by Max Monroe
With a thud and a squeal, the flight attendant was doing her best to gather herself after getting doused with the contents of what I assumed was meant to be my water.
And on the other side of the exchange, you, my love, were doing your best to triage the situation, blotting at the young blond’s uniform and apologizing profusely while trying to gather a soft leather bag from the floor at the same time.
Like a missile in the night, you came streaking back into my life with a flare. And look at me…
[laughs]
I’m still trying to pick up all of my pieces…
[sighs]
Anyway, making matters even worse, you tripped a little, no doubt teetering slightly on the heels you were wearing, and had to grab on to the navy blue sleeve of the woman-turned-wet-mop yet again.
My smirk was powerful, making a bid to swallow my face despite the bite I placed on my lip, as I watched it all play out.
Awkward and stammering, you were a mess in a debutante’s clothing. Your face was a bright and impressive shade of crimson, going so far as to turn even redder than your hair, and your hands couldn’t be enough places at once.
Quickly enough, though, you won the flight attendant over, much how you had my mates the previous night at the hotel bar, and managed to gather yourself.
I jumped when you suddenly continued boarding the plane, and I looked down at my phone to hide my face.
Something about witnessing the moment felt too good to ruin with an exchange.
[laughs]
As you know, we’d left it on such a good note the night before.
A note, I can assure you, I wasn’t expecting.
After the party, the pitfalls of friendship made themselves known. Hugh, an old friend from secondary school, and Isaac and Archie, my surfing mates from the circuit, relentlessly tried to rope me into going to the bar.
It’d seemed like a good enough idea at the time, a way to unwind after a night of pleasantries and business, but when we walked into the hotel bar to find you there…well, it took a noticeable turn.
Hugh is a master-level flirt, and he uses it to his advantage any chance he gets. Of course, when it came to you, that was no different.
And as he started to flirt with you, I became uncomfortable.
It wasn’t jealousy—well, not exactly…not yet—but it didn’t sit right with me in the slightest.
I couldn’t stomach the thought of Hugh being another in your legacy of jerks, believe it or not, and he kept at it, even during the friendly conversation I attempted to have with you, gesturing crude things in the background and breaking my concentration.
You didn’t let on that you noticed, but trust me, it was distracting as hell to me.
[laughs]
He’s probably wondering why I haven’t answered any of his calls since.
Sorry, Hugh. But not really. You really bugged this one up, mate.
[laughs]
Focused on him, I’d been ill-prepared to handle the attitude I got from you, and at the end of the night, our stupid bar conversation had turned our quiet moment at the gala into background noise. In fact, based on your story, I’m not even sure you remember talking to me outside of the bathroom at the gala.
[sighs]
Of course. It’s always the negative things people remember.
Needless to say, back on the plane, my reaction to hide from you came naturally. I dug in my pocket as you passed, anything to occupy myself, really, and my fingers closed on a piece of paper.
“I’ll be right back with your water,” the flight attendant murmured sweetly after ushering you past. I nodded at the surface of my tray, eager to move on from this moment and get back to the business of doing business, and smoothed the random paper to a flat shine.
And there, in big, block letters, was your name.
LUCKY WRIGHT.
Figures, right? I apparently really never washed those shorts. Probably still wouldn’t have if I hadn’t been forced to face just how bad about it I was when I listened to your podcast. As it is, I’m wearing them now, love. But don’t worry, they’re clean.
[laughs]
Regardless, my mind was officially back on the Lucky train whether I wanted it to be or not, and as you found your seat somewhere behind me, I grabbed my phone and typed the letters into the search engine on my browser.
Several results pronounced themselves far quicker than I expected, and I barely
noticed as the rest of the passengers, held up by your spill, made their way aboard.
Article names from a few years all led to Scoop.com, and a few other pieces from your time in college, I surmised, peeked in through the background.
What Your Favorite Rom-Com Says about Your Love Life
Best Power Ballads to Plot Your Ex’s Imaginary Murder
Things You’ll Regret More Than Cutting Your Hair Short: A Painfully Brief List
Pithy and creative, the titles made me smile at the same time they made me pause.
This didn’t seem like the woman who was destined to cover the surfing circuit. In fact, this didn’t sound like the kind of woman who would know that the surfing circuit even existed. If it hadn’t been for the one about fictional murder, I wouldn’t even have been sure how you’d become best friends with my sister.
Undeniably curious at the content, and intrigued by reading a piece that would largely provide insight into the twisted relationship you seemed to have with men, I clicked on the link to the most violent of the three and started reading.
If anything, I thought, maybe I’d know what to look out for when I said something that got you feeling particularly violent.
The first song was “Kiss from a Rose” by Seal, and the brief intro you gave into your thoughts had me laughing immediately.
I know where you are, you wrote. Fresh off the emotions. Deep in the darkness, searching for answers.
