The High Dive

3. Charles De Gaulle Airport, France

3

CHARLES DE GAULLE AIRPORT, FRANCE

Now

T he airport bathroom was a terrible place for a makeover. Atrocious fluorescent lighting, crowds of sleep-deprived travelers pushing toward the sinks, rolling suitcases nipping at her heels: nowhere had Alex ever felt less sexy. But it was either this or the airplane bathroom itself, and this place had slightly more elbow room.

Alex had already changed into her terminal outfit—a white linen blouse and blue floral skirt—and pulled her hair half-back into her favorite tortoise shell barrette. Now she was forced to confront the reality of her post-flight skin. She used her fingers to wash, moisturize, and apply the kind of no-makeup makeup that always deceived men into thinking you just naturally looked that beautiful. She massaged soft pink and bronze creams at strategic points around her olive-toned face, doing her best to distract from how tired she obviously was.

From behind her, a small Frenchwoman grunted impatiently, muttering something indecipherable—likely about how Alex, with her airport beauty session, was a selfish American cow.

Say whatever you want, lady, Alex thought. I am not leaving this bathroom until I look perfect.

The anticipation of it all had her nearly in tears: In just twenty minutes, she would be meeting Danial and Sophie at the airport’s car rental. She would have to pass for casual, happy even—as if nothing negative had ever happened between them. She wasn’t too worried about Sophie: her usual disposition of “slightly bored and looking at her phone” actually gave Alex a minor sense of relief. But Sophie was also not one to ask questions or fill awkward silences, which greatly increased the likelihood that Alex and Danial would be forced into direct interaction on this eight-hour car ride—a thought that made her shudder with distress.

Finally satisfied with her appearance, Alex reassembled her toiletries case and placed it back into her purse, along with her plane clothes. She’d delayed the inevitable as much as she could, and it was time to face the music.

“ Pardon ,” she offered in her paltry middle-school French, receiving only shoulder shrugs and disapproving glances as she made her way through the crowd.

The baggage claim at Charles de Gaulle was chaotic, full of large families pushing rolling carts of suitcases that seemed more appropriate for a cross-continent move than a summer vacation. There was a glass smoking enclosure in the center of the space—a cube of shame where a handful of people sucked desperately on their first post-flight cigarette—and the coffee machine next to it where you could exchange a couple euros for the worst espresso of your life. She’d only been here once before, but the whole scene felt familiar, possibly because it seemed to echo the immense anxiety now rolling through her body.

“ Excusez-moi, ” she eked out to a surly-looking woman at the information desk. “ Où est le … car rental?”

Without speaking a word in return, the woman pointed at an exit to her left surrounded by car rental service logos.

“ Merci beaucoup ,” Alex said, abashed.

Before she could move, a deep, silken male voice called out from behind her: “Alex, hey!”

She froze.

“Alex!” Sophie’s voice called just after, already sounding a little more French on this side of the Atlantic. “We’re over here!”

Alex turned around, concentrating on the micro-movements of her face as she took in theirs. “Oh, hi, guys!”

The two of them looked absolutely perfect, all the more so because she knew they didn’t need any airport bathroom triage to improve their appearance. They simply carried the innate swagger of luxury: of getting a full night’s sleep in business class and not having to worry about logistics or timing, because the world would wait for them. Sophie Vautier was, unsurprisingly, in a loose white button-down with expertly worn-in jeans and chic brown loafers, a straw bag with sturdy-looking leather handles on her arm. Her long brown hair was the ideal amount of mussed, and her flawless skin seemed untouched by anything but expensive moisturizer. She looked, in a word, French .

Danial, meanwhile, had put in the more overt effort of a new-money American, in a heavy-looking navy tee and immaculately tailored khakis that came up nearly to his waist, cinched with a buttery-looking leather belt. His black hair was slicked behind his ears, and the elegant angles of his face were only rivaled by the lines of his physique. It was one thing to have studied photos of him online, it was quite another to be confronted in person by just how handsome he had become since college.

She silently instructed herself as she walked toward them: Smile casually, crinkle at the eyes so it feels sincere. Show a bit of teeth, but not too much. Don’t walk too fast. Hug Sophie first, maybe cheek-kiss if she initiates it, then hug Danial like it’s an afterthought.

This is no big deal.

“Ugh,” Sophie let out before they’d even broken from their hug. “That flight was absolute shit.”

It was almost refreshing how little energy Sophie had for ceremony. There was no “oh my god, how have you been?” nonsense. It was straight to complaining.

