Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
This seemed to confuse Bryson, who muttered, “None taken?” It was in the form of a question, as if he was trying to figure out where the potential insult was in any of that.
We all took a seat at the window, and the view was fascinating. Two planes were parked right outside. A huge plane was coming in for a landing in the distance, and another big plane rolled by like it was out for a drive.
I was giddy with excitement—until we actually boarded the plane and were given a half-hearted safety briefing by a bored flight attendant, outlining all the ways we were probably going to die during our hour and forty-minute flight. How would we manage to crash into water and need to use our seats as floatation devices between here and the desert? I fumbled for the laminated sheet in the pocket in front of me and craned my neck to look for the nearest exits.
Before I knew it, we were barreling down the runway. I grabbed Bryson’s hand in a death grip and started to hyperventilate, and he leaned close and whispered, “You’re okay, Embry. Nothing bad is going to happen.”
“Tell that to the plane.” It seemed very rickety and not at all capable of failing to kill us all. Words started tumbling out of me as my panic rose. “This all feels like a huge mistake. Humans are land animals! We’re not made for this!”
But then, just like that, we rose up off the ground. It took my stomach a moment to catch up with me, and as soon as it did, the giddiness returned. I laughed and yelled, “I was wrong, we’re totally meant to fly! This is amazing!”
When I turned to smile at him, Bryson was watching me curiously, like I was some new species he’d just discovered.
6
Bryson
Embry was unlike anyone I’d ever met in my entire life. He fully owned and freely broadcast every emotion, with zero fucks to give about what anyone thought of him.
He was incredibly enthusiastic, too. He treated a walk through the airport like a trip to Disneyland, absolutely delighting over something as mundane as a moving walkway.
Then again, maybe it wasn’t mundane at all. Maybe I was just jaded.
Once we were in the plane and it began taxiing down the runway, I was sure he was going to have a complete meltdown. He gripped my hand and yelled something about land animals, and I started wondering what I’d do if he broke free of his seatbelt and ran for the nearest exit. At least he was little, so I was fairly confident I could tackle him before he wrenched the door open.
But then the plane lifted off, and it was like flipping a switch from panicked to elated. He laughed and shouted, totally oblivious to the fact that the people around us were staring. After that, he twisted around so he could look out the window and narrated absolutely everything he saw for the entire flight.
It should have been annoying, but instead his enthusiasm made me smile. It was refreshing, and a welcome change from what the rest of my life was like.
I was so serious, all the time. Had I always been this way?
I wasn’t sure. I barely remembered who I used to be, before the last four years brought me to my knees.
When we landed in Las Vegas, Embry was surprised by how different the small airport was, compared to SFO. After collecting our luggage, we fetched our rental car. I’d gone with a bright yellow convertible, because I assumed Embry would enjoy that. His shriek of delight told me I’d made the right call.
I decided to stop at the “Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas” sign, because I figured my travel companions would want a photo op. I had no intention of getting in any of the shots, but Vee told me, “You have to be in the pictures! They’ll help build credibility for your fake marriage.”
He was right, it was a good idea, but it turned out to be challenging—not for Embry, who was his usual happy, smiling self. But when I tried to pose with him, I was as stiff as a mannequin. I started off standing rigidly beside him, and when Vee suggested some physical contact, I awkwardly draped my arm around Embry’s shoulders.
Vee lowered his phone with a frown. “This really isn’t working. How soon are you taking Embry to meet your grandfather?”
“They’ll meet at my family’s Christmas retreat, which is in about two weeks.”
“You’ve got a lot of work to do,” Vee muttered. “Absolutely no one is going to believe you two are a couple if this is what you’re bringing to the table.”
“You just need a little time to warm up to me,” Embry said, as he took several paces backwards. “I also think, instead of posing, we should take some action shots.” I had no idea what he meant by that. He stopped some distance away from me and asked, “Have you ever seen the movie Dirty Dancing?”