Well, let me tell you, Seal’s immortal words are the perfect soundtrack to a good murder plot. Sure, they billed it as a love song, but I’m here to tell you it’s so much more than that.
What love song do you know that talks excessively about graves?
One with hidden meaning, that’s what.
Seal suggests that you bury your ex in a grave, plant the seeds of roses on top, and cover it with snow to allow the ground to go back to normal before anyone will be looking directly at the surface.
The only thing you have to watch out for is leaving a blood trail.
[laughs]
Do you even remember writing that? I mean, God, Lucky, that’s hilarious. Looking back, I wish you’d known I’d seen these when I did. Maybe you would have realized sooner just how amusing I was starting to find you.
Next up was “I’d Do Anything for Love (But I Won’t Do That)” by Meatloaf, and your take on it was no less entertaining.
Meatloaf sings the hell out of this song, but the part that really stands out to me is the line about keeping the wheels turning, you wrote. It’s important when running someone over to keep your momentum. For the ex who pushed you too far, the one who wanted you to do that one thing that you just couldn’t do—and no, I’m not talking about anal—this is the anthem for you.
You were right to refuse to change yourself. You can do a lot of things for love, but you sure as fuck can’t do that.
Next you wrote about “(Everything I Do) I Do It for You,” and this, my love, is where I started to get slightly terrified.
“You can’t tell me it’s not worth dying for.” The song says it plain as day, and I’m telling you, it’s all the motivation you’ll need to get that turkey knife out and start carving. If your ex is anything like mine, the genitals are a terrific place to start.
Good God. The genitals are a terrific place to start?
Bloody hell. I’m still squirming just thinking about it. I feel fortunate I walked out of that restaurant the night of our explosion intact.
And I can only imagine the kind of breakup you must have been
off of when you wrote this hilarious yet nearly disturbing article. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea for me to meet the bloody bastard who made you feel that sort of way. Pretty sure I’d end up putting your imaginary playlist into use if that ever happened.
[chuckles]
Still, this was an important lesson—and a pivotal moment in the tale of you and me. For the first time, I truly understood that you had an unbelievable layer of humor hiding underneath all that shrew.
I only hope the crazy women who read this thing realized these weren’t practical suggestions. It also made me wonder if this was where that one sheila’d gotten the idea to run me over with her car.
[laughs]
Thankfully, at the very top of the article, in the smallest font possible, you had a little disclaimer to really set the tone.
This article is 100% a joke. It is meant to feed your dark and disturbing humor and make you laugh. It, by no means, is supposed to encourage an actual murder. Yeah. Don’t do that. Murder is bad, guys. It’s really bad. No one likes a murderer. Unless it pertains to that end of season sale at Nordstroms. You can totally murder the shiznit out of that sale, and you’ll only end up a hero in my book.
[laughs]
Yeah. Only you, my little fashionista, could link shopping and homicide.
When I scrolled down to the next song, I couldn’t help but smile.
Aerosmith. “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing.”
[laughs]
I bet you’d been rehashing the details of this one while I’d been singing, huh, love?
You wrote, This one is a personal favorite, but I’ve got to admit, could have been left off the list. It’s not that it’s not perfect for plotting your revenge, but the truth of it is, if you listen too closely, there’s almost no chance it won’t turn into a murder-suicide thing.
Goose bumps broke out across my arms as the déjà vu hit me. The ride in the Jeep. The wind in our hair—mostly yours. Aerosmith.
All of a sudden, I felt overwhelmed. Struck in a way I didn’t understand and couldn’t put my finger on fully.
There was something about the woman sitting somewhere behind me on this plane—something about you. Something kin between us; something that felt impossible.
Clearing the tab and closing out of the browser before reading about the last power ballad on your list, “Black Velvet,” I swallowed around a dry throat and curiosity.
What the hell was it about you that made me even take notice? I wondered.
“Your water, sir,” the flight attendant said, leaning in to hand me the desperately needed liquid.
I swallowed it in one gulp as she leaned even deeper into the top of the seat next to me. “Sorry it took so long.”
I nodded my thanks and looked out the window into the bright Sydney sunshine, just one thought on my mind.
I wasn’t sorry at all.
Not that I’d met you, and not that we’d be spending the next several weeks together.
Because, for me, Lucky, this was just the beginning.
* * *
After deplaning, I ducked into the bathroom to empty my bladder—full of several more cups of water and a soda—and splash a little bit of cold water on my face.
At a few inches over six feet, I made it a habit to avoid using the toilets on the plane whenever possible for the preservation of my neck.
Letting a wave slam me into the reef? No problem.
Craning my neck ninety degrees to the left to fit inside the tiny, claustrophobic space? Not likely.
With my backpack and my duffle, both carried on for ease of travel and to avoid having to wait at the bloody carousels for another hour and a half, I cruised through customs and out to the baggage claim area in no time.
