Love the One You're With (6 page)

“No, but you should be scared of your own terrible conversation skills,” Baby shot back.

“Sorry about that, it was supposed to be a joke. I hate how no one talks in airports, so sometimes I try to just say hi. In
my own very lame way.” The guy smiled sheepishly, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Well, hi,” Baby said shortly. She’d been expecting a confrontation, but he was so apologetic it caught her off guard. Baby
turned back to the line. The girl in front of her had ripped open the bag of sunflower seeds she’d been holding, causing shells
to scatter onto the floor.

“Need a snack?” The guy gestured toward the floor. “Just so you know,” he said, leaning in confidentially, “I really like
Bitch
. Sometimes it gets a little too mired in third-wave feminism. I mean, you can really only read so many times about how Lindsay
Lohan is an unlikely postmodern feminist poster girl, you know?” He shrugged and smiled, exposing brilliantly white teeth.
Baby narrowed her eyes. What was this guy’s deal? She tried to get a clue from the magazines he was carrying:
Atlantic Monthly
,
Esquire
,
Vanity Fair.

“Anyway, you’ll like it,” he encouraged, practically prying the magazine out of her hands. “Tell you what, since I was sort
of lame, I’ll buy it for you. Consider it an early Thanksgiving present.”

“Thanks,” Baby said, reevaluating the guy. So maybe he had a weird way of starting a conversation, but he seemed decent enough.
And he was pretty cute in that kind of hipster-but-not-actually-trying sort of way. His dark hair was mussed but obviously
product-free. “I should buy you something too,” she decided. “In the spirit of reciprocity. Here…” She surveyed the store,
her eyes falling on a shelf full of stuffed animals in front of the register.

“You have everything?” the bored-looking clerk asked.

“Just this!” Baby said, triumphantly plopping the fist-size, googly-eyed turkey down on the counter.

“No fair, you got to choose your present!” the boy objected. “I should get to pick mine.” He turned to the clerk. “Actually,
she wants this instead,” he said, picking up a small snow globe from one of the glass kiosks surrounding the checkout. It
had a tiny figurine of a penguin wearing a red sweater, standing in front of the Empire State Building.

“That’s ugly.” Baby wrinkled her nose.

“That’s the point!” He plunked the snow globe down. “Besides, how often do you see a fashion-conscious penguin in the middle
of Manhattan?” he teased.

Baby giggled as the checkout lady rolled her eyes and tapped her bright blue acrylic nails against the counter. “I don’t have
all day.”

“We’re good.” Baby fished in her bag for a ten-dollar bill and passed it over to the woman.

“And I’d like
Bitch
, please,” the guy said with a completely straight face. “The magazine!” He added quickly, pointing toward the title at the
cashier’s glare.

Laughing, they hurried out of the store.

“I’m glad you were there to protect me. I think she might have killed me,” he said as he passed Baby the magazine.

“Those nails
were
pretty deadly,” Baby agreed with a laugh. She handed him the tiny snow globe and he took it, their fingers lightly brushing
at the exchange.

Baby stood there, looking into his hazel eyes. She knew she was supposed to say goodbye now… but the idea of walking back
to the dreary waiting area alone felt oddly disappointing. “Well, good luck!” she said uncertainly, turning on her heel.

“Wait!” the guy sped up, keeping in step with her strides.

“Are you following me?” Baby challenged. She kind of wished he
was
following her. She realized the unsettled feeling in her stomach was butterflies.
That
was something she hadn’t felt in a while.

“Depends on where you’re headed.” He arched a dark eyebrow.

Baby racked her brain for a flirty response but found herself coming up blank. “The Bahamas,” she finally admitted.

“Me too.” He broke into a large smile. “Gate thirty-eight?” he asked as they began walking together on the moving sidewalk.

“Yeah,” Baby said happily as they approached the gate. So they wouldn’t be parting ways anytime soon. “What seat are you?”
she asked. Maybe they could trade with someone on the flight and sit next to each other. And how big was the Bahamas, anyway?
Maybe they’d even be staying close by each other.

But he didn’t seem to be paying attention. Instead, his hazel eyes were scanning the crowded waiting area, as if looking for
someone.

“Riley!” Layla squealed, practically leaping from her seat and leaving both hers and Baby’s things in a messy pile on the
floor.

