Chapter Six
There are two kinds of airport people: those who like to get to the airport three hours before departure to sit within eyesight of the gate, and Anna Green.
Even though I sent a car to pick her up, even though I texted her a QR code to enter the Singapore Airlines lounge to relax before our flight, even though I warned her when I sent her boarding pass that the Bradley terminal at LAX is unpredictably chaotic, with only twenty minutes remaining until we board, I remain alone in the plush leather chair, nursing a strong Manhattan. I’m waffling between anxiety that she’s going to accidentally miss our flight, and anxiety that she is going to intentionally miss our flight. Fuck.
I know she’s been preparing for this trip, at least. The check I sent her was deposited on Saturday. And she’s been steadily using the credit card, too: at a salon, a spa, and at a whole range of stores on Rodeo Drive. She signed the contract, I tell myself. She won’t miss the flight.
Trying to relax, I sip my drink, sending warmth across my tongue and down my throat. A pair of shapely legs enters my line of sight, and I direct my attention to this much preferable fixation, lifting my gaze from pink-tipped toes, across the straps of gold high-heeled sandals, up smooth, toned legs to crisp white shorts, a soft short-sleeved blue shirt, the gentle curve of breasts, a long neck, full red lips, soft pink hair—
Pink hair.
Oh my fuck.
My eyes go wide, meeting Anna’s just as she stumbles, ankle twisting awkwardly on the skinny, murder-sharp heel of her shoe.
“Motherfucker,” she cries, collapsing into the seat beside me, seemingly unaware of the attention she’s garnered from both her incredible hotness and loud swearing. “Vivi said these would be easy to walk in. She’s a fucking liar. I almost flagged down one of those little airport cars.” She claps a hand over her mouth. “No swearing. My bad.”
I can’t find words. Now that she’s here, I realize I hadn’t even tried to imagine who might show up today. But this person in front of me is unlike any version of Anna Green I’ve ever seen. During the tenure of our roommateship, she never wore much makeup, and of course a few days ago in her apartment, she looked—I’m so sorry to say it—like a demented Care Bear. Today she looks like she stepped out of a Vogue spread. I half expected she’d change her hair, but now I’m glad that she didn’t. It’s bubblegum pink and falls around her shoulders in shiny waves. Her skin is glowing, eyes bright, nails…
“Wow, Green.” I stare at her hands and the sharp, shell-pink talons tipping each finger. “Those are—”
“Terrible,” she admits glumly. “I feel like a cat with tape on its paws.”
I bite back a laugh. “Why did you get them, then?”
“Vivi’s always look so fun and glamorous. Besides, I needed claws. I should be a lioness if I’m heading into the den.”
I can’t entirely refute this idea. I’ve been out of my parents’ circle long enough to understand how disorienting it will be for Anna to step into it. She bends her fingers, turning her hand and looking at them from another angle. Frankly, they’re so pointy I’m worried she’ll scratch her own cornea. “But I asked the woman at the spa what the really rich ladies get, and she said it’s this fancy hard gel. I think I get the urge to have fake nails. I feel like a badass.” Twisting in her seat, she deposits her purse in my lap. “Watch this for a sec?”
“Where are you going? We’ll need to head to the gate soon.”
“Bathroom.”
“Take your phone at least?” I call after her. She turns, opens the bag, and delicately plucks an ancient iPhone from inside.
I make a mental note to buy her a new one as soon as we return from the island, and watch until she disappears down a narrow hall, glancing away only after realizing I’d been staring directly at her ass.
The designer bag sits open in my lap. It feels lighter than it looks, holding its shape even though, without the phone, it appears to be relatively empty. Curious and unable to resist, I tilt my head to peek inside, and my heart does an unexpected twist behind my breastbone at the sight of the shaggy coin purse she must use as a wallet, the simple Burt’s Bees lip balm, her passport, and her scuffed house keys on the same UCLA key chain she’s had ever since we lived together years ago.
Anna truly has nothing.
And she is absolutely right: I’m taking a lamb directly into the lion’s den.
My phone buzzes on the small table near my knee, and I bend to retrieve it. There’s a text from her.
I need you for a sec
I stare down at the words. Did I not hear her correctly that she was going to the bathroom?
Where are you?
In the ladies’ room
I don’t understand
My phone rings, and I swipe the screen. Before I can say anything, she speaks, her voice a low whisper: “Can you please just come in here?”
