Page 64 of Meet Stan

“Ivy?” he leaned forward while the flight attendants consulted with the pilot in the background. I’m sure they were trying to figure out what to do with the ‘therapy dog.’ “You have to say something.”

“I don’t know what I can say, Stan.” I dropped my gaze, tearing it away from his own. “I guess after pretending to be in love for so long, I’ve gotten it a little bit mixed up in my head.”

I looked him in the eyes again, and a sob escaped my clenched teeth. I wanted to believe him, to forgive him, so bad. But I knew I owed it to myself to say what I had to say.

“I just don’t know how much of what you said and did was real, and how much was an act,” I finished. My words seemed banal and stupid to my own ears.

“It was all real,” he said, holding my hand again. “It was all real, Ivy. I swear that it was. I never felt so, so golden as I did when I was with you. It was like no matter what, I couldn’t close so long as I had you with me.”

“What about the breakup? Was that real, too?”

“No, I didn’t want to go through with it,” he gasped. “You have to believe me. I wasn’t thinking clearly, all right? It took me a while to realize that I was in love with you.”

“Why?” The tears streamed down my eyes. A couple of passengers turned on the air vents due to Stan’s aromatic state. “Why did it take you so long? Why did you wait until the absolute last minute?”

“I never knew what love was before. I’d never experienced it.” His voice trembled ever so slightly. “I know now that what I feel is real, and that it’s love. I really love you, Ivy. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and no other.”

“Aww,” said the old woman in the peach-hued dress. “It’s so sweet.”

“Are they going to kiss, grandma?” asked the kid.

“Hey, nobody’s kissing anybody!” I snapped. I turned to Stan, feeling angry and flustered and flattered and like I wanted to both kill and kiss him at the same time. “Oh god, Stan, I just don’t know what to say.”

“Do you love me?”

“I—I’m not sure that’s relevant,” I said.

“Not relevant?” He blurted.

“Not relevant?” blurted the pilot.

“Do you fucking mind?” I sputtered to him and everyone else.

“No, I don’t mind at all, please continue,” he said.

“Never mind them, Ivy,” Stan said. He turned my face to meet his gaze. “Just look at me. Do you love me or not?”

“I don’t—this feels like an ambush.” I snapped. “God damn it, Stan. You were so good to me sometimes, and then you broke my heart. I wanted so bad for you to feel the same way that I did, but then you wanted to, to pull the trigger on the fake breakup, and you said that’s what you wanted—”

“I didn’t even know what I wanted then,” he said, his features blurry through my tears. “Now I do. Now I know exactly what I want. You.”

“Stan…” I sighed.

“Do you love me, Ivy?” He stood up, still holding my hand. “If you tell me that you don’t, I’m going to turn around and leave and never bother you again. I’ll take my dog and go home.”

The mongrel whimpered, and he reached down to pet its head.

“But if you, on the other hand,” he said, face lighting up with hope and joy. “If you say that you do love me, here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to get down on my hands and knees and beg you for another chance. And if you give me that chance, I’m going to spend every day of my life proving to you that it was the right decision. I want to love you, Ivy.”

He wound down, looking a bit sheepish. The plum-dressed lady sniffled. The jersey girl snorted.

“I’d wait until I saw the size of the rock before making my decision honey.”

“Seriously?” Stan sputtered, glaring in her direction. He shook his head, and turned back to face me. “Never mind. Do you love me, Ivy?”

I looked at him. I remembered how much it hurt when he ended our fake relationship. But I also remembered the good times. The great times. The extra steamy times.

I remembered the way he’d made me feel. Like I was the only woman in the entire world.

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