Page 54 of The Friends and Rivals Collection

THE PUNCHLINE PARROTS

Emerson

We hurtle toward the sky in the world’s noisiest plane, sandwiched in our seats like rolled-up T-shirts in a how-to-pack-a-suitcase video.

My right thigh is wedged come-up-and-see-me-sometime style against Nolan’s.

My left thigh is smushed against the window seat man, who apparently bathed in Drakkar Noir this morning.

But it’s a short flight. We’ll be there in a jiffy, the cheery flight attendant has informed us.

Too bad I’m as jittery as if I’ve been mainlining coffee.

Only, I didn’t have any.

And I’m not usually a nervous flier.

So, what’s the deal?

Maybe it’s the tin-can feel of this plane.

I consider reading a book to blot out this new noise in my head.

Or I could watch that how to make your own jam series I downloaded last week or rewatch all the Dot and Bette videos in their library.

I’ve seen a bunch of their episodes, and I watched all of them last night, but I’m a prepper and it wouldn’t hurt to have them fresh in my mind.

Trouble is, any of those options would require contorting my body like a cartoon character to grab my phone from my backpack. There’s maybe six inches of legroom, so that seems risky. Best just to chat with my traveling companion, even though he’s enrapt with a fierce game of solitaire.

“Question,” I say as he swipes a card on a stack. “What are the chances the plane will tilt if I grab my phone? How precariously do you think this contraption is balanced?”

Nolan slides a six of clubs onto the seven of diamonds, not looking up from the screen. “Chances are high. Best to stay still the entire flight.”

“Cool, cool. It’s like an MRI tube, then,” I say.

“That’s dark.” He chuckles as he adds a five to the stack, then the four.

“We’re on the world’s cheapest airline for humans. We’re well past dark. Did you read the fine print on the tickets?”

“Who reads the fine print?” He snags the three now, then the two.

I stick my thumb against my chest; I can just move it that far. “Me.”

“Of course you do.”

“What does that mean?”

Finally, something that warrants a look—he lifts his eyes from the screen, his expression amused. “Em, you are such a fine-print person.”

“Life is all about the fine print,” I say.

“Life is about the why not,” he counters, but the twitch in his lips says he might be egging me on.

The twitch also tells me he enjoys it.

“Oh, please,” I say, enjoying it too. “If all you do is say why not, then you’re gonna get screwed.”

“You might get screwed anyway.”

“And I didn’t want to get screwed over on the flight, so I checked the fine print for hidden fees. It said the ‘cheapest airline for humans.’”

“Ah, that tracks now,” he says, with a tip of his forehead to the back of the plane before turning to his phone once more.

This puddle jumper is egalitarian when it comes to passengers. A couple of dogs are seat-belted in a few rows back, and in front of them, some cats travel in carriers. When I was boarding, I also spotted some metal crates in the back row.

I hope they don’t contain snakes. Indiana Jones and I have a lot in common, and neither of us likes slithery animals.

A dog barks, deep and booming.

“Sounds like a Great Dane. I hope he got two seats,” I say, tapping my fingers against the denim on my thighs.

That gets Nolan’s attention—the tapping. He looks away from his game and at me. “Are you nervous?”

I scoff. “No. C’mon. We’ve flown before. I usually just nap.”

“And you’re not sleeping now. So, I’ll ask again. Are you nervous?”

A cat behind us meows. Sounds like she’s saying meow-yes .

Stop reading my mind, cat.

It’s just this flight that’s rattling me. The incessant hum of the tube hurtling through the clouds. “Nah, I’m fine,” I say, even as a voice in my head whispers liar .

Nolan squeezes my thigh, an affectionate gesture that elicits... goose bumps.

Just what I didn’t need.

A dose of shivery tingles that make me think of...

Nope. Won’t go there.

“We’ll land soon,” Nolan reassures me. Then he offers me his phone. “Want to play?”

“No, I’ll just watch you play solitaire. Since that’s not creepy at all,” I say drily.

Another squeeze of my thigh. Another blast of sparklers along my skin. “Be a creeper, Em. Do it,” he urges.

I sigh, aggrieved, and watch as he goes back to moving cards like a solitaire shark.

A swipe here. A play there. I stare mindlessly, settling for any distraction. I am wound up more than usual, more than this plane trip warrants.

Maybe it’s because traveling with another person is strangely intimate. You learn things—like whether someone handles bumps in the road like a rickety old car or a smooth pair of wheels.

But don’t I already know Nolan’s style? We’ve flown together for the show a few times. A year ago, a food delivery app sponsored us for a month and sent us to Miami to review a ton of beach food trucks there.

