by Wade, Ellie
She makes her way over to the chaise lounge where I’m currently sitting. I watch her as she shortens the distance between us. She’s always so put together. Even today, when we have no plans to leave the house, she’s dressed to impress, her makeup perfectly applied. Her long brown hair is pulled up into a twisted updo. She’s going to be fifty next month, but she doesn’t look a day over thirty. Of course, she’s had some surgeries to help her in that endeavor. But, plastic surgery or not, she’s a stunning woman. When we’re out together, people often think we’re sisters. I’ve been told I look exactly like her, and she’s beautiful, so I can’t complain about the comparison.
“Baby, what is it? You’ve been so down all week.” She sits near the end of the chaise beside my legs. She places one of her freshly manicured hands on my leg and squeezes gently. “You can tell me, honey.”
“I don’t really have anything to tell, Mom. I just have an unsettled feeling. I think I need to get a job.”
“Do you need more money? You know your father will give you more.” She sounds concerned.
I shake my head. “No, I have plenty. I’m kind of bored. I think a job will give me some purpose, you know?”
“I understand that. I try to keep busy, too. I have to with all the alone time I have. Even if you don’t get a paying job, you can volunteer or organize a charity event.”
My mom’s life has consisted of organizing parties, charity events, and social functions. She’s right in that she always seems to be busy. Then again, she’s always alone, especially since Georgia and I went off to college. Even now, my father is traveling for work. He’s gone a lot.
“Yeah, maybe,” I say in an effort not to dismiss her suggestions. “I think it would be fun to use my degree. You know I love writing and reporting.” I got a degree in journalism, and it’d be nice to use it.
She laughs. “Yes, you do. Do you remember how you used to report on everything? You’d run around the house, using your sparkly pink hairbrush as your microphone.” She holds an invisible brush/mic in her hand and imitates my younger self, her tone serious, “This just in. It appears Mom is currently making beef fajitas for dinner when she was planning on chicken cacciatore. Is something going on behind closed doors in the chicken industry that made her change her mind? We will be live at six with more on this story. Back to you, Bob.” Mom removes the nonexistent microphone away from her mouth and puts her hand back in her lap.
The two of us start laughing hysterically.
“I was so annoying,” I say through my happy tears.
Mom wipes the sides of her eyes. “No, you were adorable. Still are.”
I take a deep breath and let out one more chuckle, thinking back to my childhood. “That report must have been when you still cooked.”
When I was in eighth grade, my parents hired a full-time chef to make our meals for us.
“Thank heavens we got a chef. I’ve always hated cooking.”
“You were good at it though.”
“Yeah, maybe. But I became way too busy with your and your sister’s activities and all my volunteering. It was definitely easier when we got help.”
“I’m sure it was.”
I think back to all the recipes my mom used to make. Her meals were definitely more in the category of comfort food versus the low-carb vegan meals the chefs usually made. My mom has admitted that she wasn’t the best cook when it came to healthy foods, but she made the meals Grandma taught her. I suppose that’s how it goes. We learn from our parents.
Am I really like my mom?
Paige says my mom is stuck-up and self-absorbed, and maybe she is a little, but she’s truly a good person. I think I’m a good person, so we have that in common. I’m not as self-centered as my mom—at least, I don’t think I am—but that’s an area I want to work on anyway.
“Hey, Mom, do you think you could make your chicken Alfredo for dinner once before I leave?”
“Oh, I don’t know, honey. I haven’t made that in years.”
“But you still know how, and it is so good. Now that I think about it, I’m really in the mood for it. I’m sure it will cheer me up a bit.” I smile big.
“Of course it will.” Mom chuckles. “I suppose I could. It’s just not really healthy, London. You know that, right?”
“Of course I do! That’s what makes it so delicious. Let’s live a little, Mom!” My voice is full of excitement at the thought of her Alfredo. It’s that good. If I remember correctly, the sauce mainly consists of butter, heavy whipping cream, and Parmesan cheese. Okay, so it’s definitely not the healthiest, but who cares?
“Fine, I’ll prepare it. I can see how happy it makes you. So, back to your new job endeavor. Do you think you’re going to try to get an on-camera job? The news stations always hire the fresh-out-of-college cute girls to give the morning traffic and weather reports. You could start there.”
“No, I think I’m going to start off on the writing end of it. Being on camera doesn’t sound as exciting as it used to. Now, I’m more interested in the investigative and journalism aspect. Maybe I will look into some freelance writing opportunities.” My minor is in writing, and I’ve always loved telling a good story on paper.
My mom nods. “That sounds like a great place to start.” She stands and looks back down to me. “By the way, when should I plan this meal for?”
“I think I’m going to fly out on Sunday, so before then.”
“Sunday?” My mom’s voice rises an octave. “You will not have been here for two weeks.”
I stand from the chaise and wrap my arms around her tiny waist. “I’ll miss you, too, Mom.” I release my hug.
“But—” she starts to protest.
“Mom, I really need to get back and get my whole grown-up life started, you know?”
“Why don’t you just move down here? There is nothing keeping you in Michigan. You graduated, and you don’t have anyone up there.”
“I have Paige, Mom.”
