Page 27 of People We Meet on Vacation

It never lasts long or pushes too hard. It just sits there, cupped between our hands, a gentle thought without much weight behind it: What would it be like to kiss him? How would he touch me? Would he taste the way he smells? No one has better dental hygiene than Alex, which isn’t exactly asexythought but certainly sexier than the opposite end of the spectrum.

And that’s about as far as the thought ever goes, which is perfect, because I like Alexwaytoo much to date him. Plus we’re entirely incompatible.

The plane judders through another quick stretch of turbulence, and Alex’s grip tightens.

“Time to panic?” he asks.

“Not yet,” I say. “Try to sleep.”

“Because I need to be well rested when I meet Death.”

“Because you need to be well rested when I get tired in Butchart Gardens and make you carry me the rest of the way.”

“I knew there was a reason you brought me with you.”

“I didn’t bring you with me to be my mule,” I argue. “I brought you with me to be my patsy. You’re gonna cause a diversion as I run through the dining room of the Empress Hotel during high tea, stealing tiny sandwiches and priceless bracelets off unsuspecting guests.”

He squeezes my hand. “I guess I’d better sleep, then.”

I squeeze back. “Guess so.”

“Wake me up when it’s time to panic.”

“Always.”

He rests his head on my shoulder and pretends to sleep.

When we land, he will have a horrible kink in his neck and my shoulder will ache from sitting in this position for so long, but right now I don’t mind. I have five glorious days of travel with my best friend ahead of me, and deep down, I know: nothing can go wrong, not really.

It’s not time to panic.

9

This Summer

DO WE HAVEa rental car?” Alex asks as we head out of the airport into the windy heat.

“Sort of.” I chew on my lip as I fish my phone out to call a cab. “I sourced a ride from a Facebook group.”

Alex’s eyes narrow, the jet-induced gusts rolling through the arrivals area making his hair flap against his forehead. “I have no idea what you just said.”

“Remember?” I say. “It’s what we did on our first trip. To Vancouver? When we were too young to legally rent a car?”

He stares at me.

“You know,” I say, “that women’s online travel group I’ve been in for, like, fifteen years? Where people post their apartments for sublet and list their cars for rent? Remember? We had to take a bus to pick up the car outside the city and walk, like, five miles with our luggage?”

“I remember,” he says. “I’ve just never stopped to wonder why anyone would rent their car to a stranger before this moment.”

“Because a lot of people in New York like to leave for the winter and a lot of people in Los Angeles like to go somewhere else for the summer.” I shrug. “This girl’s car would’ve been sitting unused for, like, a month, so I got it for the week for seventy bucks. We just have to take a cab to pick it up.”

“Cool,” Alex says.

“Yeah.”

And here is the first awkward silence of the trip. It doesn’t matter that we’ve been texting nonstop for the past week—or maybe that’s made it worse. My mind is unforgivingly blank. All I can do is stare at the app on my phone, watching the car icon creep closer.

“This is us.” I tip my chin toward the approaching minivan.

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