In Florida, I discovered I’m the we-have-to-get-here-at-this-time person, while Nolan is the no-worries-it’s-all-good one.

All month, I made sure we didn’t miss a single stop for our sponsor.

Then on the last day on that trip, when traffic backed up on the Rickenbacker causeway and I was about to burst with worry over missing an appointment, Nolan found the perfect Jimmy Buffett tune to settle my nerves.

But he never played solitaire on that trip.

Is that why I’m jittery today? Because I didn’t know this about him till now? I know so many things, but not everything, of course. There are always new quirks to discover about a person.

Suddenly, this detail feels vital. “Have you always played solitaire?” I blurt out.

He finishes the game with a final swipe, giving a small fist pump as the screen fills with You beat the clock!

“Yes. I play it for luck,” he says.

“Have you always?”

“Used to play it when we traveled on family trips, like when we went to Jason’s championships and stuff. I joked that he won because I played solitaire before his games like a lucky ritual.”

That’s a sweet image, and it tugs at my heart, their closeness. “Did he believe you?”

Nolan shrugs with a smile. “When he was younger, he did.”

“He idolized you,” I say, smiling now too.

“Maybe. Anyway, I stopped playing a while ago. Just lost interest, I guess. But this morning, I remembered it once felt lucky to me, so I broke it out again.”

And I bet I know why. “You figured we could use some luck?”

His eyes lock with mine, those hazels flickering with unsaid words— isn’t it obvious we do? “Yeah,” he says aloud. “Since you’ve become even more superstitious lately, maybe together we can double our luck.”

I jerk my chin back. “You think I’ve gotten more superstitious?”

He clears his throat. “In the last few months, I’ve seen you pick up pennies on the street for good luck, stop to take pictures of rainbows—and now you avoid ladders too.”

“That’s just good sense. Ladders are dangerous.” I fiddle absently with the ladybug charm on my necklace.

His eyes drift to my throat, sweeping over the brushed metal on my skin, almost as if he were touching it. A flash of heat inconveniently spreads over my skin. “That too. Your ladybug. They’re a sign of luck. Maybe we’ll get lucky on this trip.”

That’s not why I wear the necklace, but I don’t dispel him of that notion. A plane isn’t the best place to talk about luck.

Or the first time we were in this city together.

That time a few years ago felt like the luckiest night ever. We hadn’t yet experienced the desperation that wanting something just out of reach can bring you.

Now, I feel desperate in too many ways.

And yeah, I’ve got my answer.

That’s why I’m a human espresso cup today. I want too many things.

“I hope we get lucky too,” I say, “with this chance we’re taking.”

A scratching sound blares through the speakers. There’s a pause, and I cock my head, waiting for more.

“Hello, ladies, gentlemen, boys and girls, and all creatures great and small. We’ve reached our cruising altitude, so let’s give a big Super Saver Airlines shout-out to Lance McGruber, my co-pilot. Today marks his first flight ever.”

Screw not being a nervous flier. I am entirely comprised of worry. I turn to Nolan. “What the...?”

His irises register curiosity right as the speaker crackles again.

“JK! JK!” says the voice over the speaker. “Lance can do this route with his eyes closed,” the man warbles. “In fact, he’s blindfolded right now.”

Nolan rolls his eyes. “It’s open mic night up front.”

“Evidently,” I say, the tension easing.

Maybe this is what I need. A good, old-fashioned distraction so my thoughts don’t stray to the past.

The present is all that matters.

“He’s been flying the Super Saver skies for twenty years. So, sit back, relax, and enjoy our special Super Saver snack service,” says the pilot.

Wait a sexy second. “No one told me there would be snacks,” I say to Nolan, latching onto this new intel.

“I didn’t know they were offering your favorite meal of the day,” he says.

Seriously. Snacks are life. I am shook. “Imagine if they have seaweed snacks, veggie chips, hummus and dip.” I sigh happily.

He laughs. “You’re adorable when you fantasize.”

This convo is much better than talk of luck, chances, and desperate hope.

In the aisle, a flight attendant carries a beverage tray slung around her neck like a ballpark vendor peddling beer.

I nod her way and whisper to Nolan, “I’m not only thinking of snacks. I’m also thinking of what we can do with them.”

He cackles with delight. “You. Me. Same wavelength.” He tries to point from his chest to mine but can hardly maneuver his arm. “Do we have room to shoot an episode?”

“We’ll make room. It’ll be an up-close-and-personal rating of the snacks.

” This is brilliant. Not only will the rest of the flight pass quickly, but I can edit the episode while he drives us around the city.

Then I won’t have to think about the fact that we’ll be sleeping down the hall from each other tonight.