“Well, they’re a little short staffed on this flight, and I told them that you were also in the service industry and they wondered if you might help out a little here and there on the flight, just serving drinks and that.” He takes a swig of his pint but I can see he’s hiding a smile.
“You’re pullin’ my leg, Uncle, aren’t ye?” I ask, playfully.
“Now, that would be tellin’,” he says walking off to find Aunty Ger.
“Dad? He’s joking, right?”
“Don’t look at me.” My dad disappears into the crowd after his brother.
“Great. I get to do a bit of slaving in the sky while Ridlee sips champagne,” I mutter darkly. “Can’t wait!” I drain my wine and go in search of a proper drink.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
RIDLEE
THANK GOD, UNCLE MILEY WAS just messing with us when he said we’d have to help serve drinks on the flight. I knew he had to be kidding. Surely you need some sort of FAA license to do that. I lean back in my business class seat and soak up the ambiance. This is so much better than coach. Are these seats heated or is my ass just on fire?
I realize I’m sitting on some sort of down blanket wrapped in plastic and pull it out, letting it drop to the floor by my legs. I’m not sure how much sleeping I’m going to be doing on this flight. We had a fairly early night, all things considered. The party ended pretty abruptly after Erin’s grandmother got wasted, started singing Irish ditties with cuss words in them, and then her false teeth fell out and landed on the floor. Erin was mortified, but I thought it was pretty awesome entertainment. I’ll never forget Ireland or Erin’s family in particular. I love those people. They threatened to come visit us in Boston and I was all for it. I even offered up my apartment, and Uncle Miley seemed particularly interested in its square footage.
Erin sighs heavily, breaking into my floaty, happy mood.
“What?” I ask, already bored with whatever her answer is going to be. She’s been bound and determined to be miserable, ever since we had that conversation about Michaél being on the opposite side of the table in this business deal. I don’t know why she can’t just shake it off. We got the proof that the contract was signed, and I made sure the money was transferred, so it’s a done deal. Now she can realize all her hopes and dreams. You’d think she’d say thank you instead of moaning and groaning all day and night.
“Nothing.” She sighs again, this time even more dramatically.
I open one eye and look at her. She’s staring at her phone, scrolling, scrolling, scrolling.
I snatch it from her hand before she realizes I’m paying attention.
“Hey! Give that back!”
“Not until I see what’s got you so upset.” I quickly scan through the texts. They’re all from Michaél, of course.
Where r u?
Did u leave?
I need to talk to u.
Why didn’t u tell me?
I hand it back to her and join her sighing parade. “Erin, just delete his number off your phone and don’t text him back. Please?”
She’s mumbling. “It just seems so cold.”
“It’s not cold, it’s business. There is no temperature for business, it’s neither hot nor cold. It’s just the way things are.” I wiggle a little, trying to bury myself in the seat more. There’s so much butt room in this chair, I’m in heaven. I could fit two of me on this thing.
“I don’t like that kind of business. I prefer the kind where you’re friends with the people you deal with.”
Now I open my eyes more fully, staring her down. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“No. I’m not, actually.”
A recent memory floats to the front of my mind. “Soooo, you’re saying your best buds with the guy who delivers your soda syrups?”
“I was.” She sticks her chin out in defiance. “Until he tried to rip me off by a half-dozen boxes.”
“And then what happened?” I nod, waiting for it.
Erin realizes too late she’s been schooled. “Nothing. Much.”
“Right. That’s funny, because I recall a shouting match, a threat of bodily harm with a baseball bat, and then a letter, written by yours truly at your behest, reminding his boss of all the legal ramifications of his employees short-changing clients on their orders.”
“It had to be done. That guy was a criminal.” She looks away.
“Of course it had to be done, no one’s arguing that. But the problem with making your vendors your best buddies is they tend to think they can rip you off when times gets tough.”
She looks at me sharply. “When did you get so bitter about the world, hey?”
I close my eyes again, refusing to be goaded into a fight. This is typical Erin; she’s sad so she picks fights with the ones she loves. Her misery definitely loves company, but I’m not in the mood today. Ireland was good to me. I’m going to keep enjoying that feeling as long as I can.
I answer when I know my tone can be controlled, even, and calm. “I’m not bitter, I’m a realist. I see it over and over at work. If you’re naive, you get taken advantage of. The world is a scary place, so you have to be tough. No one is your friend. They’re all just business associates.” I sigh to slow myself down and open my eyes, tilting my head to look at Erin. “I’m not saying it never works, because obviously there’s you and me; we’re friends and we do business together. I’m just saying it’s probably not worth the risk in most cases. And with Michaél? It’s completely risky. You totally fell for him in like, what? Two days? He could destroy your business in a month if you let him.”
“Ha. As if I’d let any man even come near my business.”
I reach over with my eyes closed again and pat her arm. Or her leg. I can’t tell which it is. “That’s my girl. Why don’t you just sit back and relax? We’re here in business class instead of in coach with the rabble. Live it up, girl, because it’s all nose to the grindstone once we land.” I open my eyes so I can hand her my headphones. “Take these and tune into that radio channel that has the sound of waves and stuff.”
She holds the headphones limply in her hand. “But waves remind me of surfing, and surfing reminds me of Michaél.”
“Fine,” I grind out. “Listen to the rainfall one. Or the white noise static channel. Whatever. Just stop mooning over a guy you’re never going to see again.”
“I’m not mooning,” she says, plugging the headphones into her armrest as she pouts.
“What do you call it?”
“I call it…,” she selects a radio station and leans her chair back, “…reflecting.” She looks at her phone again.
I reach over and take it from her gently, holding down the power button to turn it off. “No phones during the flight. We’re about to take off.” Leaning forward, I put it in the pocket in front of her.
She stares at the lump it makes and looks about as lonely as I’ve ever seen her.
I pat her on the hand. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”
Her eyes shine with tears. “But what if I made a mistake? What if he was The One?”
“If he was The One, then if I were you I’d be planning a long conversation with The Big Man Upstairs, because it wouldn’t be very fair would it? To hook your soul up to a guy who lives in Ireland and loves it there, who can’t run a business to save his life, and who’s never going to amount to anything more than a guy who lives in an apartment above a lawyer’s office? Talk about bad planning. You guys are opposites.”