Page 4 of The Fear of Falling
“But we don’t know what we’re doing,” I argue. “Neither of us expected Dani to hit theNew York Timeslist like that.”
“Even so, we have too much to do. Don’t go to Italy, Avery. Please.”
“I’m already eating the cost of your half.” Plus, I splurged last night in a rare moment of impulsivity and upgraded my longest flight to business class. That would be a lot of money wasted if I stay home.
“I told you I can pay for it.” He can’t. He just finished paying off his MBA a few months ago, and he signed a two-year lease on a townhouse that was going to be ours. Not to mention the business loan we’re both on the hook for. “Besides,” he continues, “the only reason you paid for the trip was because your card had the better rewards.”
I sigh, my eyes on the dwindling line to board. This flight is going to JFK, where I’ll have a few hours before my connecting flight to Rome, and then to Florence. In less than twenty-fourhours, I could be in the city I’ve dreamed of visiting ever since Sandra Bullock fell in love with Bill Pullman inWhile You Were Sleeping.
Or I could stay in Utah and pretend it isn’t totally awkward working across the hall from a man I used to make out with on a regular basis and now barely talk to.
Enjoy Italy.
I stand up straight and pull my shoulders back. I plan to.
“If there are any emergencies,” I tell Eric, “send me an email. Otherwise, I’ll see you in a week.”
I hang up before he can argue, and I hold my head high as I march to the gate. My breakup may have sucked, but I’m going to go to Italy and have the time of my life because I am totally, completelyfine.
Chapter 2
Benson
Eveninbusinessclass,it’s surprisingly hard to sleep when the person next to you is sobbing hysterically. I’ve done my best to ignore her, as a good seatmate should, but this is getting ridiculous. It’s beenhours. We still have five hours before we land in Rome, and I worked through the night and up to the wire today to ensure I’d be able to get on this flight. I just want to sleep.
The woman sniffles, hiding her face in her blanket while I pretend not to look at her. At least she’s trying to stifle her noise, but this is clearly not the sort of cry she can hold in. I doubt it’s stopping anytime soon.
Sighing, I shift in my seat and fully open my eyes. “Funeral?”
She startles and meets my gaze, only her red-rimmed eyes visible from behind the blanket. “What?”
“Is that why you’re going to Italy?” If it’s anything else, I’m going to question this level of crying. And maybe her sanity.
Sniffing, she stares at me for a long time before wiping her eyes with her sleeve and slowly lowering the blanket. She had her nose deep in a book when I boarded last-minute, so I didn’t give her much attention before takeoff, but I kind of wish I had. Aside from the blotchy redness from her crying, she’s cute. In an innocent, messy kind of way. “My…” She hiccups and drops her gaze to her lap. “My honeymoon, actually.”
Message received. No attraction allowed. “Oh. Uh. Are you crying because I stole his seat or something?” I glance behind me, though I can’t see much in the dark plane. Is there some guy back there snoring away while his new wife is in hysterics?
With a scoff, my seatmate bends down and unzips the enormous backpack she brought with her. She has to dig for a while, but she eventually pulls out a packet of tissues. “Of course not,” she says, snippier than I expect. Suddenly she’s less of a damsel in distress and more of a woman scorned, and I regret starting up a conversation. That type of woman isnotmy cup of tea, and I’ve encountered it far more often than I’d like. At least she’s not crying anymore. Crying is almost worse. “He’s not here.That’swhy I’m crying.”
There are a few different ways this could go. I could ask where he is and satisfy my curiosity, or I could remember that her life is none of my business and try to go back to sleep now that she’s quiet. Or she could not give me a choice at all and—
“We broke up a couple of months ago.” She tugs a tissue from the plastic wrapper and loudly blows her nose, pulling a couple of disgruntled gazes our way.
Woman scorned.Nailed it.
“Why areyougoing to Italy?” she asks.
I’m not about to tell her that I’m going to a wedding. With my luck, that would set off the tears again. “Seeing some friends.” While that could easily be the end of the conversation, mycuriosity won’t let me leave it alone. “So you’re still going on your honeymoon without the man? Good for you.”
She flashes a brief, joyless smile as she stuffs her used tissue into her pocket. “Non-refundable,” she mumbles, bending to dig into her backpack again. “Rewards points. You know…”
“Great reasons to leave the guy behind for a while.” I chuckle, adjusting myself to a slightly more comfortable position and closing my eyes. While I would rather be in first class, anything beats economy when a flight is more than two hours. If I’d known earlier that I would have the time to make it to this wedding, I would have booked a better seat, but I’m suffering the woes of last-minute plans. Maybe Ididtake this woman’s fiancé’s seat, and I send a silentthank youto the guy.
I don’t care for weddings, but I would have hated to miss this one for a number of reasons. Plus, it’s in Florence. I love that city.
Anyway, the woman next to me has stopped crying, which means I might get a few hours of sleep now.
“Have you been to Italy before?”