“Oh, yeah?” Alex concentrated on responding to Sophie as she moved to hug Danial, avoiding his eyes. “Were you guys on the same one?”

“Yeah,” Danial confirmed, reaching to take Alex’s overburdened bag before she could think to stop him.

“Oh, you don’t have to carry my—”

Their fingers brushed, just barely, as he took the bag from her.

“Please, let me be a gentleman.” He flashed a quick, somewhat awkward smile, straightening himself out.

“He just wants to impress all the French girls,” Sophie commented as she mindlessly fished through her bag. She and Danial spent a lot of time together in New York, and Alex had deduced from her research that he had an affinity for the beautiful friends of hers who always seemed to be visiting from Paris.

“The—” Alex hesitated, always hyperaware of when she needed to inconvenience this group. “The people at the information desk told me my luggage would take a little longer, since it was supposed to go to Marseille.”

Danial shepherded the women toward an open row of seats. “That’s fine, we have a little wait for the car anyway. The rental technically doesn’t start for another hour but they’re going to try to get it earlier.” He cleared his throat. “I wanted a certain car, so I told them I was okay with the extra wait. I hope you’re cool with that.”

If Alex didn’t know better, she might think he was nervous.

“What does it matter ?” Sophie whined, scrolling through her phone as she walked. “We’re just dropping it off in Marseille.”

“I’m sorry.” He turned toward her, a bit impatient. “Would you like to drive the eight hours to the boat? Because if you want to drive, you can pick whatever car you like.”

“I can help drive if you need to trade off,” Alex offered without thinking.

“Oh—” he turned toward her. “Oh, no, that’s okay. I’m just kidding.” He leaned down to seamlessly pull Sophie’s oversized silver Rimowa from the carousel, his long, elegant biceps straining slightly under his shirt. “I’m looking forward to it, actually. I never get to drive in the city.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Sophie said, not looking up from her phone. “He goes upstate, like, every other weekend to drive around in a circle with a bunch of other idiots.”

“Oh, yeah?” Alex suppressed a smile.

“I like to race cars,” he clarified, setting his suitcase down and silently counting the bags before placing them on a luggage cart. He turned to Sophie. “I’m allowed to have one hobby.”

“Mmm.” Sophie nodded, still buried in her phone.

“Thank you, but I can push it,” Alex offered, reaching for the cart’s handle.

He looked down at her hand, briefly, before meeting her eyes. “It’s okay, really. I said I want to be a gentleman.”

It only took an hour for Sophie to fall asleep, sprawled across the back seats with noise canceling headphones over her ears and a large cashmere shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She even slept in a chic way, her lips pursed neatly and her dark lashes fluttering the tiniest bit as she breathed.

Meanwhile, up front, Danial and Alex were finding their own rhythm. She’d indulged him as he explained for nearly thirty minutes why he’d selected this car, an Audi rs6, and why he generally preferred Audis to BMWs (although he sometimes raced with the latter). Alex gave her usual spiel to New Yorkers on why Philadelphia was Really Great, Actually, listing the things he should do if he ever took the Amtrak down for an afternoon. They talked a little about the trip—the friends they’d be seeing, the places they were most excited to visit—and even made some polite conversation about their favorite new TV shows.

Alex was surprised at how naturally the anxiety began to wane once they were alone together. She had spent so many years building him up in her mind, so to see him teeming with a nervous energy made her feel powerful, the way she used to during their verbal sparring matches. They laughed, they hummed along to the radio, and, after an hour or so, one could have almost mistaken them for friends. But once it was clear Sophie wasn’t waking up, and the day stretched before them, the veneer of friendly small talk began to fade away.

Like a wound she couldn’t resist prodding, Alex pivoted the conversation.

“So, you work in private equity, I heard?”

She tried to sound naive, but she could see his knowing smile out of the corner of her eye. He saw exactly where she was going.

“Yes, I do.” He downshifted, merging onto another highway. “For about five years now.”

“Do you like it?” She leaned forward slightly, reaching down to unbuckle the leather straps on her sandals.

“Yes, it’s very challenging.” He checked his mirror before changing lanes. “It keeps me busy.”

He wasn’t going to give her anything. He was on his best behavior.

“That’s good.”

She let the hum of the road fill the silence, and for a moment, she thought he would leave it at that. But then, as if no time had passed, he took the bait.

“I’m guessing you probably don’t like that. Given what—” He cleared his throat. “Given what you do.”

“And what do I do, Danial?”

He seemed to tense up briefly at his name, or maybe at her saying it. Her goal for this trip was perfect coolness: to make him feel the full force of her indifference, to see how far beyond him she had evolved. The strategic deployment of his name, in a tone vaguely recalling a meeting with HR, was a key component of her plan.

