Page 3 of Not Your Basic Love Story

He smiled. “No, what brings you to Mexico?”

“Oh!” I laughed it off. “My best friend Miranda is getting married. I’m one of her bridesmaids.”

“Sounds like fun,” he said, wiping a light sheen of sweat from his brow.

The attendant addressed us in his chipper voice. “Anything to drink?”

“Yeah, um, I’ll have tequila and orange juice. Dev?” I looked over at him.

He nodded. “Sure, sounds good.”

I silently praised myself for guessing his drink; the slight whiff of tequila I’d gleaned from him was accurate.I paid with a tap of my card as the attendant handed me the cups with ice and orange juice, as well as two tiny bottles of Cuervo. I poured them out, a little heavier on the tequila than I’d intended with a bump of turbulence. Cup in one hand, I offered the other to Dev.

He sniffed it. “Whew, that’s a strong drink!”

“Sorry, but I mean, we’re going to Mexico. It’s only getting started.”

We raised our little plastic cups, tapped them together, said cheers, and took a drink. It was awful. I’m not one for tequila at the best of times, and semi-warm orange juice didn’t do it any favours.

I looked over to Dev. “How long are you—”

A panicked expression appeared on his face. He dropped the cup and fumbled through the seat pocket in front of him. My stomach clenched, but nothing could prepare me for what happened next.

Dev puked all over himself.

By the smell of it, he’d ingested quite a bit of tequila already, along with what may have been a greasy burger and fries. I looked away as fast as possible, fighting my gag reflex.

“Oh teri,” he cursed.

Moans of disgust erupted from the other seats. The attendant reappeared with napkins and plastic bags. I quickly excused myself down the aisle to the bathroom, thankful there wasn’t a line-up. After splashing some cold water on my face, I glanced up at myself in the tiny mirror. My skin was somehow even more pale than usual. My mousy brown hair was damp around the frame of my face and at the back of my neck from sweat. I glanced down at my clothes. Ugh! Was that..? Gross. I wiped at my grey tank top and faded jeans with some paper towel, getting most of the vomit off.

I took a steadying breath as the plane shook again and prepared to return to my seat. When I was sure my stomach would hold, I exited the tiny room and nearly ran into Dev. Slime covered his trousers and once-nice shirt, an embarrassed grimace on his face.

Stomach, don’t betray me now! I inched past him and made my way back to my seat. Though the attendants had done a good job cleaning everything up, nothing could be done about the acrid smell I was now stuck with forfive. More. Hours.

Just when I’d thought my luck was getting better, it had, in fact, not turned around at all. If only my seatmate was the old lady with the cats, or the mom with the toddler, or even the guy with the germs. Nope. I was stuck sitting next to the guy with motion sickness because of course I was.

I grabbed my iPhone from my purse and quickly put in my ear pods, turning on RuPaul’s Drag Race, thankful I’d saved several episodes ahead of time.

When Dev made his way back he looked defeated. I felt bad for him, a little. I moved my knees and he shuffled into his seat. He said more words.

I pulled one of my pods out, just an inch. “‘Scuse me?”

“I said, I’m sorry. About that.”

“It’s fine.” I smiled, teeth still clenched, the awful smell stronger with him there. Didn’t he have a spare change of clothes in his carry-on? I shoved my pod back in and looked at my phone, hoping he would take the hint and leave me alone, my fun and flirtatious five-hour flight ruined.

Once we landed, I bee-lined it off the plane as fast as possible, eager to get to the hotel and shower the smell of tequila-barf off of me. I didn’t say goodbye to Dev, since I couldn’t even look at him without triggering my gag reflex—which was really too bad; we’d gotten off on such a great start. I breathed a little easier with each step closer to the exit, glad to put the memory of my queasy companion behind me and move on with my trip.

Mexico’s humidity hit me like walking into a wall, the balmy climate so different than the stuffy airplane or cold, rainy winter season in Vancouver. My shoes clicked on the laminate flooring as I made my way to the baggage carousel, absentmindedly going through the schedule of plans for Miranda’s wedding over the next few days. Tonight was a meet-and-greet cocktail hour at some fancy restaurant by the beach. Tomorrow the rehearsal dinner. The next day Miranda had been secretive about, probably some sort of adventure she had planned, knowing her. Then, the wedding. Next day, flying home. It couldn’t be over fast enough.

Not that I didn’t love Miranda. Of course, I did. We’d been friends since high school, and now, at twenty-nine, she was really the only friend I had left from those days. I’d been with her all her ups and downs, so now, seeing her settling down, I couldn’t be happier for her. Derek was a great guy. He’d make a great dad someday. It was doing it all alone that I wasn’t excited about, nor had I planned for. The whole trip, right down to the romantic ocean-view suite with the jacuzzi tub I’d paid extra for, was going to be a reminder of what a failure I was at love.

Thankfully, I didn’t have long to dwell upon those thoughts. My luggage, an unmistakable bright pink plastic case with lime-green palm fronds on it, was one of the first to come down the chute. I’d had to splurge on new luggage whenhetook mine two and a half weeks ago.

I booked it out of there, eyes focused on the floor in front of me, lest I accidentally see Dev again and have to smile at him awkwardly, or worse, actually talk to him. I jumped into a cab, eager for a shower and some fresh clothes.

I texted Miranda: ‘Landed! OMG u wouldn’t believe what happened on the plane.’

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