Page 57 of The Best Worst Thing

Paper Planes

Where do you think that one’s going?” Logan said, running his fingers through Nicole’s hair as another engine roared through the night sky. They were lying on a fleece blanket in this tiny park off Sepulveda Boulevard where—apparently—people went to watch planes take off, entirely on purpose.

“Hmm.” She rolled into him a little closer, her nose smooshed against his navy windbreaker.

He’d been away all week—New York, then Chicago for a Friday morning meeting, then Ann Arbor for twenty-four hours to see his college friends and catch the football game against Penn State.

She’d only picked him up from the airport thirty minutes ago. “Denver? Oakland?”

He propped himself up on his elbows. He was still in his Michigan cap. “The whole point of this exercise is to use your imagination. Stop picking reasonable destinations. Pick Madagascar! Pick the Galapagos!”

“But you can’t fly to those places from LA.”

“And an octopus can’t up and crack a cold case, can he now? And yet, here I am, reading your weird books, eating your strange food.”

“People loved that book, okay? It’s very moving!” Nicole climbed on top of him, finding his lips. Another plane took off—destination, unimportant. “And heaven forbid you eat a vegetable.”

He laughed, then kissed her again.

He kissed her for longer than he needed to.

When he finally pulled away, he sat up, secured her legs around his hips and pressed his forehead against hers. And for half a second—less, even—she swore she saw him wince.

“God, did I miss you,” he said.

She nodded, then pressed her fingers to his lips, already wondering if she’d imagined it. That grimace. That frown.

But no—she was sure.

“What’s on your mind?” she said. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him a little off tonight.

When she pulled up to the curb at LAX, just before she caught his eye, he’d been staring off into space; his gaze, pained.

And sure, that first moment she could write off.

He was tired; it’d been a long week. But Logan, frowning?

Twice? That just wasn’t him. “You seemed upset earlier too.”

He clenched his jaw for a second, then smiled. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Just work stuff. Just a superlong week, that’s all. I’m really happy to be home.”

Nicole pushed the hair out of his eyes, then dropped her hand to his jaw.

He’d turned down two solid job offers already.

Smaller agencies, but good ones—single-office shops focused on working with LA-based brands.

Less travel, less pressure. And then there was the business plan he and Erika had ironed out over the past couple of months, sitting in his office, collecting dust. Every time they met, Logan would call, absolutely spinning over the idea of starting his own thing.

But by the time he fought traffic home, by the time they were eating dinner on his couch, he’d have grown mum about the whole plan, muttering that it was too stressful, that he didn’t want to take the risk, that something better would come along soon.

“I know you want to cruise through New Year’s,” she said. “But there’s always going to be another reason to stick around. You can’t put this off forever. You’re miserable. Quentin’s not going to change.”

He closed his eyes.

“It’s not that simple,” he said. “It’s …”

She looked up at him, waiting.

He looked right back, serious as she’d ever seen him.

Then he took a deep breath and shook out his shoulders.

“You know what?” He pushed his palms against hers. “Fuck it. It doesn’t even matter. It’s just a job. I’m here. You’re here. And we’re good, right?”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding, scrapping the rest of her speech.

The same one she’d delivered to him a dozen times since September.

The one where she asked him why he was torturing himself.

Why he was traveling to Europe twice a month to build a team he’d never even manage.

Why he was so inexplicably resistant to doing the one thing that had always seemed to come so naturally to him: betting on himself.

But there was no sense in pushing him any further.

After all, it was his career, not hers. And he knew what he was doing. “We’re so good.”

He grinned and pulled her closer. “I talked about you for twenty-four hours straight, by the way. My friends can’t wait to meet you.”

One of Logan’s roommates from college was getting married next weekend in Mexico. Logan had first mentioned the wedding to Nicole in September, but all of a sudden, it was here. Time was funny like that. Slow and steady. A bit of a drag. Fast as a whip.

“That so?”

“Yep.” He slipped his hands beneath her sweatshirt, his fingers finding the bare skin just above the waist of her jeans.

“And I’m an excellent wedding date, I’ll have you know.

I offer three key services: dress zipping, coconut shrimp hoarding, and impractical shoe remediation via piggyback rides to and from the hotel.

