Chapter 6
ANNA
I live for this. The anticipation as the pilots go through their checklists. The familiarity of the flight attendants in their pressed uniforms. The excitement of lifting off to a new destination. And the warm, aromatic scent of roasted coffee that greets you upon boarding.
Luxe Vacations Travel Tip: Never drink airplane coffee. Hotel room coffee either. Those coffee makers are rarely if ever properly cleaned. I once saw a man from housekeeping use a soiled towel to wipe out the coffee pot after people checked out of their room. At a five-star hotel in Milan! Shivers.
Holly and I board the plane with Zoe tucked comfortably in my Louis Vuitton tote. When we reach the second row, I turn to Holly. “Hope you don’t mind I took the window seat.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
A nervous giggle bubbles up from my chest at the sour look on Holly’s face.
She’s going to hold this upgrade against me for the entire trip.
But I really do have tons of miles to use and I just wanted to do something special.
My version of an olive branch. I know this isn’t how the three of us used to travel—we never did first class—and that flying first class totally goes against me “roughing it” like I’d promised myself I’d document online.
But Charles entrusted me with Zoe—me! And there isn’t enough room in Economy for Zoe to sit between us.
I shrug off Holly’s judgment and scoot into our row. I gently remove Zoe from my bag and the two of us settle into the window seat while Holly gets situated.
Hard to believe our beautiful, fierce friend, all five foot six of her, has been reduced to four pounds of ash. It doesn’t seem right. Neither does her not being here in person. Her absence feels like an amputation.
I glance out the window, taking a deep breath before I wipe out on a wave of grief. “Isn’t this exciting?” I ask, turning back to Holly. In less than three hours we’ll be in Cabo San Lucas and on our way to the Royal Oceano, where we’d stayed eleven years ago for our first trip out of college.
Holly’s reply is a simple “m-hmm” under her breath, and I’m not sure if she’s answering me or responding to someone trying to get past her in the aisle.
Her bag in her seat, she’s pressed as close as she can get without moving into our row to let people pass her.
She unpacks her cell, iPad, AirPods, the manila envelope Charles gave her, and a laptop, and slides each into the seat pocket. Item. By. Item.
“Tell me you aren’t going to work on this trip,” I whine at the assortment of electronics. I cleared my calendar. Anything short of an emergency with one of my clients, I’m off the hook for two weeks.
“I have a slew of emails to respond to.” She zips up her bag.
“Holly… we’re on vacation.”
She slings a look at Zoe. “You call this a vacation?”
Without Zoe here cracking jokes and belly laughing? No, I guess not.
With a huff, I settle back in my seat, tightening my arms around the urn in my lap.
As she puts her bag into the overhead compartment, I remove my hat, tucking it between me and the side of the plane, and fluff my hair.
Holly removes her black duster and neatly folds it before reaching up to rest it on top of her bag. Finally, she moves into our row.
“Your bag needs to be under the seat in front of you.” She nudges my tote with the toe of her flats.
I stuff the Louis Vuitton into the foot space but it doesn’t fit.
Dragging it back out, I remove the manila envelope, a letter from Zoe that Charles instructed Holly and me to read during our flight, and my phone.
I drop them into the seatback pocket and shove the bag back under with my square-heeled Valentino sandals.
Holly sits down and buckles her seatbelt, tugging out the rose scarf caught under the belt.
I know the scarf was a gift from Zoe because I have one in teal.
Holly would have had a cow if I was wearing mine, which I wouldn’t have.
It doesn’t match my lemons. Although the idea of us twinning amuses me.
I watch from the corner of my eye as she smooths the scarf over her lap and her hands over her wide-leg pants, then as she adjusts the air above her. I predict she’ll read the emergency card next.
She plucks the card from the pocket.
I roll my eyes, smothering a smirk, and shoot off a text to Leo. She came.
His reply is instant. Shocking.
Me: Think she’ll last the entire trip?
Leo: Another bet?
I tap my finger to my lip then smile.
Your 2006 Screaming Eagle Cab.
His next reply is supersonic.
Fuck no. I already lost my Stag’s Leap to you.
I send him three grinning emojis.
He comes back with: Dinner at Nobu when you get back if she bails again before the end.
Disappointment, sharp and severe, floods me. His text reminds me of when Holly took off in Greece, how devastated I felt for what I’d done. I intend to do everything I can to make sure Holly and I see this trip through to the end.
I send Leo another text. I hope she doesn’t.