“For what?”
“For… something. Just—come here.”
Oh God. I press my hands over my eyes and lower my voice, too. “This really isn’t necessary, Green.”
“What isn—”
“You don’t have to do that.”
The line goes dead silent before she bursts out, no longer whispering, “Oh my God, this is not for sex! Are you kidding me?”
“I just wanted you to know that I’m not expec—”
“Jesus Christ, West! Just please come in here!”
“Okay, okay. I’m on my way.” Slinging her purse over my shoulder and collecting our carry-ons, I make my way to the ladies’ room, where Anna peeks out into the hallway. As soon as she sees me, she reaches forward, grabbing the front of my shirt and jerking me inside.
Apologizing over her shoulder to a woman washing her hands at the sink—“I swear we aren’t going to have sex in here!”—Anna pulls me into a stall and flips the lock.
I break eye contact to look around us. Nothing seems to be broken. She doesn’t appear to be injured. I am just as confused as I was a minute ago. “I cannot imagine what you need me for.”
With a grimace, she moves her hand, revealing to me that her shorts are completely unfastened. The white lace of her underwear is visible, as is a soft stretch of her navel, and a fever climbs up my neck.
“Tell me what’s happening here,” I say, averting my eyes. “I’m not risking a guess again.”
Her shoulders slump. “I can’t button my pants.”
At this, my gaze jerks back to hers, and she holds up her hands, wiggling her pink-tipped fingers. As if to demonstrate, she reaches for the zipper but with her long nails can’t grasp the pull with her fingertips. A laugh rips out of me.
“It’s not funny,” she growls.
“Are you sure?”
“What am I going to do the entire time? Have you button up my pants for me?”
“How did you get dressed this morning?” I ask.
“I had to use a paperclip and a hanger.”
“It didn’t occur to you that you wouldn’t be able to use your hands the way you’re used to?”
“Vivi uses her nails as tools. Honestly, I thought I’d be able to put Ikea furniture together with these things.” She pauses. “Not that anyone in your family would ever require help with Ikea furniture.”
“You didn’t have to change your entire personality to do this.”
She looks up at me, eyes narrowing. “Say that again. I wasn’t watching and I want to see if you can do it with a straight face.”
“I need you there,” I clarify. “And I need you to look like you’re comfortable with me, comfortable being married to me. But I don’t need you to pretend to not be Anna Green, Muppet-human hybrid.”
Her smile breaks across her face like a sunrise. “Okay. That was pretty good. But you’re paying me a lot of money. I want to look the part.”
That’s fair enough. It sounds sleazy, though, and I don’t love this situation for about a million reasons, but there are a hundred million more reasons why I’ll shut up and deal with it. With a short, fortifying breath, I reach for the front of her shorts, surprised by how steady my hands are as I pull the zipper up. My pulse turns to machine gun fire when the knuckle of my index finger accidentally brushes against her stomach. I fasten the button and then step away, clearing my head.
She runs her hands over the front of her shorts, exhaling a relieved sigh. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
We stare at each other in silence. She smells like sugared oranges and my mouth waters. I need to get my shit together. “You should know,” I tell her, “that my family thinks you’re meeting me in Singapore.”
Anna frowns. “Why’s that?”
“Because I told them you’re flying in from Cambodia.”
She waits for me to say more and when I don’t, she laughs. “Why’s that?”
“I needed a reason why we couldn’t fly with my parents on the family plane.”
Her eyes go round. “The fam—” Anna shakes her head. “You know what? Never mind. Of course you have a plane.” Straightening, she asks, “So, why was I in Cambodia? Photography? Fabric design?”
I roll my lips between my teeth, inhaling a deep breath. This probably won’t go over well. “You were there as part of a medical school course.”
Her mouth shapes out a few sounds before she manages to speak. “This is why you were freaking out about me changing my major! Oh my God, West, they think I’m in medical school?”
“In my defense, it wasn’t a lie when we knew each other. I just embellished a little.”
“A little? You have me studying in Cambodia.”
I hesitate but know I should just get it over with. “They think you’ve just finished your third year.”
“West, there’s a reason I switched to fine arts. I was a solid C-minus student in every premed class. I barely know what temperature is considered a fever.”
I can only hope she’s being dramatic, but either way, this is going to be a shit show, and I can only blame myself. I reach for the handle on the bathroom stall, telling her quietly, “Fortunately, you have thirty hours to learn.”