Lying, cheating, heartbreakingly too handsome for his own good, and gone too soon, Matt.
My first love. My first heartbreak. My first lesson in how some guys are just assholes.
I take a few minutes to get comfortable and I fish a bottle of water out of my oversized purse. Normally I’d be doing a little more people watching, but I’m kind of in a reflective and maybe even somber mood. Matt was dead and it felt weird. After a contentious breakup at nineteen, we had actually become friends. We hadn’t seen or spoken to each other in several years, but we had the same friends, and his name always seemed to come up whenever I asked any of my friends what was new. It was typically, “You won’t believe who Matt’s dating,” or “Matt got arrested,” or the most common, “So Matt got caught sleeping with….”
Yeah, he wasn’t a great guy. He wasn’t even an okay guy.
Fine, he was the worst, but it still feels wrong that he’s gone. Thirty is too young. Ever since I got the news, all I could think of was how I wasn’t done yet—not with Matt, I was definitely done with him a long time ago. No, I wasn’t done with life.
Maybe that’s why I’m struggling so much with this eulogy.
And maybe my own current life and writer’s block.
You never know when your time is up, so do I want to spend that time doing something I don’t love? Living in places I’m not crazy about? Merely existing in a life that only makes fictional characters happy? Writing books I’m not passionate about? Dating guys who are just okay, but never the one?
Ugh. I’m a mess. Lord help my friends because I have a feeling I’m going to be a handful.
If I ever get to leave Denver.
I stare at a blank screen for far too long, and when I look up, I can see that it’s already past our scheduled boarding time. I don’t panic yet because…well…okay, I mildly start to panic. Vanessa is supposed to pick me up at the airport when I land in Raleigh, so I should probably start warning her now.
Liv: Hey! It’s me! My connection is delayed. I’ll keep you posted so you don’t end up circling the airport!
She replies almost immediately because that’s just who she is.
Van: I’m on the app, so I saw that. It doesn’t look like a long delay. Yay!
Van: Relax and I’ll see you soon!
Okay, that’s done. And while my phone is in my hand, I decide that the eulogy will have to wait because I’m too distracted. Instead, I decide to scroll social media mindlessly before switching over and seeing what’s new in the news and even throw in a few Buzzfeed quizzes just for shits and giggles.
“Flight 2217 with service to Raleigh-Durham will begin boarding shortly.”
Silently, I say a prayer of thanks and begin getting myself organized. I stand and stretch, hauling my giant purse over my shoulder. I scan the area, already bracing for whoever might think about trying to take my seat. Obviously, there’s no way I can really tell, but it doesn’t stop me from mildly glaring at everyone while rolling my carry-on behind me, inching my way toward where the line will be. I’m already feeling crowded by others who are just as eager to finally get on board, but I do my best to look unfazed by all of it. Within minutes, we’re all in motion and I don’t breathe freely until my carry-on is in the overhead bin, my purse is tucked under the seat in front of me, and I am in my seat with my seat belt fastened.
“Excuse me.”
Son of a bitch…
I’m ready to launch into a tirade, but when I look up, the guy looking back at me seems almost apologetic.
And handsome.
“Is this your suitcase up here? The navy blue one?” he asks quietly, deep, soulful brown eyes staring straight into my soul.
I nod because I’m almost mesmerized by this person.
“Would it be okay if I turned it on its side? I didn’t want to just assume it was okay to manhandle your luggage.” Now he gives me a boyish grin and I’m suddenly regretting my four a.m. comfortable clothes choices while I try to casually fix my hair.
“Um…yeah. Sure. That’s fine,” I say, hating how dry my mouth suddenly is—like my tongue is suddenly too large for my mouth.
“Thanks.” He stretches and I’m met with a very nice view. His sweater rises slightly and reveals a tantalizing glimpse of some rock-hard abs.
I’m suddenly flustered and don’t know what to do with myself. When he sits beside me and smiles, do I smile back? No. No, that would be the normal thing to do. Instead, like an idiot, I turn and busy myself with my earbuds and laptop, more determined than ever to write that damn eulogy.
I suck at small talk; I know this about myself. And I particularly suck at small talk with strangers I’m seated next to on planes. And handsome ones? Yeah, I don’t even want to get into it. So, rather than embarrassing myself, I opt to simply get busy.
At least, that’s the plan.