“Hey,” he responded as Layla practically attacked him, wrapping him up in a hug.

Baby felt like she’d been drenched in a bucket of cold water. She turned away, staring at the line of planes ready to take
off.

“Baby!” Layla called in her super-sweet voice. “Come meet the other half of Riled Up. Our band,” she clarified. “This is Riley.
And Riley, this is Baby, who’s practically my new sister!”

“We’ve met,” Baby said, shooting Riley a glance.

“We actually just met in the magazine stand,” he explained, a little sheepishly. But Layla didn’t seem to notice the embarrassed
flush that was rising in his cheeks.

“Oh, cool. We’re gonna have fun this week.” Layla raised her eyebrows at both of them and Baby forced a smile back. The magazine
suddenly felt heavy in her hand.

“Here, we can switch tickets so you and Layla can sit together.” Baby coolly rummaged through her bag and yanked out her red
ticket envelope. She ignored the hammering of her heart, instead concentrating on the small freckle at the top of Riley’s
left ear. It almost looked like an earring. She hadn’t noticed that earlier, in the magazine stand.

Not that it mattered anymore.

“Hey, it’s Avery. Our plane’s delayed, so I just wanted to say there’s still time to come with us if you change your mind.
Apparently Layla’s bringing her boyfriend.” Avery lowered her voice into her phone as she continued her message on Jack’s
voice mail. Just a few feet away Layla was practically smothering a gangly, dark-haired boy. Um, get a room?

“Anyway, call me back if you get this.” Avery flipped her phone closed and walked toward the corner of the gate, far enough
away from what seemed to be a Neil Diamond fan club, but close enough to hear boarding announcements. Hopefully, first class
would be called soon. It was weird how Remington didn’t just have them wait in the Admiral’s Club or whatever, but it was
probably just because he was traveling with six teenagers, like some sitcom.

The Spoiled Bunch?

“Oh, there you are, darling!” Her mom was wearing a large straw hat paired with a black wrap dress and multicolored leggings.
“I know I’m being a mother hen, but I just want to make sure we all get on the plane together,” she fretted.

“No worries,” Avery said agreeably. She slid her phone into her Marc by Marc Jacobs straw tote and dutifully followed her
mom back to the entire row she’d commandeered with her mismatched collection of hemp bags.

“Rows thirty-seven through fifty can board now,” intoned the screechy intercom voice. Instantly, people sprang to attention,
as if the plane was about to take off immediately.

“That’s us, troops!” Remington announced, slapping his hands against his knees and pulling himself to a standing position.
He wore a pair of white linen pants and a white linen shirt, looking sort of like a monk. It was obvious Edie had picked out
his outfit.

“Really?” Avery asked in disbelief. They were flying
coach
? She hoped Remington was pulling one of those goofy-dad jokes. But he was leading Edie by the hand to the gate. “What?” Avery
said, again, loudly. Owen walked by and offered a half-shrug, not bothering to take off his headphones.

“I’m going to be sick,” Avery announced loudly to no one in particular as she walked down the Jetway. Not like she was being
snobby, but Remington used to own an
island
! He gave away millions of dollars every year to fund art projects consisting of weird, ugly sculptures displayed in Brooklyn,
and he couldn’t spring for first class?

Better hope she doesn’t get a middle seat!

Avery spotted Baby a few feet in front of her, holding a magazine open with her index finger. Avery sped up, wanting to commiserate
with her sister. But instead of stopping, Baby marched quickly down the Jetway and through the tiny doorway of the plane.

“Ticket?” the perky blond flight attendant asked, stopping Avery.

“He has them.” Avery jutted her chin toward Remington.

“Great! Just keep walking back!” The flight attendant flashed an ultra-fake smile as Avery stepped into the tiny cabin of
the plane, which had three-seat rows on one side and two-seat rows on the other. It smelled like unwashed socks and wet wool.

Ahead of her, Owen and Rhys were immersed in conversation, and Baby wordlessly sank into her window seat next to Layla. Layla’s
boyfriend was kind of cute in that sort of pretentious intellectual way that Baby always loved. But instead of hanging out
with Layla and her boyfriend, Baby had her arms crossed over her chest, her large vintage purple aviators pulled over her
eyes. Weird. Maybe she was annoyed about the plane situation too.

