Page 1 of Praise Me: Pilot
CHAPTER 1
Joel
“Thanks again, buddy,” says the baritone voice in my ear. “I really appreciate this.”
I squint into the sun and let out a mental sigh. “No problem, Phil.”
“Although, maybe you should be thanking me, huh?” His laugh chugs its way down the crystal-clear phone connection. “I can think of worse ways to spend a weekend than surrounded by sorority girls.”
I’m glad my mentor and frequent co-pilot isn’t here to see me shake my head, because that’s exactly what I’m doing. Phil is my best friend. When I decided to take the leap from the Air Force to commercial piloting, he helped me navigate those waters. Pointed me toward the right people and showed me the proverbial ropes. I earned the stripes necessary to pilot international skies, but Phil brought me into a network that isn’t easy to breach. He’s a good guy and we get along great, despite him being seventeen years my senior at age forty-nine.
But as a thirty-two-year-old man, I can think ofa lotof shit I’d rather being doing than filling in for Phil at parents’ weekend at his daughter’s sorority. I’m currently standing at the curb in front of the Chi Omega house, and the squeals are already deafening. Girls rush out onto the lawn to greet their parents, enfolding them in enthusiastic hugs, cradling bouquets of flowers like they’re newborn babies.Take a picture of me with the flowers, two of the sorority girls say at the same time, sending them into grating peals of laughter.
I’mnot going to survive this.
“Remind me why you can’t make it to parents’ weekend,” I say to Phil, my head already beginning to pound. “You get free airfare. Couldn’t you have hopped a flight to Nashville to be here?”
“Ah, come on, man. Don’t make me say why I’m not coming.”
“If I’m going to spend the weekend blinded by the color pink, I deserve an explanation.”
Phil heaves a sigh. “There’s a woman in Boston that needs my…attention, all right? I haven’t been able to see her on my last few layovers at Logan. She gave me an ultimatum. Either show my face this weekend, wine and dine her, or she’ll move on.” He makes a sound in his throat. “She’s a little high maintenance, but she’s worth the effort.”
A woman.
He’s missing his daughter’s parents’ weekend to go see a woman.
That doesn’t sit right in my chest, but maybe I should give Phil the benefit of the doubt. He’s a widower. Lost his wife young. Had to raise a daughter on his own. Maybe his constant need for female companionship is something I don’t understand.
And I do meanconstant.Phil might have a girlfriend in Boston, but he’s also got one in Barcelona, Milan and Dallas—and those are only the women Iknowabout. There could be several more that he simply hasn’t mentioned.
“You’re not judging me, right?” Phil says. “Haylo will understand. Remember the story. I got stuck in some bad weather in Thailand and they rescheduled my flight back to the States for Monday. That’s the story. You and I need to be aligned on that.”
There’s a sharp turnover below my collarbone.
I’m not a liar. Never have been, never will be.
When Phil asked me to fill in for him, the favor seemed innocent enough, but now that I’m standing outside the sorority house, waiting for Haylo to emerge, the dishonesty of it all is putting a sour taste in my mouth.
“Remind me what she looks like,” I say, scanning a blur of smiling faces. As much as Phil has spoken to me about his daughter during our countless hours in the sky over the last three years, she’s never been home the few times I’ve made it over to his house.
“I sent you a picture of her. You didn’t look at it?”
“I meant to. Hold on, let me pull it up—”
“There’s no need. You’ll know which one is her. She’s got her mother’s hair and eyes. You won’t be able to miss her.” He chuckles. “I used to tell her mother she had eyes the color of a Heineken bottle.”
“What a romantic.”
“Hey—she bought my bullshit enough to marry me, didn’t she?” A pause draws itself out until Phil eventually clears his throat. “Anyway, Haylo’s hair is the color of a moonbeam. So blonde it’s almost silver. Cute as a button.”
In an instance of near perfect timing, that’s when I see her.
I almost drop the fucking phone.
My stomach muscles seize up, a pulse rollicking in my ears.
She’s…extraordinary.
