Ethan
When she laughs, it’s a wheezy, creaky sound that’s paired with the toothiest smile. One of her canine teeth is sharper than the other, and the tip of her tongue taps against it while she listens to me as I explain to her what happened on my trip to Washington with Aaron three years ago.
I think I could recite the Constitution, and she’d still be leaning in toward me, fully engrossed, cheek resting against her palm, hanging onto my every word.
“And that’s why you’re never going back there?”
“Well,” I begin, hesitating momentarily as my eyes roam across her face.
Maybe it’s because she’s been easy to talk to for the last four hours, or maybe it’s because Mom brought up Aimee earlier today, but the words effortlessly sail off of my tongue while I reposition my legs. “It was where I was going to propose.”
The edge of her lips pulls into a flat line. “Going to? What happened?”
“We didn’t go on the trip,” I say. “Looking back, it was for the best. A crisis averted. If things had gone according to plan, we’d have been miserable. I wouldn’t want that for her.”
“That’s a diplomatic remark,” she muses. “I don’t think I’d say the same about me and my ex, but I guess three years since your break up has something to do with that.”
“We broke up last year,” I clarify. “That was the first of my three attempts to propose to her.”
“Wow.” Her eyelashes flutter rapidly. “It didn’t clue you in after the second time that you couldn’t get a proposal in for a reason?”
I snort, then shake my head. “Her parents decided to go on a last-minute trip to Austria, for the first one, and she wanted to go. The second time around, she canceled on our plans because her friends got tickets for this one artist she always wanted to see.” I pause.
“With the last one, I realized I didn’t want to propose to her—”
“Ouch.”
“—because we had been fighting for months,” I continue, “over my job, my friends, everything. It felt like I wasn’t good enough for her—as if I couldn’t do anything without messing up somehow.”
“Oh.” Her hand gently touches my wrist, sympathy filling her wide brown eyes.
“In that case, I’m glad it didn’t work out.
” I don’t miss the fact that her fingertips are tracing the inside of my forearm when another sunny smile graces her plump lips.
“Trust me. I’ve been there—the whole couldn’t do anything right.
My younger sister even popped a bottle of champagne when we called it quits. ”
“Wow.” A rough laugh escapes me. “My sister came by that night to pack up her things for her.” I pause. “It’s more impressive when you factor in that she borrowed her ex’s car and drove fifty miles just to help me out.”
“Oh, that’s sweet,” she says. “I’m glad you and your sister are close. My ex never got along with his brother—which should have been a red flag. He was always bad-mouthing him, and, like, if he could trash his family to that level, who’s to say he wasn’t talking shit about me behind my back?”
I wince. “Tell me you guys weren’t together for that long.”
The lines of her face shift into something bashful, and she lets out a creaky laugh that’s bordering on a cough. “Um, is seven years not that long?”
“My God. By that point, it’s on you,” I tease, and she rolls her eyes good-naturedly.
“We started dating in college, and he’s, like, the only guy I’ve ever been serious with.
For that long,” she explains. “It’s up there as one of the dumbest things I’ve ever done, like the time I fucked up my knee.
” She removes her hand from my wrist and pats her right thigh.
“Lesson learned. Do not show off while diving.”
Her eyes glitter with mischief, and already, I can imagine her grabbing hold of my hand and daring me to jump off of the plane with her. No parachutes, no caution, nothing but promises of a good time with just a vibrant smile.
If I were ten years younger, I’d have been the type to follow her around like a lovesick puppy; no objection in mind. I hate to admit it, but back then, I was more reckless and impulsive than I am now.
“Christ. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. That happened in high school,” she says, beaming something brighter than the sun.
“I mean, I was bummed I couldn’t play softball anymore, but it’s for the best. Everything would have been different if I’d never gotten injured.
I would have continued it in college and never had the time to do my salt pond research.
” She pauses. “Do you ever think of how life could have been so different if something had worked out for you?”
“Dream job aside?” I say, and she snickers. “I’m thankful the band I was in never made it.”
Her mouth falls ajar. “You were in a band?”
“And orchestra.” I spare her a shrug, then chuckle when she pokes me in the elbow. “I was in a garage band in high school—played the bass.” Hitching my shoulder, I tack on, “It was an emo-grunge cover band.”
“You were in a band?” she repeats.
“It wasn’t good. I only did it as a favor for my friend, because they couldn’t find a bassist. I was terrible with the bass guitar.”
