Marital Bitch(3)

We crowd around a rectangular table at Boston Beer Works and down our overpriced lagers. I’m onto my third and Lindsay and Darla have just finished their second and first, respectively. Empty glasses and three mostly empty pitchers crowd our table—the boys have spent a lot. Airport beer is not cheap.

We hear the pre-boarding call for Flight 1128, non-stop to Las Vegas, and Adam pays the bill. He won’t allow me to see it. I graciously thank him and try to ignore James’s dismay with the bill. He and Brad are formulating a plan to arrest whoever set the prices so high.

Finally, we board the Airbus A320, and get ourselves situated in first class. The plane has one aisle with two seats on each side. Our group takes up half of the first class cabin. Lindsay and Adam occupy seats 1A and 1B. James and Darla sit across the aisle in seats 1C and 1D. James is thrilled about the leg room, as he actually has some. Brad and I sit directly behind James and Darla.

The thing about first class is that you wait forever for everyone to board. While it provides for some excellent people-watching, the downside is that you also find yourself being watched. Brad sits in the aisle seat, and all of the female passengers who pass by offer him their best flirty smile, even the women who are old enough to be his mother. I do my best to ignore them, but it’s no use. I am strangely intrigued by their gawking at my Brad.

Okay, so he’s not really mine in that way, but he is my childhood best friend, so he is more mine than he is theirs. I sit and watch the various women who board the plane. Brad’s only real specification is that they have a curvy top half.

One woman who boards is particularly attractive—curvy and put together. Her dark hair hangs down her back and her light brown skin practically glows. She appears to be no older than late twenties. Her lips are full and pouty and I admire her smart business suit and the way it hugs her body. I notice Brad admire her as well, and when I look to her face to see if she’s noticed him, I realize that her eyes are fixed on me. I smile, feeling my face heat. Her deep green eyes are enchanting. Slowly, she walks past but not before Brad can give her a quick head nod: his lady-killer head nod. He couples it with a sexy smirk and a slight chin rub; but the beautiful woman doesn’t take much notice.

I allow myself the indulgence of following her with my eyes, until she disappears into coach. During my experimental college days I’d tried dating a woman—a Venezuelan woman in fact—but it never got past a chaste kiss and some handholding for me to realize it was a phase.

Settling back into my seat, I see Brad staring me down. He’s not happy with me. Women are a touchy subject between us after what happened with Heather. It was so awful we took to calling it The Heather Incident.

“What?” I ask, feigning nonchalance, but he isn’t buying it.

“Are you gonna ask her out?” His tone is clipped and I can’t really blame him. He wanted to marry Heather before everything went wrong, and he’s never really forgiven me for my role in their breakup, not that I’ve forgiven myself.

“It was one time, Bradley,” I snap, sounding much too like his mother. Finally, about five years ago, he stopped finding creative ways to call me a lesbian. Brad doesn’t care if any other woman on the planet likes women, but after The Heather incident, he most certainly cares if I do. I don’t want this to rip open old wounds, though it seems it has.

“Do me a favor, just move on, okay?” My patience is wearing thin with this topic. It was over ten years ago and a plethora of women have found themselves into his bed since. Bradley Patrick is no monk.

He quickly turns away from me in his seat, indicating that our conversation is over. I huff and pull out the cheesy vampire book I’ve been enthralled with. I let myself drift into the imaginary world, all the while imagining the male lead is sitting next to me.

We remain silent for the entire flight—neither one of us is willing to budge on this topic—which suits me just fine. I can only apologize so many times, and I will only allow myself to feel sorry for so long.

Brad seems content to be my friend when it suits him, but then at the slightest blow of the wind, he’s back to chastising me. One of us is going to have to demand some finality once and for all. Either we can be friends, or we can part ways, but he can’t continue on punishing me like this at will. I won’t stand for it. My birthday has officially started to suck.

Our arrival in Las Vegas is far less exciting than we had intended it to be. The shuttle ride to our hotel is silent. I heard their subtle commentary on the plane to one another. They miss their kids. Darla is on the verge of tears. Her youngest is only six months old. She nearly backed out this morning to stay home with him, but my parents wouldn’t hear of it. They are no doubt in baby heaven right now, having their grandkids solely to themselves.