind me breathing down my neck, but I don’t really care. I’m more worried about Chandler safely getting to wherever it is she’s going.
Why don’t I know where that is? I should probably know that.
But I do know how soft her lips are.
We’re both obviously still thinking about that kiss because, while I’m remembering the way she moans when she makes out, she’s staring at my lips again. The second she realizes I caught her, she quickly turns around, pulling her luggage behind her.
There’s no awkward good-bye. Not even a hug or an I’ll see you later.
I should stop her and at least get her number, but why would she want to see me again? My life’s a damn mess. She’d never be into a guy working behind the scenes for some show. She’d want the guy she saw performing onstage, and I’m never going to be that guy again.
That fact alone should be enough to slow me down, but there’s just something about Chandler that draws me in, so I make sure to stay a couple of steps behind her on the walk toward baggage claim. Every couple of steps, she glances over her shoulder, like she needs to see where I’m at, too.
The curiosity I have for Chandler makes no sense. I should be consumed by what Shannon did to me, yet I’ve barely thought about her since Chandler sat down beside me on the plane. The fact that I’m getting into the city at just about the worst possible time doesn’t even matter. I’ll get across town eventually. And I couldn’t give two shits about how little sleep I’ll get tonight or the change in the weather.
The buzzer at baggage claim goes off, and bags start spilling out one by one onto the conveyor belt. Chandler’s are some of the first out, and I chuckle as she wrestles with them, almost falling over in the process. The urge to help is strong, but she’s determined.
Once she has all her bags, she surprises me and wheels her luggage toward me.
Do I give her my number? My address?
She might not know anyone else in the city. And, if any place can make you feel lonely, it’s New York. You wouldn’t think loneliness would be a problem in a city of millions of people, but it is. And I’m sure it won’t take long for someone to stomp all over that Southern charm of hers.
“Hey,” she says when she’s close enough for me to hear her.
“Have everything?” I question. What else am I supposed to say without making it awkward?
She glances at her suitcases and nods. A couple of seconds pass, and then she says, “This is probably stupid, but I just wanted to say thank you, Wirth.”
“For the kiss?” So much for not making it awkward.
“No, not exactly. I mean, the kiss was good. Was it good for you, too? It’s okay if it wasn’t.” She finally stops rambling and covers her face with her hands. “Never mind. Please don’t answer that.”
“What if I want to?”
She uncovers her face but won’t look at me, so I bend down until we’re the same height. I know I look ridiculous, but it gets her attention. She even rolls her eyes.
“Just so you know, I’ve never done that before. I don’t just kiss random guys on airplanes.”
“Well, I don’t kiss random girls on airplanes either.”
“I’m glad we’re not whores,” she jokes. “Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for being so nice to me.”
“It was my pleasure, Chandler. Trust me.”
She blows a little piece of hair away from her eye and gives me a sad smile. “I have to go.”
“Okay,” I whisper even though I want to tell her to come with me. At least until morning.
But I let her wrangle her luggage again and watch her walk away.
My bags have made two laps around the belt already, so I run over and grab them before someone else does. When I turn back around, Chandler’s gone.
Outside, I check both directions, but I don’t see her. She must have grabbed the first cab she saw.
I slide into an available cab, realizing I never took my phone off Airplane mode.
What’s the rush? All I have to look forward to are Shannon and her dad.
&
nbsp; As expected, the screen lights up with a bunch of missed calls. Four of them are from Shannon, and one’s from her dad. There’re a slew of text messages from just about everyone I know at the theater, wishing me a happy New Year. Part of me is looking forward to reconnecting with them, and the other is just really fucking nervous about their reactions.
I should go home and face my friends, but it’s late, and I’d rather save all the explanations for another day. Tonight, I just want to talk to someone who understands me, so I decide to give my driver my aunt’s address instead of my own. She’s on the Upper East Side, far enough away from my apartment that I don’t have to worry about running into anyone I know.
Traffic’s a bitch, like I thought it would be. I can’t stand sitting in silence, so I call my sister.