“It’s such a shame I’m not seated next to a rockstar on this flight,” she teases. “If only things had worked out for you.”
“Well, I think they worked out just fine. I wouldn’t be flirting with you if things had worked out with my ex.”
“This?” She cocks her head. “This is what you call flirting?”
“No, this is me genuinely trying to get to know you,” I explain. “You’d know if I was actually flirting with you.”
“You’d be a lot more flustered?” She grins. “Stammering? Tongue-tied?”
“Surely you could put my tongue to better use than having it all tied up,” I say, and she expels a soft snort while she playfully swats at my bicep.
“That was the corniest thing I’ve ever heard,” she says. “And I’ve heard many corny things from you today.”
I flash her an innocent grin, something that causes her to dissolve into giggles a few moments later. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She gently smacks my arm again, her fingers lingering on the material of my sleeve. “Lucky for you, I like dorky guys,” she says. “I’ll take them over bad pick-up artists, any day.”
“First, you think I’m corny. Now, you think I’m dorky?”
“You’re wrong,” she says, only to let loose a rough exhale when the plane begins to shake. Her eyes flinch shut.
“You okay?”
“Yup,” she wheezes.
“Not a fan of turbulence?”
“Who is?” she squeaks, wrinkling her nose.
I fight the smile threatening to appear as I shift closer to her. “We’re over the mountains—”
“You can see out the window from over there?” she gasps raggedly, and I lose the battle. My grin is immediate.
“So it’s just hot air rising,” I continue, my voice soft. “It’ll be over soon.”
“Promise?”
“On my pilot’s license.”
A tiny snort escapes her, and her lips twitch. Finally, she sneaks a peek at me with one eye open and holds my gaze. “Thanks.”
My smirk eases into a softer smile in response.
“You’re wrong, by the way,” she says.
“About the mountains?”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” she hedges. “I was talking about my first impression of you. Literally the first thing I thought was how cute you are.”
My brow lifts. “You think I’m cute?”
“What?” Her lips twist into a cheeky smirk as she runs her thumb against my bicep. “Oh, come on, Pilot. You’ve never had anyone call you cute before?”
“Unless you count my mom,” I say dryly, “not really.”
“Not even your ex?” She leans in. “No wonder she’s just your ex-girlfriend and not your ex-fiancée.” In an instant, her smile slips, and she straightens herself, pulling away from me. “Shit. Sorry. I just remembered you guys broke up a year ago—”
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” For a brief moment, I hesitate.
But there’s something so warm and reassuring about her that the words come easily.
“I changed a lot. I wasn’t the same guy I was when we first started dating.
We were together for four years and fizzled out by the end.
She still wanted fun and excitement, but I wanted security and stability, so I worked all the time.
I think we would have—should have—broken up a lot sooner had we realized how incompatible we became. ”
“Oh.” Her hand lands on my forearm this time, and she spares me a sympathetic look. “But you wanted to propose to her, regardless?”
I let out an awkward chuckle. I don’t know how to explain to her the pressure I get from my mom to get married, settle down, and provide her with a plethora of grandchildren for her to spoil rotten.
Or that my ex didn’t want kids, which is something we should have discussed earlier in our relationship.
“You wanted to marry your ex, didn’t you?”
“Oof. Touché,” she says. “Maybe we should stop talking about our exes and start discussing where you’d take me to dinner should we run into each other again.”
“Should we run into each other again?” I echo, and she leans in closer, strands of her long hair sweeping against my shoulder.
“At that point, it’s fate throwing us a sign that you should know I don’t mind going Dutch,” she says, “but I do believe in not kissing on the first date.”
My head inclines as my voice drops to a low and scratchy sound. “Everything else is fair game, though?” I grin even harder when she swats my arm. “Such as walking you to your door?”
“You are such a gentleman,” she deadpans.
“A gentleman who believes in waiting until the second date—” Her laughter cuts me off, and her hand slaps against her cheek haphazardly while she beams at me with crinkled eyes and the brightest grin. “To walk you to your door, of course.”
“Of course,” she repeats, her tone still dry as ever. “Will there be some hand-on-hand action?”
“Please.” The edge of my mouth twitches while I level her with a solemn expression. “I don’t believe in holding hands until marriage.”
The sound that comes from her is akin to a goose honk when she giggles into my shoulder. It’s a cute laugh, one that stumbles over itself as she makes no effort to stop.