“You work in politics.” He kept his eyes on the road, his tone neutral. “For Carter Stephens.”

At the mention of his name, she could practically hear the many lines she’d written for him, the time she’d had him refer to private equity as “Maggots on the corpse of the American middle class.”

“I don’t work for Congressman Stephens,” Alex countered, staying aloof but turning to face him. “I work for his party.”

“Is there a difference?” He looked across the center console for the first time, his almond eyes turned the slightest bit downward at their corners, giving him an air of perpetual melancholy.

“Yes.” She turned her gaze back toward the road, and he did the same. “There’s a big difference.”

He allowed a brief silence before taking a sharp breath inward, pushing out his thoughts in a stream of consciousness: “I know you have plenty to say about the work I do, so why don’t you just get it all out now while it’s just the two of us? I’d rather not ruin everyone else’s vacation with your grandstanding.”

Even in the context of their prickly back-and-forth, his words hit her like a fist to the chest.

She felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means I’ve seen the videos you make. I’ve read your manifestos on Instagram. I know it’s an election year. You think I’m some capitalist demon, so why don’t you just say that now before we get on this quarter-million-dollar boat ride around the Mediterranean?”

So it wasn’t just Alex sitting around in anticipation of this trip, lingering in her resentment: Danial had been doing the same, with the added righteousness of feeling like Alex was a complete hypocrite.

“I’m sorry, was I not supposed to come along for my best friend’s wedding just because it’s expensive?” She turned toward him again, her nerves fading into a familiar competitiveness.

“No. Actually, Alex, I think it’s fine that you’re coming, because I’m not judging you for your life choices. All I’d like is the same respect.”

“I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing.”

“Right, because only the choices you make are okay.” His fingers opened and closed around the steering wheel, knuckles going white. “I mean ,” he emphasized, bringing himself to heel, “I just don’t like this air of judgment. I care about politics too, you know.”

She scoffed, more audibly than she’d intended. “I saw your Ronald Reagan tattoo when you were grabbing my suitcase.”

“Very funny.” His eyes darted in her direction before rolling and refocusing on the road. “Not that I owe you an explanation, but I actually agree with a lot of what you do. I vote straight-ticket Democrat.”

“That’s not—” she considered explaining that his mentality was what enabled both major parties to abandon the working class, but stopped short. “I’m glad you’re voting.”

“Don’t be condescending.”

“I’m not.”

She was. It was just as it had always been between them: the sparring, the shifting moral high ground. Only now, there was a bitter undertone to their spats, the air curdling between them ever since the last night they’d spoken.

“I shouldn’t have asked about your work,” Alex finally conceded, hearing Sophie shift in her sleep.

She intentionally omitted that she already knew everything about it, that she’d researched it thoroughly and was planning to integrate it into her next video.

“It’s fine, I just don’t want to get into it. This is my only real vacation this year, and I’d like to enjoy myself.” He sounded genuinely fatigued. It wasn’t an apology for his harshness, per se, but it was an explanation.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sure you must be really worn out.” She felt a rush of immaturity bubbling within her. Before she could stop herself, she let it out: “With all those layoffs.”

“Fuck you.” He laughed, a genuine smile moving across his face. “I know you’re just trying to get under my skin, but I have nothing to do with that.”

“Sorry,” Alex said, leaning her seat back and putting her feet up on the dashboard. Her freshly waxed, golden legs caught the sunlight as she crossed them, her skirt falling loosely around her knees. “I meant workforce optimization.”

From behind the wheel, Danial’s eyes moved in her direction, running quickly down her legs before turning back toward traffic.

He cleared his throat. “Did you see Dev’s dad is sick?”

“No, I didn’t.” Alex felt a tad embarrassed that in her obsessive information-collecting about Danial, she’d missed such a huge event about another member of the Club.

“Yeah, he’s probably going to have to retire. I think the board is trying to push Dev out and put in one of their guys.”

“He must be worried.”

“He’s fucking terrified. That’s probably why Bee was so rude in the group chat last night—between that and the twins, I doubt she’s had a decent night’s sleep in weeks.”

“Well, his dad must be pulling for him, right? He must still have some leverage.” For as much as she raged against nepotism in her work, it was easy to play defense when it was for someone she knew personally.

“I mean, kind of.” Danial had become more relaxed in the driver’s seat, one hand loosely cradling the bottom of the steering wheel. “I don’t think he ever really forgave Dev for getting married at Burning Man, to be honest.”