She screams, “Happy New Year,” in my ear so loudly that I’m pretty sure the driver heard her. There’s a lot of noise in the background, but she moves someplace quieter. “How was the flight?” she asks.
“Flight was good. Thank you for booking it so fast.”
“You’re welcome. You sound a lot happier than I was expecting. I’m glad.”
I wasn’t expecting it either.
“I need a favor, Maisie.”
“Didn’t you just ask for one a couple of hours ago?” she jokes.
“Yeah, but this is different than travel arrangements. It’s about work.”
Confused, she says, “What about work? You told me you were going right back to your old job.”
“I am. I just mean, I need you to look someone up for me. Someone who was on my flight.”
“Wirth,” she groans, suspiciously. “You know I’m not supposed to do that. I could get in a lot of trouble with the airline for giving out personal information.”
“You shouldn’t, but you can,” I remind her. “And, if you can’t, you know people who can.”
“This is why you’re a pain in the ass,” she says. “But I love you, so what do you need?”
“I need you to find as much information as you can on the person who sat next to me. Seat 15F.”
Maisie squeals into the receiver. This is why I didn’t want to tell her about Chandler. She reads into everything way more than she should. She’d be right this time, but that’s beside the point.
“Did you go and fall in love, Wirth? I told you the sky was magical. You never believed me, yet here we are.”
“Don’t act shocked, Maisie. You chose my seat when you booked my flight. There were plenty of open seats. You didn’t have to put me next to Chandler.”
“I knew you were upset. I thought that, if you sat next to someone, preferably a girl, you’d be forced to make conversation. The thought of you drunk and alone on an airplane was just too depressing.”
“Well then, I guess you got what you wanted.”
“I knew it!” she says with so much excitement that I can’t help but smile.
“Just tell me who she is, Maisie!”
“Okay, okay. Her name is Chandler Holmes. She’s the same age as you. Nashville address, so I don’t know where she’s headed or how long she’ll be in the city, but maybe you can look her up on social media. Actually, I know you can. She’s adorable, Wirth. Go find her, so I don’t feel like a total stalker.”
“I will, but you need to be careful. You could get in trouble for this.”
“I’m well aware, Wirth. I risked by job to try to hook my brother up. That’s how much I love you.”
“I love you too, Maisie. I’m almost to Aunt Judy’s, so I have to go.”
“Why aren’t you going home? You’re scared, aren’t you? My big, bad brother is petrified of some opinions.”
“Aunt Judy’s is the easiest place for me to crash tonight. It’s been six months since I’ve seen her. Cut me some slack.”
If I wanted to, I could make it home. I’m just not looking forward to judgment day, and I figured stretching it out one more night couldn’t hurt.
“I’m glad you’re home, Wirth. Just don’t tell Chandler I gave you her information. I kind of like my flight attendant gig.”
Something tells me Chandler won’t flip out.
“I promise, Maisie. I wouldn’t jeopardize your job. But don’t you even think about messaging Chandler.”
She chuckles and then says, “I did my part. The rest is up to you, Wirth.”
The line goes dead, and I stuff my phone back into my pocket.
Maisie never came right out and told me she disliked my girlfriend. But it didn’t take a genius to figure out how she felt about Shannon when she stopped by during a layover in Nashville.
I hated that Maisie didn’t like Shannon because that most likely meant that our mom wouldn’t have liked her either. If she were still alive.
Chandler
The cab pulls up to a four-story brick building that’s more weathered than the pictures emailed to me. I don’t mind though. The peeling paint on the brick and the rust on the fire escape give it character, just like the tiny, abandoned Christmas tree sitting on the porch.
The wind kicks up and blows around what’s left of the homemade ornaments hanging on the branches. I run my fingers over a newsprint angel with glittery wings, hating that it’s about to go to waste. Just as I’m about to pull it off and stick it in my purse, the front door opens, and two drunk girls almost knock me over.
“Is that your piece-of-shit tree?”
“Me? No. I just got here,” I tell them, but they’re not even listening.
