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Mickey is the obvious choice but she has to be sleeping. I reach for my phone and half-heartedly scroll through my contacts. It’s performative; I know I don’t have anyone else to call.
Just then a text comes through. It’s from Mickey. And actually it’s not a text, it’s just a GIF of a hot dog with a face, pelvic-thrusting. Across it in bubble letters is the caption, I love you dawg!
I snort and call her.
She answers on the first ring and sounds tipsy. “Am I in trouble?” she asks instantly.
“Because you’re supposed to be in the office in three hours and you sound like you’ve been up all night?” I guess, trying and failing to sound stern.
“Yeah, but psych, bitch! I did all my work yesterday after you left! So it’s a funday Monday for ol’ Mick.” She pauses for a beat and says, “Shit, I might actually be drunk.”
I just laugh. I can always count on her to add some levity to the situation. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” I say.
“Oh, no way. Kyle took me out but I didn’t stay for cuddles. I’m back at the apartment doomscrolling with one last glass of wine before I faceplant in bed for the night. But listen to me rambling on. How is Par-ee? Has Kara welcomed you into her squad yet? Has Nick swept you off your feet?”
I flop back in bed. “God, Mickey. You wouldn’t even fucking believe what’s happening.”
“I bet I won’t. I swear you’re living out a romance movie right now.”
“If I am then the script is on a downbeat,” I say. “Because guess who’s here.”
“Who?”
“Brent and Cheryl.”
Mickey makes a choking noise that would be funny if the situation weren’t so dire. “WHAT?!” she finally gets out. “Your— your ex? Is there? Is he — are they — stalking you?”
“I wish,” I say. “It’d be easier to get the cops involved. No, Brent is a sports agent. One of his clients is dating Kara, and they’re along for the trip. It’s just a fucked up coincidence.”
“I’ll say. Forget a romance movie. You’ve tripped and landed in a damn soap opera.”
“I’ll fly you in for backup if a long-lost evil twin pops out of the woodwork,” I say miserably. “But honestly it’s bad enough as it is. I was so thrown on the plane yesterday that I totally messed up our first impression.”
“Wait a minute. Back up,” Mickey says. “You flew with them?”
“Yep,” I say, already knowing what she’s getting at.
“You were wearing a blue sweatsuit, boo,” Mickey says softly, as if breaking the news to me.
“Oh I am well aware. Believe me, I wish I’d strode on there naked. It would have been less embarrassing.”
“It would say ‘I’m here and ready to party’,” Mickey muses.
“Yeah and instead I was just there, very obviously not partying. It was insane too. They were shooting a damn music video on the plane! There were like a thousand people there!”
Mickey makes a strangled noise. “My god I should have gone,” she says.
“I’m regretting not bringing you,” I say. “Someone needs to look cool in front of these people. I’m just not cool, and Nick is way too disdainful of it all to put much effort in.”
“Hey I think you’re very cool!”
“As nice as that is, Kara definitely does not.”
“What did you do?”
I sigh and roll over on my stomach, not answering immediately. From out of my window I can see the tip of the Eiffel Tower, reflecting the light of the early morning rays. It reminds me of last night, of Nick’s lips against mine. My stomach knots, and I feel the urge to jump out of my own skin.
Somehow I rip myself out of the memory and back to the conversation at hand. “I hid,” I admit. “I went in the back and hid in a closet for the rest of the flight.”
