I got there right as they called my zone to board. Did I mention how much I love the airport?
I walked down the aisle to my row and spotted an empty overhead bin above my seat. I didn’t even have to search for a place to fit my guitar. Thank you. The airport gods were smiling on me.
I moved into my window seat and fastened my seat belt, squishing myself as far over to the wall as I could. I did not want my hips spilling over into the seat next to me. Economy airport seating was not exactly designed for people with curves in mind, and I certainly had my share of them. My mom joked that the women in our family got in line twice when they were handing out hips and chests. I had a few extra pounds thrown in to keep them company.
Ninety percent of the time, I was cool with that. Dealing with airplane, theater, bus, and subway seats contributed to the other ten.
A woman about my mother’s age moved into the spot next to me. To my relief her hips were half the size of mine, so I didn’t have to worry about brushing up against her the whole flight. She barely acknowledged me, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t exactly in the mood for chitchat anyway. I reached into my backpack and pulled out my earbuds and phone.
Right before I put the phone on airplane mode, I made the mistake of checking GroupIt. It felt like someone stabbed me with an icicle when I saw my profile pic. I hadn’t taken down the one of Zev and me. We were cute together, height difference and all. I just hit five feet while he was six four—although he was only six one when we started dating. And his look. I was a sucker for it. Nerdy hot. Lanky with shaggy dark-brown hair and black rectangular glasses. And Zev just always seemed at ease. It was reassuring.
Stop it, Sari. I didn’t need to be thinking about his attributes. I switched my photo to one of me performing in the school talent show. Music was my true love. Zev had only been a distraction.
I grabbed the bag from Andrea’s Bakery and pulled out the contents. Yes! Trina got me a do’wich. My favorite dessert in the entire universe: a glazed donut with dark-chocolate ganache, sliced in half, with chocolate hazelnut mousse on the inside surrounded by crushed Oreo. Totally decadent.
The woman next to me gave me a judgy look.
I was not putting up with it. Not today. “What?” I asked, ready to fire back with a scathing retort to the predictable “should you really be eating that” comment. I mean hello, it was a donut sandwich. Nobody “should” be eating it. But what I put in my mouth was nobody’s business.
“Sorry,” she said, “I’ve never seen one of those. It looks amazing.”
Oh. Okay, I was jumping to conclusions, looking for a fight. Zev wasn’t there, so random strangers were bearing the brunt of it. Anger was the second stage of grief, after all. I just wanted to be at acceptance already.
“Take this,” I said, holding out half of my do’wich. It came precut.
She looked skeptical.
“Seriously,” I said, trying to show her I wasn’t a grouchy seatmate. “My grandmother will shoot me if I show up having already eaten. You’ll be doing me a favor.”
She took it from me. Good. Nice deeds and acts of kindness would help me get rid of the anger. Well, maybe.
I went back to GroupIt and pulled up Zev’s page. I immediately unfriended him. Unfortunately, he kept all his pictures and posts public, so I could still see everything.
“Who’s that?” the woman next to me asked. “Boyfriend? He’s handsome. Kind eyes.”
More like deceiving ones.
Gorgeous, though. The hazel color always drew me in, but it was really his smile and that little dimple just below his right eye and above the apple of his cheek that accompanied it that made me melt.
“He’s nobody,” I said, more trying to convince myself than her.
Only he wasn’t nobody. He was a guy who chose to go to Columbia next year instead of Penn just so he’d be closer to me. Why would he do that if he didn’t care? Maybe … maybe there was a chance for us.
I had to stop thinking like this. There was no going soft. Zev was bad news. I couldn’t trust him, and I valued myself more than staying with someone like that.
I just needed a reminder. I clicked on the pictures he was tagged in, so I could see him standing there, all cozy with Bethanne. The stabbing feeling inside me returned, but that was okay. I needed it. I needed to remember that he hurt me and I should hate him.
I wanted to hate her, too. To call her names, refer to her as a cross between a Muppet and a troll. But she wasn’t. She was beautiful. Tall, lithe. They made a striking couple. Yeah, Bethanne may have stolen my boyfriend, but this wasn’t on her. It was on Zev. He was the one I trusted. He was the one who broke his word. He was the one I counted on. If she could just take him away like that, I didn’t really want him anyway. At least that’s what I had to keep telling myself.
I put my earbuds in, turned on some Kevin Wayward, put my head back, and closed my eyes. Apparently, Zev never got over his first love. Hopefully I wouldn’t have the same problem.
SIX
I opened the screen door and poked my head into Gram’s place. “Hello.”
“Sari!” she said, coming out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. “I’m supposed to be picking you up in a few hours.”
“I caught an early flight and took a car here. Thought I’d surprise you.”
She engulfed me in a giant hug. The familiar scent of lavender and vanilla wafted over me. Coming here already felt like the right decision.
Gram took a step back and looked me over, her hands still on my shoulders. “As beautiful as ever. And where’s that boy of yours?” She gave me a squeeze. “You may have fooled your mom, but your gram knows the real reason you’re here.”
When I didn’t answer, she winked at me. “Don’t worry, I’m not mad. I’ll take any excuse to spend more time with you.”