Avery glanced down at her ticket stub. If Rhys and Owen were in one of the double seats, and Baby, Layla, and her boyfriend
were in one of the three-seat rows, who was
she
seated next to?

“Are we neighbors?” Remington boomed from the row ahead. His six-foot-two frame was uncomfortably folded into the middle seat.
Avery looked down and saw that she was assigned to the aisle seat next to him, her mother already seated by the window.
Great
.

“Avery, I’m going to ask you to show some mercy on me. Switch?” he asked sheepishly, looking up from the clutter of Bose headphones,
his BlackBerry, and a copy of the book
The Fat Man in History
. Avery hoped it was a metaphor and not some fetish or hobby.

She nodded, her stomach sinking. It wasn’t
her
fault Remington couldn’t fit into his airplane seat. Already, this trip hadn’t quite lived up to her expectations.

“Thank you.” Remington shuffled into the aisle to allow Avery room to squeeze into the ultra-cramped row.

“Why are we traveling like this?” Avery whispered urgently as she poked her mom in her yoga-toned bicep. Edie flipped up the
lilac-colored organic-fabric eye mask she was wearing.

“Well, it’s not a long trip. I was looking online, and do you
know
the carbon footprint produced by just
one
private flight?” Edie’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“I don’t care,” Avery said sulkily, looking straight ahead at the ugly pattern of the seat fabric in front of her. Couldn’t
they just, like, donate money to some carbon emissions fund?

“Besides, this is fun! Why be elitist?” Edie shook her head wildly as if to shake off the very idea. “I’m just going to sleep
anyway.” She flipped the eyeshade back over her eyes and leaned back with a contented sigh.

“A woman of many talents.” Remington nodded fondly over at Edie, who seemed to have already fallen asleep. She let out little
birdlike whistles as she exhaled.

“Yep,” Avery muttered. She pulled a copy of
Vogue
from her bag and flipped it open.
Skirts, skirts, skirts!
The text swam in front of her. All she wanted to do this week was spend as much time as possible in her bikini, anyway. She
couldn’t wait to get out on the beach, margarita in hand, Bumble and Bumble surf spray tucked into her straw tote.

The guy in front of her pushed his seat into a reclining position, bumping Avery’s knees. Avery accidentally-on-purpose banged
her knee against the seat in annoyance and let out a loud sigh. Was it so important for him to recline
right this second
?

She closed her eyes again as the engine whirred to life beneath them. She was always a little nervous about flying, and usually
had to close her eyes and imagine something relaxing. Usually she thought of a Nantucket sunset, or a perfectly organized
walk-in closet. Now, though, an image of Rhys sprang into her mind. Would he wear board shorts or Speedos on the beach? Speedos
were sort of gross, but according to Owen, it was like a badge of honor for the swim team guys to wear their Speedos wherever
and whenever possible. Owen used to wear them instead of boxers under his jeans on meet days back in Nantucket. Still, the
idea of seeing Rhys in a Speedo made her feel shy and excited at the same time.

So much for relaxing.

Avery opened her eyes and flipped through her magazine. At least this was a short flight. “A drink, miss?” A spiky-haired,
super-skinny male flight attendant looked down at her.

“Tea with lemon, two Splendas,” Avery rattled off, looking guiltily at Remington. She really wanted to order a well-deserved
I’m on vacation
vodka tonic, but she couldn’t risk Remington thinking she was an alcoholic or something.

“Hmmm, well, we have sugar, no Splenda. And we don’t have lemon.” The steward shrugged, triumphantly handing her a tiny Styrofoam
cup. “Pretzels?”

“Do you have any fruit? Or a yogurt?” Avery asked, wrinkling her nose.

“This isn’t a restaurant,” the steward responded loudly. “Here’s another pack of pretzels. I normally only give people one
pack.”

“Thanks.” Avery rolled her eyes as she gazed down at the two small foil packages the steward had flung on the plastic Formica
tray in front of her.

“I saw that eye-roll, young lady.” Remington closed his hands over her pretzels. He raised a salt-and-pepper eyebrow at her.

“Sorry,” Avery huffed, feeling embarrassed but annoyed. Yeah, she was being a brat, and she knew it. But the fact that her
mom had found someone with the same hippie-ish ideals as her made for a lot of craptastic experiences to come. She’d hoped
Remington’s banker past would make for a cushy future, but apparently he was as annoyingly eco-chic as her mom.