Crossing Paths (3 page)

On the way back to my apartment, I call a few friends to see if anyone wants to catch the game and grab a few drinks at a local bar. Everyone is busy, so instead, I turn on the TV and pull out my laptop to do a little work.

I’m surprised no one took me up on my offer to meet at the bar. Generally, I don’t enjoy the smoke-filled taverns unless a good game is on the big screen. Plus, I stopped drinking a few years ago. It wasn’t for any particular reason. I don’t know anyone who has been involved in a drunk-driving accident, and I haven’t experienced any horrific incidents related to drinking. I didn’t have a problem with limiting my own alcohol consumption. It just didn’t seem fun anymore.

I watched my friends drink too much, and I paid my inflated tab one too many times, I guess. So, I’m the sober friend now. That title is about as awesome as being the pooper-scooper at the dog kennel. For about a year, at all hours of the night, I would get calls asking for rides home. At first, I thought of it as my duty to help my friends in need. Then, I just got tired of it.

Since I stopped frequenting the bars, it’s been tough getting dates. It’s not like the women from the bars were my type, but at least I got to go out and have a decent time a few nights each month. I’ve dated a couple girls from work, but that gets messy quickly. So, lately, I’ve put dating on the back burner while I try not to worry about my lonesome existence.

I toss my laptop down at the end of the couch and head to my bedroom. Falling onto the bed with my eyes closed, I find myself thinking about Caroline. I know June might kill me if I pursue anything with Caroline, but I don’t think I care. I’m tired of considering how other people might feel about my decisions. The only problem is that, outside my parents’ house, I’m not sure I’ll see her again, and asking her out on a date with June sitting between us during Sunday dinner doesn’t sound like a good idea. I guess I’ll have to play it cool and see what happens.

Monday

Four weeks ago, I started my dream job...or so I thought. So far, I feel like my Media Planner title should be changed to Personal Assistant for Paul Hargrove. In all honesty, I shouldn’t complain too much. To most people, sitting in on important meetings and fielding phone calls for the head Media Supervisor would likely be counted as a great learning experience. It’s just that I don’t want to sit and listen and take messages. I want to be a part of the action. I want to present a design and carry out a media campaign.

The lessons learned in college are utopian ideas of how the real-world marketing system functions. Here—in the land not filled with lollipops and gumdrops—people disagree, clients get angry, and marketing executives choose stupid ads to make high-paying clients happy. And it’s all in the name of the almighty dollar.

Late last week, Mr. Hargrove came out of his office and dropped a plane ticket on my desk. “Pack your bags, darlin’. I need you to go to a meeting.”

He later informed me that I would be sharing his input regarding media options for a new client’s advertisements. At first, I was quite proud that he was sending me and only me to accomplish this task.
How awesome that he believes in my abilities after only a short time on the job.

Later that same day, I overheard him discussing his vacation plans for the coming week, and then he commented on the lack of appropriate education for recent graduates. I realized then that my previous elation might have been premature.

Whatever his motivation might be, I’m leaving my sweet Texas existence today and heading to New York City where I can almost guarantee that it will be anything but sweet. Here I am, two hours early, waiting for my plane to arrive.

I hate flying!
I’m sure the passengers sitting near me are enjoying the look of dread on my face while my fingernails are constantly tapping on the plastic armrest. The special part about today is that I have the joy of not only one but two flights. I know I’m being a big baby about the whole ordeal, but I abhor situations that involve giving up control of my life to someone else. This includes things like sitting in the passenger seat of a car, allowing a new barista to make my drink at the coffee shop, and flying, of course.

Caroline wanted to come with me, so she could keep me company and make sure I didn’t have a panic attack on the plane. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to leave work behind since she only started a week ago.

While sitting at the airline gate, I stare through the wall of glass, watching as large planes drop to the ground. Each gigantic plane plummets toward the runway, scoots along the asphalt, and then begins a smooth roll toward its assigned gate. Passengers filter off the plane, appearing to be happy as they have reached their destination, but they lack that look of salvation from death. After witnessing this same scene repeatedly, I should have a little more faith in the flight industry. However, my brain keeps telling me that it couldn’t possibly go that well for everyone.

Waiting near the large windows allows the bright sunlight to warm me. My eyelids begin to feel heavy. I should have gotten more sleep last night, but the terror of flying kept me tossing and turning.

Looking up, I meet the eyes of…
wait, this cannot be happening
.
What is Gavin doing at the airport?
There’s no way he’s on the same flight. I slide down in my chair and turn away, doing my best to avoid any form of contact.

Unlike most of the guys I dated in college, Gavin was the one I thought might make the cut. He’s tall with dark hair, and he has an amazing body, molded by all his time spent training for our college’s swim team. We met during a party at a mutual friend’s house, and he was pretty much perfect from the start. Along with his good looks, he was a gentleman. He opened doors for me, paid for dinner, and gave me his jacket on cold nights. He would even call me after his swim meets to make sure I made it home safely. He seemed to be the total package, and after a year of dating, I was preparing myself for forever.