“True, but Paige will always be your friend, no matter where you live. I just think it’s time for you to move home.”
“Home?” I laugh loudly. “Mom, have you even lived here for a full month yet? I don’t know if I’ve been to Kentucky prior to this visit. This isn’t home for me.”
“Yeah, you’ve been to this state before—when you were little.”
“Well, I’ve lived in Ann Arbor for four years now, which is the longest I think I’ve ever lived in one place, so it feels more like home there anyway.”
“I guess I was thinking that home was where your family was.”
“I get that, Mom. But Paige is my family, too. And, to be honest, you and Dad probably won’t be here that long. So, what good would it do for me to get a job here just to have you move in a year? Then, I’ll be stuck here, alone. At least in Michigan, I have Paige.”
She sighs. “I see your point.”
“How about this? I will look for jobs everywhere and pick the one that gives me the best opportunity. Who knows? I could get an amazing offer from a Louisville-based company.”
“That would be great, London. Thank you. All I ask is that you keep your options open and give this area a chance.”
“I will.”
My mom seems lonelier than usual. She’s always been too busy to care where I might end up. It’s not that she doesn’t care; she does. She just seems a little desperate for company here. I’m sure it will get better once she makes new friends, which she will.
“Mom, why did you have to move here if Dad’s just going to travel? He can travel from anywhere.”
“I know,” she says quietly. “You know how it is.”
I suppose I do, but I don’t really understand my dad’s work. I never have.
I decide to change the subject. “I say we go pick up the ingredients for fettuccini Alfredo, get a couple of bottles of nice wine, order that new release with Scott Eastwood, and have a girls’ movie night.”
My mom’s eyes go wide at the mention o
f the actor’s name. “Oh, you know I love him. He’s such a great actor.”
“I’m sure your adoration for him has nothing to do with the fact that he’s insanely gorgeous.” I teasingly roll my eyes.
“Well, you know it does. He’s quite the specimen.”
“Of course he is! It’s about time you admitted it. Jeez.” I laugh.
“Oh, stop.” She chuckles and wraps her arm around my waist as we start walking out of the room. “Let’s go buy you a load of fat to put on your noodles.”
“Yum! Sounds delish.”
I’m at the airport, sitting patiently at the gate until it’s time to board.
The last few days with my mom flew by. I had the best time with her. I honestly can’t remember the last time I spent so much one-on-one quality time with her, and I know I need to do it more often.
There’s a walking contradiction pacing in the aisle in front of me. For the past eternity, it seems, this dude has been yammering away on his cell phone about trading stocks. Just a typical douche-bag businessman who thinks yelling his client’s personal business into his phone at an airport makes him look cool, right? Yeah, that would be all he is—except he’s wearing a blue short-sleeved polo shirt, a pair of bright orange running pants, and worn leather sandals with socks. It doesn’t appear that he even attempted to comb his short hair when he got up this morning. I can tell that he sleeps with the right side of his head on the pillow. Furthermore, he keeps sucking on a straw that’s in a cup of ice that, I’m assuming, used to have a drink in it, creating an obnoxious sound that echoes throughout the gate’s waiting area.
What I see of this man and what I hear him saying into his cell phone are complete contradictions. It just doesn’t add up. I’ve had a lot of time to watch him, and I’ve decided that there are two probable scenarios. One, there are hidden cameras somewhere, and I’m a witness to a hidden prank show. But I’ve looked around, and I haven’t seen anything indicating a television crew. So, that leads me to my other guess. He’s insane, like a literal crazy person, and he’s talking into a phone that doesn’t have anyone on the other end. In fact, it’s probably not even charged. Scenario number two makes me sad for him.
Maybe I’m completely wrong, and he’s just an eccentric-dressing douche-bag businessman. Yeah, let’s hope for that.
“So, is that your next victim?”
I gasp when I hear his voice. I would recognize it anywhere.
I tilt my head up to see Loïc standing beside me. He’s wearing his fatigues and carrying an Army green duffel. My mouth remains open wide. I’m so shocked to see him here. I can hardly process it.
“What?” I finally ask, not able to think of anything better.
“The guy you’ve been staring at for the last twenty minutes…you have your sights set on him?”
I ignore his question, knowing that he’s joking. Instead, I skip to the real question. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m flying back to Detroit, same as you apparently,” he says almost distractedly. His stare is focused on my lips before it darts back to my eyes.
“Right. I see that, but what are you doing here, in Kentucky?” I continue to gawk up at him, and although I’m in shock at the sight of him, I can’t help but notice how incredibly mouthwatering he looks in his fatigues. What is it about a hot guy in a military uniform?
“I was down in Fort Knox for training this week. Why are you here?”
“My parents live here.”
“Ah, gotcha. Do you mind if I take a seat?” He gestures toward the empty chair beside me.
I shrug. “It’s a free country.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
He places his bag on the ground at his feet and sits beside me.
“There are other unoccupied chairs around, you know.” My words sound snarky, even to my own ears. I suppose my ego is still bruised from our last encounter.
“I know, but I thought it would be a dick move to sit next to a stranger when you’re right here.”
