Page 37 of About That One Night
As she turns to chat with someone else, I slip my headphones back on. The music swells, drowning out the excited chatter around me. I close my eyes, willing myself to believe her words, but doubt gnaws at the edges of my mind.
The plane shakes, jolting me out of my thoughts. I grip the armrests, my knuckles turning white. Deep breaths, Zoe.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we just hit a pocket of turbulence. A bit of rough air. Nothing to worry about,” the pilot’s voice crackles over the intercom.
Nothing to worry about . . . I would feel better if Iwere flying this thing. Not that I know how to pilot, but being in control usually calms me down.
Chill, Zoe. You’ve had rougher flights, why are you so edgy?
The answer doesn’t come to me. There’s just something strange about this trip. I peek out the window, clouds streaming past us at dizzying speeds. The vast expanse of blue below is both beautiful and terrifying. Kind of like this whole trip.
My phone buzzes. When I check it, I groan. It’s just another text from Mom. I’m not sure that connecting to the plane’s Wi-Fi was a good idea; she keeps sending me messages. She’s concerned that I’ll have some kind of nervous breakdown like Cleo did after she broke up with her fiancé only weeks before her wedding.
Cleo was MIA for months, trying to find herself. At least that’s what we thought was happening. She just traveled around the world spending the money she got from a settlement—Dominic broke the engagement and they ended up in court. I had no idea any of that happened. The only details we know is that her trip was great. And I got to see every picture she took.
Thankfully, Mom’s message is simple this time:Dad and I are having a date night. I hope you’re having a great flight, sweetie. Don’t forget to mingle, get yourself out there more.
I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t get stuck. Even miles above the earth, I can’t escape her not-so-subtle hints about my love life. Or lack thereof.
Slipping my phone back into my bag, I catch sightof the ankle bracelet Tom gave me last Christmas. Ugh, why do I still have this? It’s been months since our breakup, and I still find things that remind me of him. I should’ve shoved it in the memory box that I’ve yet to burn to crisp. But how can I when it’s so pretty? And though it hurts me a little, I take it off and shove it in my purse. Later I’ll dispose of it or give it to someone.
“More champagne?” A flight attendant materializes beside me, bottle poised.
“Please.” I nod, holding out my glass, the crystal cool against my fingers.
The bubbles tickle my nose as I take another sip. The alcohol is starting to warm me from the inside out, dulling the edges of my anxiety. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all. I just need to make sure that they keep my glass filled at all times.
I close my eyes again, letting the hum of the engines and the soft chatter of the other passengers wash over me. For a moment, I can almost believe I’m just heading to a tropical paradise. But reality intrudes—this isn’t a carefree vacation, it’s a wedding that subtly reminds me of my own setbacks and uncertain romantic future.
The path ahead isn’t clear-cut. My options feel limited: endlessly swiping through online dating profiles, embracing the single life, or racing against time to have a child before I turn thirty-five. It’s like being caught between a rock and a hard place, only with more champagne and fewer answers.
Reality crashes back as I open my eyes and scan the cabin. Everywhere I look, there are couples. Hands intertwined, heads resting on shoulders,shared smiles and inside jokes. My stomach twists, a knot of envy and loneliness tightening with each passing second.
“Get it together, Zoe,” I mutter to myself, knuckles whitening as I grip the armrests. “It’s just a wedding. You’ve done this before.”
I take another long sip of champagne, wincing as the bubbles hit my throat. “Maybe I should’ve brought a fake boyfriend,” I think, half-seriously. “Or a cardboard cutout of Chris Hemsworth.”
The thought makes me snort-laugh, drawing curious glances from nearby passengers. I feel my cheeks flush and I sink lower in my seat, wishing I could disappear into the plush leather. Great. This is off to a fantastic start.
I pull out my phone again, scrolling through photos from past weddings. I’m always in a different pastel dress, always with a plastered-on smile. Always alone or with Tom if he felt like coming with me. He wasn’t that big on weddings. That was probably a big red flag, but I never thought about it until today. Oh how I hate the whole ‘always a bridesmaid, never a bride.’ It’s becoming my new mantra.
Lily pokes me with her elbow, her brow furrowed with concern. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Of course I am,” I repeat for what feels like the thousandth time, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “I’m heading to Fiji—all expenses paid—and I don’t have to worry about work for a couple of weeks since I asked for extra time off. It can’t get any better.”
Lily laughs, the sound light and carefree. “God, Iwish I’d done something like this. A destination wedding with almost no guests instead of the three-ring circus Mom organized just to show Ethan’s mom that we’re fucking refined.”
I roll my eyes dramatically, grateful for the change in subject. “How could I forget? I’m pretty sure I’m still finding heart-shaped confetti in weird places.”
We both chuckle, remembering the over-the-top affair that was Lily’s wedding. Three hundred guests, a ten-tier cake, and enough flowers to fill a greenhouse. It was beautiful, sure, but also a logistical nightmare.
“Mom and Dad were so proud, though,” Lily muses, swirling her champagne, her eyes distant. “You know how competitive they are with almost everything.”
I nod, feeling a pang of sympathy for my sister. “Yeah, that was . . .” I trail my voice because it’s hard to describe how exhausting the preparations and the entire wedding was. “I’m surprised you and Ethan didn’t elope halfway through the planning.”
“Don’t think we didn’t consider it,” Lily admits with a wry smile. “But in the end, it was worth it to see Mom cry happy tears while Ethan’s mom was crying because we didn’t let her help at all.”
The words hang between us, a reminder of the constant pressure we both feel. I take another sip of champagne, letting the bubbles fizzle on my tongue as I contemplate my own future. Will I ever have a day like that? Do I even want one?