Then, on a foggy night during my junior year, I made a plan to surprise him. He liked to swim alone once a week to clear his head, and on that particular evening, I figured he wouldn’t mind a little poolside action. Dressed in a tank top and sexy shorts with a new bikini underneath, I entered the pool area, tiptoeing my way across the tile floor. As the pool came into sight, I noticed no one was swimming. Although it seemed odd, I kept walking, thinking that maybe he needed to go to the restroom. It turned out to be much more than a simple potty break. I found him in the shower room with his Speedo around his ankles and one of his teammates on his knees. Evidently, our lack of sex life had less to do with my restraint and more to do with his gender preference. Over the following few months, he attempted to apologize several times, but after that night, I chose to boycott him and all things related to swimming.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Gavin says as he leans over to kiss me on the cheek.

In what alternate universe does he think it’s okay to touch me?
“What are you doing here?”

“Just thought you could use some company. I heard that you haven’t dated anyone since…well, since you and me.”

“And you thought you could help with that situation?”

Sitting on the armrest of the chair, he places his hand on my shoulder. “Your mom was just worried about you.”

Suddenly, in the background, I see my family and Caroline walking toward us with a banner. It’s crisp, white, and spans at least five people wide. The bright red letters bluntly spell out,
Intervention
. I cower into my chair, hoping that it swallows me whole before passersby realize what’s happening.

My father reaches me first. “We love you, June. We just want you to be happy.”

To his right, Caroline and Addison nod in agreement with solemn looks across their faces. Liam is absent from the censure, which is not a surprise since they’ll probably make it a two-for-one sign when they move on to his pathetic love life. To my father’s left is my crazy mother. She reaches for my hand, and just as she is about to speak—

I open my eyes.

Gavin is not sitting on the armrest of my uncomfortable airport chair, my family is not present with an Alaska-sized banner, and I do not need to disown my best friend.
Oh crap, did I fall asleep and miss my plane?
Glancing at my phone, it looks like boarding should start in about five to ten minutes.
What a horrible dream.
Apparently, my mother has been really getting to me lately.

When my phone rings, I see that she can’t give it a rest in real life either. “Hey, Mom.”

“Honey, are you on the plane?”

“If I were on the plane, I probably wouldn’t be answering my phone.”

“Yes, you’re right. Well, sweetie, I was just calling to wish you luck in case you don’t have time to talk tonight.”

“Why wouldn’t I have time?”

“I just thought you might run into some colleagues or maybe make some
friends
on your flight.”

Is she trying to make me hang up on her? Lay off, Mom!
Instead of feeding her need to constantly intrude in on my life, I change the subject. “I’m looking forward to our trip next weekend.”

“Oh, me, too! I hope the weather holds out.”

Mom, Addison, and I take a trip to the lake at least two or three times a year. I am pretty sure Addison dreads leaving her perfect life with its daily routines behind, but I have missed these trips. Since I was away at college, this will be my first time back to the lake in two years.

“Well, I better get going. I think they’re calling for my flight.”

“Alright, sweet June. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

The employee checking us in at the gate is spouting off numbers so fast that it sounds like we’re at an auction.
I wonder if she’s had special training or maybe her dad sold cattle at the livestock circuit when she was young.
Either way, she might have chosen the wrong career. I end up last in line to check-in since I missed the moment when she called out my section on the plane.

I walk down the dull long hallway lined with advertisements for the airline I have obviously already chosen. When I reach the open door of the plane, I pause briefly before taking a measured step inside. I may or may not have caught the stewardess laughing under her breath as I walked by.

I brought one piece of carry-on luggage since I will be in New York for only a night. Heaving the luggage up over my head, I fit it snugly between a Big Bird backpack and a pink suitcase that I am sure is too large to qualify as a carry-on.

Glancing to the window seat, I meet the bright blue eyes of an older woman.

She looks at me with a sweet smile. “Hello.”

I ease into my seat as I return the greeting.
Friendly conversation should pass the time.
Instead, the woman proceeds to crochet, not speaking another single word to me.
I need to stop by one of the expensive newsstands and buy some reading material for the next flight.

The takeoff feels like a slingshot is hurling me with no regard for the fact that I’m human and not a bright yellow tennis ball, and when we land hours later, it feels very much the same. Although the flight wasn’t the worst I have ever experienced, I still had to work hard to not grab the white paper sack in the seat pocket in front of me.

Once off the plane, I take in my first deep breath in more than two hours, allowing the cool air to enter my lungs and calm my body. Unlike most travelers, I’m thanking God for my layover.

To save myself from boredom, I walk the short distance to an airport store to buy a magazine. Looking across the covers, there isn’t much that draws me in. I glance over so many words that take up useless space in my head—J-Lo’s new love interest, VP hopeful thinks too much about his looks, brown bear saves child’s life before killing other family members.

I walk over to the book section. It seems childish, but a Dr. Seuss book catches my eye. I have loved Dr. Seuss since I was a little girl. His books are so catchy and fun. I decide to purchase the book along with a trashy gossip magazine, and then I place them into my bag.

After I walk back to the gate and sit down, I pull out my book. When I glance up from my bag, I meet a set of piercing hazel eyes. The man looks away, and he stands quickly, but he’s unable to walk because of the crowd of people around him. For once, I’m thankful for unruly children who pay no mind to their surroundings. My eyes scan over his body, taking in every inch of him. His chestnut hair becomes messy as he runs his hand through it. Clean lines of muscles are apparent through his crisp light blue button-up shirt, and his dark jeans fit nicely in all the right places. When the sea of children parts, he strides away down the corridor. It’s a good thing because I think I might need a cold shower after taking in that view. Returning to my book, I peruse the funny and unworldly mind of Dr. Seuss.