My body bristles. I’m wary of this new friendlier version of a man who, prior to today, has wanted nothing to do with me. Even this minimal chitchat is out of his norm.
“We’re basically strangers, Loïc. What’s the difference?”
He regards me for one heartbeat and then another before he looks away. “Basically…but we’re not.”
We both sit in silence and watch Orange Pants continue to chatter away.
After a few beats, Loïc says, “So, what do you think his deal is?”
“I don’t know. I’m thinking he’s on a hidden camera show, he’s crazy, or he’s just a very odd, very loud, extremely impolite person. I’m leaning toward the latter.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right. Though I envy him in a way.”
“Why’s that?” I lean back into my seat and allow my gaze to drift from the man to Loïc. Big mistake. I put it off to the uniform and my newfound obsession with a man in camouflage, but my stomach flutters at the sight.
Loïc sports a genuine smile. He seems so carefree in this moment, and because I find the brooding badass version insanely irresistible, the man before me almost does me in.
“The whole package—his clothes, his loud voice—screams, I don’t give a flying fuck what y’all think. I’d imagine it would be pretty freeing not to give a shit about what others think of you.” His bright blues hold me for a second before they return their gaze to the topic of conversation.
I let out a small chuckle. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Though I couldn’t do it. I mean, socks with sandals? That crosses the line.”
“Does it?” Loïc laughs.
I can’t stop the way my heart picks up its pace at that sweet sound. He’s always been so serious. Hearing his laughter does something crazy to my insides.
“Definitely.”
“Noted. No socks and sandals.”
“Honestly, I would suggest you avoid the entire ensemble. I get that it might be freeing and all, but I wouldn’t recommend that look on you.”
“Good to know.”
“So, are we, like, friends now or something? At the club a couple of weeks ago, I got the impression that you didn’t want anything to do with me.”
Loïc locks his beautiful blues on me. “I’m sorry if I was rude, London. I didn’t want to make you feel bad in any way. It’s complicated, but know that it’s my issue and not anything to do with you. I wouldn’t say that we’re friends. I don’t really need any more friends.”
“Everyone can use more friends.”
“I don’t believe that. But I can’t say it’s not a little unnerving that we keep running into each other like this.”
I grin. “It must be fate.”
“I don’t believe in that either.”
“Maybe not, but you don’t have to believe in it for it to be real.”
It takes some effort, but I pull my stare away from his. He’s so handsome that it’s disarming. I can only take so much.
After a few minutes, I stand. “They’re going to start boarding in a few. I’m going to go get some snacks and magazines from the gift shop. It was nice running into you again, Loïc. Maybe we’re not friends, but it was nice to be friendly. See you later.”
“Good-bye, London.”
Yet again, his words sound so permanent, and it makes my heart ache. I hate the way I feel around Loïc and how desperately I want him.
I’m so lost in my own private pity party as I walk away that I almost plow right into the loudmouth bed head.
“Excuse me,” I say quickly.
My eyes dart down to the floor and his socks. I notice that there is a small hole in one of them, and the tip of his big toe is starting to pop through. I can’t help the smile that crosses my face as I continue toward the shop. Maybe I could learn a thing or two from Mr. I-Don’t-Give-A-Flying-Fuck because, to be honest, I wish I didn’t care what other people—particularly Loïc—thought about me.
Loïc
“London has this way of making me want to be different. She makes me want to try, and that is scary as shit.”
—Loïc Berkeley
That wasn’t so bad, I think as I grab a water from the cooler at the back of the store.
After London walked away, I thought a beverage for the plane sounded like a good idea. The fact that I chose to walk to another shop at the other end of this section of the terminal had nothing whatsoever to do with London. I just wanted to stretch my legs.
Keep telling yourself that, Berkeley.
But I do have to admit that my recent conversation with London went well. The sight of her sitting here, in Kentucky, waiting to board the same plane as me, is still baffling. When I saw her, I knew that I would have to do the social thing. Any normal person who ran into someone they knew would say hi and exchange a few meaningless pleasantries before boarding. Granted, I’m as far from normal as they come. Yet I did it. It might have taken me twenty minutes to steel my nerves to approach her, but I did. I was friendly, doing my civil duty.
Surprisingly, it was nice to just talk. The entire experience was made better because I wasn’t going out of my way to be a total dick, and she wasn’t putting her sexy hands all over my chest, trying to seduce me. If anything, she seemed timid, not her usual tactic. But I’d say it was a win-win.
She’s just so beautiful. I can pretend all I want that every cell in my body isn’t insanely attracted to her, but that would be a complete lie. Yet I’m proud of myself because, despite this crazy urge I have to take her against a wall—multiple times—I just had a pretty normal conversation with her and survived with everything intact.
I’m starting to think she isn’t the girl I pegged her to be—not that it matters. I might not have her completely figured out, but I know myself. Regardless of what type of person she might be, she isn’t the one for me—or, more accurately, I’m not the one for her.
Chances are, after we land in Detroit, I won’t see her again anyway. So, this nervous energy that’s pounding through my veins will all be for naught. Then again, if I’m leaving it up to chance, then perhaps I will. Running into her three times in two weeks has started to make me wonder.