Alex let out a burst of laughter that took her by surprise. “I totally forgot about that.”

“Lucky you.”

She felt a flash of regret at having made up a flimsy excuse to not attend Dev and Bee’s wedding, just to avoid a week in the desert with Danial. “I saw the photos, I remember those.”

“You saw me in—”

“In the parrot outfit, yes.”

“It was a psychedelic hawk, thank you very much.” His words were lighter, but his tone still felt vaguely acidic.

“A psychedelic hawk, then. Well”—she tried to move the conversation in the direction of shared nostalgia—“I’m sure your dad would have felt the same way if you got married at Burning Man. He was always such a drill sergeant.”

“Mmm.” Danial’s face went even darker, inscrutable.

“Oh, come on, you always used to complain about him. I don’t even know his name, you just called him ‘that asshole,’ remember?”

“Umm, sure.”

Alex felt on the back foot, nervous again. “How is he, by the way?” she asked, trying her best to sound genuine.

“He passed away.” He turned the radio up slightly, looking back at Sophie as if he were hoping to wake her.

“Oh, Danial,” Alex gasped, startled by the fact of his death as much as the fact that she hadn’t known. “That’s awful, I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” he clipped, his fingers visibly tightening on the steering wheel. “I appreciate that.”

For a moment the car went silent again, the hum of rolling tires underneath them providing a backing track to the radio. Alex shifted uncomfortably in her seat, pretending to check her phone while trying to clock Danial’s expression out of the corner of her eye. She felt terrible: not just for fumbling the conversation about his father, but for all of their conversations so far. Every time they found a good rhythm, things seemed to devolve just as quickly—and she couldn’t help but feel that it was mostly on her. When she could no longer stand his silence, she clumsily blurted out the first solution that came to her mind.

“I think we should be friends.”

“Um,” he said after a moment, checking his rearview mirror at a car merging behind them. “Friends?”

“For the trip, I mean,” she clarified, bringing her legs back down from the dashboard and assuming a more serious position.

“Friends… friends would be great.” He sounded suspicious, but unimpeachably diplomatic.

“Let’s do it,” she replied, much too eagerly. She was still facing resolutely forward, avoiding the possibility of meeting his gaze. “I mean it. We can be civil for two weeks. I know we have that in us. And it’s the right thing to do.” She cleared her throat, thinking of ways to add more emotional distance to her suggestion. “For Paul and Guy, I mean. There shouldn’t be any drama at their wedding.”

He paused for a moment, gently pumping the brakes as their car filed in line for a toll booth. He reached toward the center console for his wallet.

“I can pay for this,” she said, reaching for her bag. “You’re already driving.”

Her heart raced at how poorly she’d navigated the past twenty minutes.

“Hey.” His extended hand passed over the leather wallet sitting in the cupholder and reached for her forearm, touching it just barely to keep her from searching out her wallet. “Please, let me get this.”

She kept her eyes fixed forward, heart beating so forcefully she feared it might be visible through her shirt.

“And you’re right,” he continued, guiding her to sit back and removing his hand before finally picking up his wallet. He rolled down the driver’s side window as they inched toward the booth. “We should be friends for the trip.”

“Great,” she answered, her voice barely audible.

There was another pause as Sophie tossed in her sleep behind them. Danial looked over his shoulder at her before turning to face Alex and extending his hand.

“Shake on it?”

Against every instinct in her body, she turned to face him, so frustrated with herself for having suggested this farce of a pact that she could only plaster on a smile and offer her hand. He confidently went in for the handshake, a solid yet gentle grasp. His shoulders relaxed and his eyes met hers directly as their hands moved between them. And in one fluid, subtle motion, she felt his thumb move over the back of her hand and softly brush her fingers. Her breath hitched sharply in her throat, a sound she swallowed as soon as it escaped her.

Behind them, an SUV beeped unceremoniously, jolting them apart and waking Sophie. The car in front of them had driven away, and the toll employee was sticking her upper body far out of the booth to gesture them over. Danial straightened himself in his seat, fumbling for the stick shift as the car lurched forward.

“Where are we?” Sophie asked, removing the pashmina from over her head and blinking hard against the daylight.

“We’re—” Alex turned around in her seat, clearing her throat. “We’re about halfway there. I was thinking maybe we should stop to get something to eat. Are you hungry?”

The words tumbled out of her jittery and fast, and before Sophie could respond, or even wake up enough to understand the question, Danial’s voice came from the driver’s seat, low and intense:

“Let’s definitely stop somewhere. I’m starving.”