Leo: Because you want me to take you to dinner?
He follows that with: Because I’ve been wanting to take you to dinner.
Me: Because I’ve missed her, dufus.
Though the idea of spending an evening out with Leo is secretly thrilling. I had such a good time with him the other day at lunch.
“Anything I can get you to drink? Some champagne? We just opened a bottle.” A flight attendant leans into our row with a Hollywood-ready smile.
Gayle, according to her nametag, is offering exactly what Holly and I need: something to cut through the tension between us.
I’m not sure anything I have in my personal arsenal will do the trick.
“Yes, please.”
“No, thanks,” Holly answers at the same time.
I gasp at Holly. “Why not?”
She gestures at the laptop. “Work. I have a job.”
“This isn’t a work holiday,” I huff in frustration, trying not to let the dig at my career get to me. Zoe’s the priority right now, not Holly’s inbox, and not my tender feelings.
“This isn’t a holiday,” she argues. I fully believe she’s using work as an excuse to keep from talking to me during the flight.
“You used to always have a glass with me and Zoe in the bar before takeoff. We have to toast the trip. It’s bad luck if we don’t.”
She crosses her arms. “Things change.”
“Holly…” I can’t help the plea.
“Anna…” Her tone is dismissive.
“Come on…” I give her puppy-dog eyes.
“No.”
“Just one. We need to toast—”
“No. It gives me gas,” she loudly snaps, shutting me up. Her remark also cuts through the noise. A beat of silence passes among the passengers seated around us and those passing by in the aisle for the Economy section as they all direct their attention on Holly.
“All right, all right.” I bite into my bottom lip to keep from giggling.
Gayle is waiting, watching us with amusement.
“Just water for me,” Holly tells her, mortified.
“Champagne,” I confirm.
Gayle retreats to her station with our orders.
Holly grabs her phone and shoots off a text. I catch the Whitmore name. “Are you texting Leo?” A sting of jealousy rises up.
“Why would I text him?” She frowns, gaze locked on her screen until she relents with a sigh when she feels me staring at her. “I’m sending Mr. Whitmore an update.”
“Did he ask you to?” My voice is filled with suspicion. Does Charles not trust me with Zoe? Or is it conditional? I get Zoe only if Holly reports my every move?
“No. But it’s the right thing to do.”
“So what, you’re going to text him every time we board a plane or check into a hotel?” I stop short of asking if she plans to report what we’re eating or when we go to the bathroom.
I’m saved by Gayle returning with our drinks. Her eyes narrow and she tilts her head.
“Is that an urn?”
Holly and I both look at Zoe. With unspoken communication, we each rest a palm on her.
“This is our friend,” I say with pride. “She passed away a couple of months ago. We’re scattering her ashes.”
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to store it in your carry-on,” Gayle informs us, distracted as people pass, jostling her. She sets down our drinks on the armrest tray between us.
“Zoe’s not an it,” I say with a pout.
Gayle’s smile strains with forced patience. “Of course, that’s not what I meant. But all loose belongings like purses and other articles must be stored—”
I gasp. “Zoe is not a purse either.” I hug Zoe to my chest.
“I understand this isn’t easy for you—”
“You have no idea,” I say through gritted teeth.
“—but flight rules—”
“Anna,” Holly warns. She reaches for my hand, and I lean away, glaring at her.
“Holly.”
“Ma’am.” Gayle’s patience thins, but I don’t care.
“Zoe’s not traveling like a piece of luggage.”
Gayle gives Holly a look, pleading for her to intervene as if she’s the adult and I’m a petulant child.
Holly unsnaps her seatbelt. “Let me take Zoe, Anna.”
I shake my head and hug her tighter. I know I’m being ridiculous but I can’t stand the idea of stuffing Zoe under the seat or storing her overhead.
“Anna,” Holly says gently, and our eyes meet. Hers shimmer behind a curtain of moisture. “We’ll never fulfill Zoe’s request if we can’t even make it to our first destination. It’s just for takeoff and landing.”
She’s right. I know she is. But I don’t want to give up my friend. Still…
I let go of Zoe.
Holly retrieves her carry-on from above. She quickly, respectfully tucks Zoe inside and returns her bag to the overhead bin before settling back in her seat. She gives my hand a squeeze and for a few moments, we’re silent, lost in our thoughts, united in our shared grief.
“I hate this,” I whisper.
She’s quiet for a beat. “I miss her too.”