Chapter 12

Lainey

Twenty-four hours later, we are boarding our flight to Rome. Our seats, booked late last night, are in the very back of the plane. But at least we got three together. As we approach our row, I call dibs on the window seat, feeling certain Hannah will give it to me despite my assigned middle seat.

Sure enough, she shrugs, declaring the middle seat “cozy.” She’s normally accommodating, but this is over the top even for her. Everyone hates the middle seat, especially on an international flight. I figure she must be feeling really guilty about the scene at my sister’s house.

As we settle into our seats, she kicks off her sneakers and puts on a pair of fuzzy socks. “I can’t believe we pulled this off,” she says with a contented sigh. “A trip to Italy! It feels like a dream.”

“I know,” Tyson says, almost smiling.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this excited,” Hannah says.

“Well, that’s a telling statement,” I say. “I wish Grady could hear you say that.”

“Facts,” Tyson says with a nod.

“C’mon, y’all. If you’re talking about getting engaged, that was sort of a given after all those years,” she says. “Almost more of a relief than anything else. This is so…spontaneous.”

I nod. The word spontaneous makes me think of Gus, who’s been texting me nonstop. I look at my phone now, seeing a new message, telling me that he signed up for Hulu just so he could watch my show.

I start to write him back, but I get distracted watching Hannah pull up Instagram on her phone, then type a DM. She angles her screen away from me, which only piques my interest. She must sense that I’m trying to read over her shoulder because she quickly swipes out of the app.

“Who were you just messaging?” I ask.

“No one,” she says.

“Yeah, right. I know a sneaky maneuver when I see one,” I say with a laugh.

“It was just a friend,” she says.

“As long as it’s not Grady,” I say.

“It’s not. He’s still blocked.”

“And he hasn’t tried to email you?”

“No. But he did Venmo me five dollars—”

“What the hell? Why?” she asks.

“So he could send me a message and confirm that I got it. Can’t do that with email.”

“What a cheapskate,” Tyson says.

“Yeah,” I say. “Send him a dollar back and tell him if he has something further to say via Venmo, it’ll cost him a grand.”

Hannah smiles as I ask what his message said. She pulls it up, reading in a monotone: “Hi, Hannah. I hope you’re doing well, wherever you are. I miss you and hope you’ll give me a call sometime soon. I just want to hear your voice.” She stops suddenly and says, “Blah blah blah.”

“Shut the fuck up, man,” Tyson says, giving Hannah’s phone a dismissive wave. “Nobody wants to hear your shit.”

“Literally nobody. It’s driving him crazy that he doesn’t know where you are. But at least he knows who you’re with,” I say, giving Tyson a knowing look.

“You really think Tyson bothers him?” Hannah asks me.

“Yes. It’s one thing to skip town with your girlfriends, it’s another to jet-set with this hottie….” My voice trails off, as I demonstratively look Tyson up and down.

“Thank you?” Tyson says.

“You’re welcome,” I say. “And on that note, I think it’s time for a strategic Instagram story.”

“But he can’t see my story,” Hannah says. “He’s blocked.”

“He can still see my story,” I say, pulling my phone out of my bag.

“Rest your hand on Tyson’s leg and look here,” I say to Hannah. I know it’s a bit childish, but I can’t help myself.

“Lainey!” she says. “I’m not gonna put my hand on his leg!”

“Okay, fine. But at least look at him and smile. Tyson, pretend you just said something funny.”

They both sigh and cave. I take a few pictures, then swipe through them, looking for the best one of Hannah.

“This one’s perfect,” I say. “You look happy.”

She gives me a tight smile. “I’m trying to be.”

“You’ll get there,” I say. “And in the meantime, everyone will see this.”

I start to upload the photo to my story, then decide it needs a caption. I brainstorm for a few seconds, then type: And we’re off! Here’s to new beginnings!

Now reading over my shoulder, Hannah laughs and says, “You’re too much.”

“I almost wrote something worse,” I tell her.

“Oh, Lord. What was that?”

“Here’s to the Mile High Club.” I laugh.

“Lainey!” Hannah gasps. “You wouldn’t!”

“Wouldn’t write that caption, or wouldn’t join that club?” I ask.

“The caption,” Hannah says. “Both!”

“I’m sure she’s already a platinum member of the club,” Tyson says with a smirk.

“Platinum?” I say, making a pfft sound. “Try diamond.”