And if you get me drunk enough, who knows? I might even sleep with you.”

“Oh, wow,” she said, coming to a stand, then tugging him toward the jam-packed In-N-Out glowing across the street. At the time, a quick burger seemed like a perfectly good idea. “Sex? With me? Not over FaceTime? How generous. Buy me dinner, and I’ll consider it.”

They stood in line, thumbing through Logan’s phone, looking at flights and toying with the idea of leaving for Mexico a couple of days early.

Maybe stretching the trip into more of an all-week thing before they went their separate ways for Thanksgiving.

After all, Logan’s travel schedule was paused until after the holiday, and since Valerie’s father was coming to see the boys, she and Nicole had recorded a few episodes ahead of time.

“I have to pee,” Nicole said, once they’d changed their tickets. “Just make sure they put as many pickles as—”

“Humanly possible on there, and ketchup and mustard instead.”

She laughed, walking away. “Oh, and a—”

“Massive Diet Coke?” He waved her off. “I’m not new here.”

Nicole smiled back, then floated into the restroom, where both stalls were full.

With zero else to do, she messed around on her phone.

Nothing of interest, really. A few new comments on this week’s podcast. A missed call from Mari.

Some infighting within Nicole’s family’s group text about Ethan’s latest girlfriend’s highly concerning desire to put apples in stuffing.

Paige, who couldn’t even eat four-fifths of what was on the menu, replied with three rows of red flag emojis, then added that it was a free country, she supposed.

Nicole laughed, then fired off a text to Logan.

Wait, I think I do want fries. Did you already order? Can we just share?

Three seconds later, this:

Sorry, honeymoon’s over. You may have two.

She rolled her eyes, bit her lip, and—fully prepared to enter negotiations—typed out, Blow job? She was about to hit send when she heard a too-sweet, too-familiar voice call out her name.

“Nicole? I thought that was you out there.”

Nicole’s stomach somersaulted. Standing at the sink was Alexis McMahon—Kyle’s wife. Gabe’s boss’s wife. What the hell was Alexis McMahon doing anywhere south of Wilshire Boulevard? And at the LAX In-N-Out, on a Saturday, at ten thirty at night, no less?

“Alexis, hi …” Nicole’s voice was wobbling. She steadied it at once. “What are you doing here?”

“Hunter had this twelve-hour coding boot camp in Playa. He didn’t like the food.”

“Oh,” Nicole said. “That sounds really good for him.”

Boy, did she not miss this shit. Weighing out her every last word.

Letting her whole social life revolve around her husband’s ambitions.

Trying to remember what she’d worn to dinner last month, so she didn’t dare show up to some fancy restaurant in the same little dress a second time.

Reminding herself to only voice opinions on things that did not matter because one tiny misstep was enough to leave her and Gabe on the outside, looking in.

Straining to make small talk with a bunch of women who were technically so nice, so smart, and so lovely—yet left her feeling like a paper doll.

“We’ve missed you, all the girls have,” Alexis said, drying her hands.

She was draped in a chestnut-colored cashmere coat, and her smile was blinding.

“I’m sorry I haven’t reached out. Harper and Sophie are almost always at the barn, or at a show, and Kyle’s just swamped at the office.

It’s been crazy since we got home from Colorado.

You know, with the new school year and all. ”

The new school year? It was November. Nicole had no idea what Alexis was talking about, and she didn’t care. Nicole didn’t want anything from Alexis. Not now, and not ever. All she wanted was to get out of this conversation, out of this bathroom, and out of this restaurant—fast.

“Of course,” Nicole said, inching backward toward the door. “I know how it is. You have so much on your plate.”

“We’re all here for you, Nicole. Anything you need.” A pause. A glance. A purse of the lips. The howling, tempered silence of two women married to the same damn man. “No matter what you decide.”

“Thanks, Alexis. That means a lot,” Nicole said, before rushing out the door, straight through the lobby, past a very confused Logan, and right toward the park across the street, where she finally took a big, deep breath of the crisp fall air and wondered just how much of her new life Alexis had seen and whether—assuming it was everything—she was going to do anything about it.