Page 13 of Girls Will Be Girls
“You’re ridiculous.” I roll my eyes. “Two minutes,” I say, holding up two fingers before half jogging to a little store a few gates away.
I pick out a pack of spearmint gum and some mints for good measure. I try and hustle but I’m moving about two split secondsslower than usual. When I get back to the gate, Lou smiles and, clearly emboldened by those cocktails, lifts his hands in the air and croons, “Sweetie, you’re back!”
My cheeks flame, and my whole body joins in on my eye roll. It’s a full-body roll.
“Having fun?” I ask.
He grins wider and wraps an arm around my shoulder. “Come on.” He pulls me with him to the queue, playing up our supposed love.
I’m doing my best not to let my tipsy brain imagine that I’m actually engaged and jetting off to my dream Vegas wedding. It would be a tasteful elopement — Elvis impersonator, light up bouquet, tequila shots before the ceremony.
It’s the dream, and three cocktails deep, I don’t mind pretending for a second.
First class is ridiculous.
You can do your best impression of a stick insect or an incredibly straight body with rigor mortis already set in, and you still won’t reach the seat in front. There are little dividers for privacy, free drinks — although I declined or else I’d be wasted before take-off — and the seat has a mechanical recliner. And you don’t even have to feel bad for reclining.
I take the Vegas plan back,thisis the dream.
Tipsy truly is the best state a person can be in. But tipsy in first class — I’ve never felt as peaceful.
I’m usually acutely aware of my surroundings. Worrying that people are looking at me, what they’re thinking about me, if I’m doing something embarrassing, or if I’m being rude without realizing — like my plane seat accidentally being reclined.
But here, it’s like I’m in my own world. It’s nice to have a break.
After viciously chewing four pieces of gum until they’re completely stale, we’re finally in the air, and my tipsy high has mellowed out. As soon as the seat belt sign is switched off, Lou turns to me, an excited grin on his face.
“Should we call for something?” He asks.
I laugh. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. Drinks? Peanuts? A three-course meal?”
“We just left the buffet,” I say. “How are you hungry?”
“It’s free.” He shrugs.
I look up the aisle. “I think we should just let them get settled. They’ll come to us.”
He shakes his head, smiling. “Such a people pleaser.”
“It’s just polite.” I bite back.
He nods his chin at me with a smirk. “What do you wanna do then?
“I don’t know.”
“Okay, options.” He starts counting on his fingers. “Movie? Sleep? Silence?” He pauses on the fourth finger. “Or stimulating conversation.”
“I think I want option number four, just to see what stimulating conversation would be like.”
He holds his hand to his heart, looking surly. “Hurtful.” But he can’t finish his sentence without smiling. “Truly hurtful, Louisa.”
“Come on.” I sit up straighter. “Stimulate me.”
“Way to put pressure on a man.”
He rubs his hands together as if preparing.
