Page 27 of Almost Not Quite Engaged

“Not likely. It’s embarrassing.”

“Cartoon character?” He glares at me. It’s a cartoon character.

“In the end, we had nothing shared but time and country club gossip.”

“Our pasts seems to be littered with some really fucked people pleasing,” I say as he reaches for the throw on the chair next to me and covers my legs.

He puts a finger up. “Parental pleasing.”

I lean back and sigh. “You and I are cut from the same broadcloth it appears.”

The efficient flight attendant delivers a pillow and shows me how to lean back the chair and a footrest pops out. I’m not hating the fancy plane.

I’m sympathetic to the cause. And for once it’s nice to think of someone else as a fuck up. I’m the savior. Choke on that universe, I’m the freaking savior.

Chapter 11

Shared History

ZANE

In the Air

The lights dim a little after we eat. She picked at the chicken but inhaled dessert. I haven’t flown private in a long time. It’s a guilty luxury for me, so terrible for the environment, so decadent for no reason, but damn is it nice. My parent’s insisted so that I could be there as soon as possible. I think they were showing off for my mystery date.

A big loopy curl falls from her makeshift bun and her skin somehow looks luminous in this light. I shake off the thoughts as she tells me her familiar story.

“My mother put an undue amount of pressure on my sister and me to achieve the WASP holy triumvirate: the right husband, polite children, and a house to make the girls in whatever club I choose jealous.”

“My sister has a gold metal in that triathlon,” I add.

“Sister. That’s information I’m going to need. And it’s not like my mom got polite kids but she tried. Courtney’s polite, Porter can tear anyone apart in the courtroom and well, you’ve met me.”

She pulls her hair up again and exposes her neck while stretching and fixing it. Then focuses on me again in a way few people do. I’ve seen her turn that focus on her sister, and her friends. She’s one of those people who is really listening and it’s a bit alarming and somehow charming. Then she bites her fingernail.

“Gross. Come on.”

“What, it’s a hangnail. Do you have a file?”

I reach over into my suit jacket and pull out a small case containing a lot of things but among a nail file. I always have it with me for shooting. I hand it to her.

“That might be the reason I don’t go to Hawaii. That was too fucking slick. No one has their shit that together.”

“Truce.” I warn her. “Back it down. I just bribed someone I dislike to pretend to be my fiancée, I hardly have my shit together. A nail file, yes. My shit, no.”

“Truce. But you do see how annoying that is, right?” I sit back and say nothing. But I can see that it might be. “Like you feel like you’re better than me because of a nail file.” She uses it, and I grin smugly. When she digs it hits a little too deep for me.

“That path my mom urged me on is how I let Chad slip into my life, my reputable job and a got talked into a house in a suburb. It all kept happening bit by bit, and I didn’t notice the slide down until I was at the bottom.” She finishes her Diet Coke and places the glass in the holder then rearranges herself on the seat looking out the window. She turns back to me and continues.

“Porter’s the example, even though he’s relentlessly driven and needs to have more fun in life. Somehow Courtney got away with pulling off living in an RV, running from a wedding and eloping. Mom will forever be angry, not that she did it, but that she was denied all hallmarks of a large-scale Presbyterian Country Club wedding with all the trimmings. Weddings are a mother’s climax.” Kat flails her arms around.

“I give you one better. Have the full 8 course wedding and walk away before your first anniversary.” I rebuckle my watch and refold my sleeves. “I’m never getting married again. I never want anyone to have that much control over my life and choices.”

She mutters, “Staten Island.”

I laugh and she asks, “How long have we been engaged?”

“Let’s say a month.”