A driver was waiting for me, I knew, courtesy of Zoe’s inability to let me have the freedom to avoid anything on her carefully crafted schedule.
I found the bloke rather quickly, a gentleman who looked a hell of a lot more put together than I had when I’d picked you up—or that day, for that matter. I was wearing the same shorts—and made my way over to him with ease.
“Mr. Arsen?”
Formal, but fitting.
“That’s me, mate.”
“Give me just a second to bring the car around. I had to park to come in.”
I was a second away from offering to make the trek with him when I caught a flash of red at the neighboring carousel.
Heels, skirt, and blouse, all primly in place, you looked just as well-dressed as you had the day you’d arrived in Australia. I still couldn’t fathom what drove you to wear such bloody uncomfortable garb on flights of this length, but I couldn’t deny you looked good.
Better than I’d have ever realized if I hadn’t seen you again after your awkward entrance on to the plane. Your clumsiness had been like camouflage.
Your fancy bags all in a row on the conveyor, I watched as you jumped to grab the first while still trying to reach for the next, and the trademark pattern of a hunter came back with a vengeance.
You were a mess of limbs and curves, endearing in the most innocent of ways, so I wasn’t surprised when three men all jumped at once, taking hold of the handles of each of your bags simultaneously. You smiled graciously, sweetly, and a hot fire in my chest sparked as each of the bastards smiled back.
[sighs]
I’m convinced, now more than ever, after hearing your podcast, that you have absolutely no idea of the effect you have on men.
Of the effect you have on me.
You’re something, Luck. Something special…and…well, I really hope you’ll remember that, even if you want nothing to do with me in the end.
[distinct pause]
“Sir? Is it all right if I run to get the car now?” my driver called, breaking my concentration and making it painfully obvious just how long I’d zoned out while watching you.
But with your bags loaded on a cart and three doting helpers pushing the load, you were doing just fine without me.
There wasn’t any reason to hold up my driver any longer.
Slinging my duffle back up onto my shoulder, I smiled into the older gentleman’s face. “I’ll just walk with you. I don’t mind the hike.”
The walk to the car was lengthy but energizing, and the gentleman I learned was named Forman was an endless pit of questions about surfing as a career.
I did my best to give him a rundown without getting into the hairy details and tossed my bags into the trunk after he popped it.
With a hold of the door, he eased my way into the back seat—a ride I always found awkward when there wasn’t another passenger—and moved up front to take the wheel.
My phone buzzed in my pocket just as we were pulling out of the spot. Allie had once again come calling.
Wondering what time it had to be in New York, I answered the call swiftly.
“G’day, baby sister. Has the little gremlin inside you turned you nocturnal? What time is it there?”
“Just after midnight. You know, a normal time for young people to be awake. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh, blimey, sis,” I cried with a laugh. “Am I an old man, then?”
“Just about,” she confirmed cheekily.
“Well, what can I do for you? Am I actually able? Do I need a cane?”
“Might not be a bad idea,” she said on a laugh, and I smirked. “Are you taking care of Lucky?”
My eyebrows drew together as I pictured the very capable male contingent I’d seen you with as I left. “Trust me, she’s got plenty of blokes taking care of her.”
“Ugh. I was afraid of that. That’s the last thing she needs.”
My head jerked back a little as I tried to make sense of the unexpected grumble. I figured she’d be happy you were making fast friends. After all, she’d been nothing but a fly in my ear about crowding you from the moment I’d first learned you existed. “Why’s that?”
“Because Lucky’s always got plenty of guys interested.”
&
nbsp; And hell, if I hadn’t seen that to be true. You had it, whatever it was. And even though I haven’t seen you since that awful and explosive dinner with Allie and Sam, I’m sure you still do.
The magnetism. The draw. You’re magic, baby.
“They distract her from the right one,” Allie added.
I chuckled at her almost obnoxious arrogance when it came to the love life of someone other than herself. Truthfully, I was a little offended for you. “And who’s the right one? That’s really something for you to say?”
And even more likely…I was probably already a little touchy as I put myself in the place of all the random blokes she spoke of. It wasn’t like I was any better for you than they were.
She sighed. “Of course not. But she needs someone who’s not a jerk. Who’s strong enough to see past the superficial bullshit. To dig under her shell and see what she’s really all about. She doesn’t always do the best job of picking on her own.”
The irony of how bad I sounded for you made me laugh to keep from wincing. “Reckon she doesn’t need to be spending too much time around me then.”
“Pfft. You’re not really a jerk, Ollie. You’re honest. There’s a difference.”
I chuckled as I thought about how many people would disagree, in an effort to shake off the uncomfortable self-reflection. “Tell the sheilas.”
“Whatever. I’m not trying to set you up with her anyway. Just trying to get you to do your sister a favor. Be nice. And look out for her. That’s it.”
“Well, I suppose since you’re the last member of the family I’m actually in good standing with, I should comply.”