Gram took my hand and led me into the living room. She sat on the couch and patted the seat next to her. “So where is he?” she persisted. “When do I get to say hello?”
I studied the dark veins in her soft beige wood flooring. “You don’t. We broke up.”
“Oh, Sari. I’m so sorry. What happened?” she asked.
“He … he…” I couldn’t say it. I just shook my head.
She didn’t press. Instead she clapped her hands together. “Okay, let’s take your mind off things. Want to bake? Go shopping? We can stop by those massage chairs at that electronic store you like—Jordan’s.”
“Nah.” I took my shoes off and pulled my knees closer to me.
“We can go to a real spa,” she offered. “Wouldn’t that be nice? A massage, a mani-pedi. I haven’t had one of those in ages.”
“I’m not really in the mood.” Just talking about Zev put me back in my funk. Going out seemed like so much effort, and I just got there.
“What about a movie? A bunch of new comedies just came out. Seems like you could use a laugh.”
“I don’t know.” Now that I was on the couch, I really didn’t feel like moving. I liked my little curled-up ball. “Maybe we can watch one here?”
And that’s what we did. Over the next several days I watched three movies (specifically ones that were romance free), binged two seasons of a ridiculous supernatural thriller that I couldn’t turn away from despite (or maybe because of) the campiness, and caught every daytime game show that came on the air. By Tuesday, Gram had had enough.
“No more sulking,” she said, batting my feet off the couch and onto the floor. “It’s time for you to work on healing. You haven’t been outside since you got here. You haven’t even picked up your guitar.”
To my disappointment, pain hadn’t turned me into a focused, productive human being. It had made me a couch potato with a serious lack of motivation. “I know. I’m pathetic. I’m sorry.”
“Hey,” she put her hand on my chin and lifted it so my head was held high. “Do not talk about my granddaughter that way. You, Sari Silver, come from a long line of strong women. You are smart, talented
, beautiful, kind—don’t let one foolish boy bring you down. You had your mourning time, now it’s time to rise up. There are amazing things ahead. Now let me hear it.”
“Gram…”
“Come on,” she insisted.
“I am capable, confident, and can do whatever I put my mind to,” I recited with a roll of my eyes. It was kind of her mantra, and when I was little, whenever I was feeling down, she made me say it. I was surprised it took her ’til Tuesday to drag it out.
“Nope,” she said. “I want it with feeling. Convince me you believe it.”
“Gram.”
“Humor an old lady.”
“Fine.”
I said her mantra again.
She made me do it five more times before she finally let me off the hook. “That’s my girl,” she said, with a smile.
As corny as it sounded, it actually made me feel a little better. I smiled back at her.
“Now,” she continued, reaching for the remote and shutting the TV off, “this complex has a wonderful pool. Take your guitar, notebook, whatever. Go swim, go play music, go write—anything but more TV.”
She was right, it was about time I did something. I got in my bathing suit and studied myself in the mirror. Back at home I’d gone to eight stores hunting for the perfect beachwear. When I found this one, I was so excited. It had a retro vibe and highlighted everything I wanted highlighted. It accentuated my waist and chest, and was even emerald green—Zev’s favorite color. He would have gone crazy seeing me in this. Stop it, I reminded myself yet again. It didn’t matter what Zev would have liked. I liked the suit—that’s what counted.
I pulled my hair back into a low pony. It went down to just about my belly button. Maybe I’d get a trim when I got back to New York, or just chop it all off and go for a whole new look. You know, embrace change.
I grabbed my stuff—my guitar, towel, bag, and phone—and headed to the pool. I wasn’t sure I wanted to actually swim, but at least I could get some sun. Gram decided to stay home and make her famous peanut butter cookies, so I took the opportunity to call Trina away from prying ears on my walk over.
It would be nice to have something besides TV recaps and sob stories about Zev to talk about.
“Hang on,” I told Trina as I got to the pool. “I need both hands to open the gate.” I tucked the phone between my ear and shoulder and managed to maneuver it. “I’m back. And I’m in.”
“Is it old-person central?” she asked. “Gray hair as far as the eye can see?”
It actually wasn’t that crowded. Three people around Gram’s age were sitting on beach chairs chatting. That was it. The pool was empty.
Or at least it had appeared that way.
A second later, someone emerged from underwater.
“Oh my God,” I said, doing a double take.
“What?” Trina asked. “Old guys in bathing suits? Be nice. Don’t forget, we’ll be old too someday.”
“No, that’s not it.”
She couldn’t be more wrong.
The guy in the pool was young.
And hot.
And tan.
And dripping wet.
With the biggest muscles I’d ever seen in real life. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought Trina had planted him there.
“What is going on?” she asked.
“Captain America is in the pool,” I whispered.
“The actor?!”
“No, but someone who looks just like him.”
“This,” she said, “is what I’m talking about. Time to make some spring break memories. He can be your rebound. Go dive in. Tell him you’re not a good swimmer and may need mouth-to-mouth.”
“Trina…”
“Or,” she went on, “is there a hot tub? Ask him to join you. Tell him you want to make it really steamy, and can’t do it without him, and does he have any idea of how to turn up the heat.”
