2. River #3
“Well… you’re not a cop.” She closes her hand, pulling it back toward her chest and holding her fist over her heart. Her eyes widen with what I believe to be mock worry, and she points at me. “You have to tell me if you’re a cop.”
“I’m pretty sure the whole point is you have to ask before you offer me drugs.” I chuckle before I reach for her hand to take the gummy from her.
“I just thought… It could help you relax a little. It’s a low dose.”
“I’ve had a relationship with weed longer than you’ve been alive. If you can handle it, I can handle it. You do know it’s illegal in the state of North Carolina, though, right?”
She holds her hands up in surrender. “Again, what are you, a cop?”
“No, but you brought this through security?” I ask as I slide the gummy into my mouth, pleasantly surprised by the sour apple flavor that isn’t usually my favorite.
“Well… I may not have known that fact until just now. I know it’s legal in Maryland, though,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Pretty sure the drug pups aren’t looking for my weed gummies.
But look, I was just trying to help. If you don’t want it, give it back,” she says, holding out her hand under my mouth, and I roll my eyes.
“So where are you going to school?” I ask, changing the subject.
“What?” she asks with an expression that seems like she can’t comprehend what I just asked.
“College? You said that’s why you’re moving to Maryland?”
“Oh. Duh. Of course.” She shakes her head. “Towson.”
Not too far from me. My brain immediately maps the best hour-long route from my house to the university. “That’s a good school. When do you start?”
“I’ll move in at the end of August. In the meantime, I’ll be staying with my aunt and uncle. My parents are still overseas, and they didn’t want me staying somewhere by myself. I’ve been here in North Carolina staying with some friends.”
“Do you have any siblings?”
“A little brother. He’s still there with my parents.”
I’m about to speak when a voice comes over the loudspeaker. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ll begin boarding Flight 5093 nonstop to Baltimore, Maryland, shortly. Please make sure you have your tickets ready to ensure a seamless boarding process. Thank you.”
“So why do you think you haven’t found the right woman?” Sloane speaks, and I gape at her, wondering what would possess her to ask that.
“How many of those have you had?” I ask her, wondering if she’s just high and wants to have a deep, meaningful conversation about life and all our issues.
“Four.” She shrugs. “I was supposed to leave like six hours ago, and my original flight got delayed, and I got bored. This at least mellowed me out so I didn’t spend half the day being pissed off. Now, answer the question.”
“I don’t think it’s your business.”
“Of course, it’s not. We just met,” she retorts.
“Then why do you want to know?”
“I don’t know, why were you rambling to a perfect stranger about your metaphorical biological clock?” She slides on a zip-up jacket before fingering her necklace, a small gold heart that looks like it could be a locket.
I grumble to myself because I had just asked myself the same question earlier. “You asked about kids, and it got me thinking.”
She crosses her ankles in front of her and leans back in her seat. “Have you ever been married before?” Her shirt rises a little, exposing a sliver of smooth tan skin, and I blink away to focus on answering her question, not on what that skin would feel like under my fingers. Or my lips.
“Nope.”
“Serious relationships?”
“Not in many years,” I answer, and for the first time, I feel a little embarrassed about it. I’ve enjoyed being perpetually single, but I do realize how that can come off to a woman who’s probably trying to figure out what my red flags are over that fact.
“Do you date at all?”
“Of course, they just never turn into anything serious.” I shrug, casually.
“Soooo, you’re a fuckboy then.” She lowers her voice, but she’s still loud enough for me to hear.
I snap my eyes to her and narrow them. “Why would you assume that? What if I’m just going after the wrong women who break my heart?”
Sloane lets out a laugh so loud that the entire terminal turns to look at her.
She puts a hand over her mouth and makes a show of wiping under her eyes like she’s been crying.
“Sorry,” she mouths to everyone before turning to me.
“How did you even say that with a straight face? Men who look like you don’t tend to get their hearts broken much.