They’re already down the stairs and sliding into the back of a cab.
It’s not a piece of shit, I mumble to myself, pulling the angel off the branch.
Then, I glance at the numbers on the building one more time, making sure I have it right.
I never thought I’d be living in a place called Hell’s Kitchen, but I was so excited about the job that I didn’t even consider the living arrangements. All I cared about was dancing, so when my boss told me she knew of an available apartment relatively close to the theater, I said yes right away. Sure, living with strangers makes me nervous, but I can’t afford my own place in the city yet.
Until I make more money, this is home. And, while the rest of America celebrates the New Year, I’m lugging my suitcases up three flights of stairs to see my apartment.
The hallway on the third floor smells like pizza, and I notice the pile of boxes next to the trash chute. I haven’t eaten since lunch, and my nose takes me down the hallway where an obvious party is going on.
There’s laughter coming from behind the second door and music from the third. When I get to my unit, the door’s cracked open just enough that knocking would probably open it the entire way. Unsure of what to do, I press my ear against the wood, wondering if someone’s about to leave.
“Most robbers just barge right in,” an amused voice says from behind.
I turn around so fast; I nearly trip over my hot-pink suitcase. “I wasn’t going to steal anything,” I tell the gorgeous blue-eyed guy who’s not at all mad that I’m lurking in the hallway.
“An accent,” he says. “Who are you looking for? Maybe I can point you in the right direction.”
“Actually, nobody. I think I live here.”
“You think?” he says with a chuckle.
“According to my paperwork, Unit 3F is my new home.”
His lopsided smile disappears. “You’re Chandler?”
“Yes. Chandler Holmes. And you are?”
He awkwardly tries to juggle the pile of junk food in his arms before holding out a hand for me to shake. “I’m Hollis. Your roommate.”
His hand is ice-cold from the beer, making me even colder. “You don’t seem thrilled about that, Hollis.”
“The opposite actually. I thought we were getting another dude. The letter only listed your name, and, well, I guess yours can go either way.”
That’s not the first time I’ve been told that. My mom was a huge fan of the TV show Friends. Whether she had a boy or girl, my n
ame was always going to be Chandler. My friends at home found that out and called me Bing my entire senior year of high school. Luckily, the nickname didn’t follow me to college.
Hollis lets go of my hand and takes a step backward, banging his fist on the neighbor’s door. “Fisher, get out here,” he yells.
The door flies open, and the guy who peeks his head out isn’t wearing a shirt. He glances at me and then looks me up and down. I have a winter coat on, yet he makes me feel like I’m stark naked.
I give him an awkward, “Hi,” hoping it makes him say something.
Finally, he blinks and then says, “I realize I’m about to sound like an asshole, but am I supposed to know who you are?”
“Chandler’s a chick,” Hollis stresses.
Fisher’s expression shifts from confused to envious. “You lucky bastard. She’s hot.”
I clear my throat with a forced cough. “You guys realize I can hear you, right?”
“I know she is,” Hollis replies, ignoring my comment entirely. And then he shoves his beer and pretzels at Fisher’s naked chest, scoots all of my bags into the apartment, and ushers me inside, too.
Fisher mumbles something I can’t quite make out before closing his door.
A quick look around the living room, and I can’t help but laugh. Hollis runs toward the couch and pulls his red boxer briefs off the pillow. He then jogs to the far wall and snatches the calendar of naked women off the bulletin board. Once all the offensive things are out of view, he holds out his arm and waves it in a grand gesture.
“It’s not much, Chandler, but it’s a cool place to live. Unfortunately, the unit has three bedrooms, so you won’t get to share with me.”
He walks back over with so much swagger that I think he might hurt himself. But, like a gentleman, he grabs my suitcases and rolls them down the hallway. Taking that as my cue to follow, I let him give me the short tour.
“This is me,” he says as we pass the first door. “But I’ll show you the inside tomorrow.”
“More things you don’t want me to see?” I question.
“Exactly,” he says. “I’m not nailing this first-impression thing, so I’ll spare myself further embarrassment.”