“You read too much smut,” I told her.
“You call it smut, I call it a how-to guide,” she said. “One you’d be a fool not to follow.”
“I’m hanging up on you now.”
“I want pictures … and details. Don’t disappoint me,” she said.
“Good-bye, Trina.”
I hung up, and actually considered if there was a way I could snap a shot without seeming totally skeevy, but the next thing I knew the guy was back underwater. I watched as he moved; every part of him was so chiseled.
My mouth dropped slightly when I realized he was swimming in my direction. Before I had a chance to move, he popped up at the side of the pool. He looked up at me with the biggest brown eyes imaginable.
“It’s not cold,” he said, “I promise.”
“Huh?”
“The water.”
Oh yeah. Why was I having a problem thinking straight?
“Are you coming in?” he asked.
I was pretty sure it was his six-pack that was interfering with my mental capacity. I didn’t even normally go for muscles. Zev was super lanky. Ugh. Why did my mind have to flash to my ex? I needed him out of my thoughts. I knew what Trina would suggest.
“Well?” Captain America asked.
I took a step closer to the pool.
Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to get my feet wet, after all.
SEVEN
“I’ll be right in,” I told Captain America with a wink. I immediately did an about-face and headed for one of the nearby tables. I dropped my stuff down and rested my palms against the warm plastic.
What was I doing?! Did I really just wink at him? Despite what Trina suggested, I couldn’t just move on. I didn’t want a rebound. I wanted … I wanted what I’d had, but that was impossible. It’d been destroyed. I just needed to relax. This was only a swim. No biggie. I turned back to the pool.
He was watching me. This was insane. There were not supposed to be hot boys here. This was a retirement community. But since he was looking, I figured I might as well put on a show—make Trina proud.
I slowly walked, you could even say I sauntered, over to the diving board. I got to the end, bent my knees, jumped into the air, arms extended, and executed what I would call an award-worthy dive. Not even a splash when I hit the water.
“Nice,” he said.
“Thank you.” He was about eight feet away, but I didn’t make a move to get any closer. I stayed where I was, treading water.
It didn’t take long for him to make his way to me.
“I’m Fitz,” he said, holding out his fist.
Was I supposed to bump it? Did people still do that? “I’m Sari,” I said, tapping my knuckles to his. “You seem a little young for this place.”
I realized our hands were still touching, and I quickly dropped mine back into the water.
“Visiting my grandpa,” he said. “You?”
“Same. Well, grandma.”
A cloud passed overhead, clearing the way to let the sun beat down on us. Fitz leaned back, his head grazing the water, soaking it in. He rubbed his hand through his short, spiky blond hair and took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He did it three times. I wasn’t sure if it was for my benefit or if he was just super chi or something.
“So,” I said after what seemed like forever passed. “Do you live around here?”
If Fitz was feeling the same awkwardness that I was, he didn’t show it. He lifted his head back up, and looked me right in the eyes. “L.A., but I go to school in New York.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m from New York. Where do you go?”
“NYU.” His gaze was getting stronger, if that was even possible. The guy had some serious eye contact going on.
He didn’t say anything else, so I felt the need to fill in the silence. I started talking about Trina going there next year and asking if he knew Keisha. He didn’t. Then I just offered up that I was a senior and was going to be studying music in the city next year.
“So the guitar’s not just a hobby?” he asked, cocking his head toward my instrum
ent.
“No, it’s kind of my life.”
“Respect,” he said and put his fist out again.
Who was this guy?
He seemed so chill. Zev had a relaxed demeanor to him, but he also was full of energy. Quick on his feet, always ready with a comeback or encouraging word or biting remark depending on the situation. Fitz on the other hand seemed to almost float through a conversation. He definitely did not seem like most people I knew in the city.
“Why NYU?” I asked him.
“Followed a girl. Didn’t work out; we broke up. But, hey, things happen for a reason, right?”
“Hope so.” I also hoped that one day I’d be as nonchalant talking about the end of my relationship.
“No, it does. Because of her, I started volunteering at an after-school program for at-risk teens. I love it. Teach them tai chi, boxing, help them with homework. I’m majoring in childhood education now. Before I’d planned on doing nutrition and dietetics. Changed my whole path.”
“Wow.” I wondered what my life would be like now if I had never met Zev. I probably would have still been in marching band. He was part of the reason I was always late to practice. But then again, maybe I wouldn’t have gotten into the Manhattan School of Music without him. He encouraged me to work on my songs all the time. Who knows; maybe everything would have been the same, well except for the heartache he caused.
Fitz splashed some water at me. “Hey, you okay? Didn’t mean to stress you out.”
“You didn’t.” I splashed him back.
“Good,” he said. He sent another stream of water my way. “I like the whole philosophical what-if stuff.” The cadence of his voice was slow and even. It was almost trancelike. “But my little sister says it makes me seem like a new-age hippie or like I belong to a cult.”
“She should meet my brother,” I offered. “That’s a compliment compared to some of the things he’s called me.”
Airports, Exes, and Other Things I'm Over Page 3