Or”—she snaps, like she’s having an epiphany—“you did go after the wrong woman once upon a time, she broke your heart, and that’s why you keep every woman at arm’s length, and now no one can get in here,” she says, pressing a blue manicured finger straight against my heart.
It flips slightly, feeling her hand on me, and I feel like this is the first time I’ve been simultaneously turned on and annoyed by a woman.
I usher her hand away from me and give her a smirk, avoiding the second part of her analysis. “Men who look like me, huh? Find me attractive, do you?”
She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Of course, that’s all you got from it. Yeah, I think you’re hot, and I think you know that I think you’re hot, and worse, I think you know that you’re hot, which has probably made you a bit of an asshole.”
“I plead the Fifth.”
“I’ll bet you do,” she deadpans. “So what if you did meet the right woman, but you were an asshole?”
I snort, thinking about all the women I’ve met over my life. “Trust me, I have not met her.”
“Have you tried? I mean, after you got in her pants?” she asks, folding her arms over her chest.
“You think you’re so smart after what, four years in the real world?” I say with a little more bite than I intended, but I wasn’t about to be judged by someone I just met.
“I’ve been around and seen some stuff. Probably more than you have. Sure, you’re older, but are you wiser?”
My prior annoyance floats away. “Are you high?” I ask her, wondering if she’s about to launch into some sort of marijuana induced witticisms.
She makes a noise that sounds part scoff, part chuckle.
“Maybe. But I’ve also been homeschooled my entire life, practically because I’ve been traveling and seeing the world outside the United States, learning about its cultures and customs. I’ve seen a lot and experienced just as much.
Just saying, I’ve been living in the “real world” a whole lot longer than four years.
I don’t know it all, but I know some stuff. ”
Remembering her background, I realize that she’s probably a lot more mature than most people her age, and I let out a sigh as I prepare to tell the story I never do unless I’ve had multiple drinks.
“I dated someone in college.” I relent. “Through all of it, actually. I was young and… I just assumed we’d get married sometime after we graduated.
We met freshman year and dated until graduation.
She was going to medical school and she said she didn’t have time for a relationship.
Just like that. Four years, wasted,” I say, with the bitterness I still feel when I think about how she walked out of the apartment we shared the night after graduation without a look back.
“She then went on to fuck three guys from our friend group after that, so if you’re sensing some hostility, it’s not just because she ended it to focus on a career I would have supported.
” I ball my hand into a fist and then open it, trying to let my frustration out through flexing it.
“Do you have another one of those? I fucking hate talking about her.”
Sloane immediately goes into her bag and pulls one out handing me another one. “Damn. Do you ever wonder if she cheated on you in college?”
“No, Sloane, that thought never crossed my mind.” I reply with all the sarcasm I could muster. “I asked in several of the heated arguments that followed over the weeks but she always said no and that we just weren’t compatible long-term, whatever the fuck that means.”
“Well, compatibility is important.” She adds.
“Well, could she have told me that before the last day of college so I could have engaged with any of the girls that unashamedly flirted with me over four years? What if one of those girls were the right woman? My brother did meet his wife in college.” I tell her before taking the second gummy.
“Didn’t they get divorced?” She quips while tapping her lips and I wonder if she’s going to have a comeback for anything I say for the rest of this conversation.
“Okay, not the best example, but you know what I mean. People meet their person in college all the time. She knew I wasn’t hers for God knows how long, so it just felt like a waste. So yeah, then I went on to spend my twenties having all the fun I didn’t have in college.”
“And your thirties?” she asks, turning in her chair to face me and propping her head up on her fist.
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “No one really ever had my attention.” I turn my eyes to a spot on the floor, desperately wanting to talk about anything other than my ex-girlfriend from almost twenty years ago, who still feels like a crack in my heart that I’ve never quite been able to fill. “What about you? No boyfriend?”
She lifts her head and shakes it. “I traveled around so much, and I wasn’t really into the idea of intercontinental relationships.”
“That’s a mature approach. You’ll probably meet a nice guy in college. Just don’t break his heart.”