Page 140 of Ripped & Shipped
I stand on the curb, watching Chris drive away, and then I go through the whole process of checking my bag and walking through TSA. My flight’s running on time and I’m at the gate sitting across from a family of three. Dad, Mom, and daughter who looks to be around five or six.
The little girl is leaning on her dad’s arm. He’s reading something, but he’s got his other arm around her and he’s rubbing her back absentmindedly while he reads. The mom has her kindle out. They look happy—whole. I keep glancing around, trying to focus on anything but them. My eyes drift back to them regularly.
Our flight is called to board. The little girl gathers her backpack and walks to the gate between her parents. They enter the gangway before me. When we take our seats, it turns out they are in the two seats next to mine, and the dad is across the aisle from us. I asked for a window seat since I never fly. I think the last flight I took was maybe seven or eight years ago when I went to visit Meg in Pennsylvania.
“Mommy, I’m hungry,” the girl says with a little whine to her voice.
The mom leans in. “We’ve got snacks. Let’s wait until take off and we can see what we brought. Okay?”
The little girl scrunches her forehead, but she nods.
She looks over at her dad. He smiles so warmly. Then he looks up at the mom and they exchange this glance that’s conspiratorial in the best of ways—like they’re in this together. A parenting team.
I try not to be so blatant as I watch them.
Once we’re in the air, the mom produces a snack and a coloring book. The girl lowers her tray and colors happily while she eats. She holds her picture up occasionally to her dad. He beams like she’s the next Michelangelo. She tells him about every detail of her drawing, and his eyes stay fixed on her the whole time. She’s his delight, you can tell.
The mom reads her Kindle, but occasionally says something softly to her daughter.
I eventually lose interest in snooping on this family, so I turn my attention to putting together a post with a picture of me on the plane along with a few I snapped in the terminal before takeoff. I paid the extra ten dollars for in-flight wifi. I mean, duh. That’s a no-brainer. If I can be online while I fly, win!
Once my post is live, I scroll through pictures of me and Chris on my feed. There we are kissing across my island, sitting on the curb after the porch fire, holding hands in my back yard, doing yoga, at the reservoir, out to eat … I reread comments about us. I can feel the soft smile on my face. It makes my eyes feel misty. No one has ever stepped up for me like Chris has.
He’s one of a kind.
CHAPTER46
Ella Mae
We landafter eight California time. Dusk obscures my view through the airplane window. The entire city of Los Angeles sprawls out in every direction until it hits the shoreline, and my eyes are drawn out over the ocean where the sun dips at the horizon.
While I’m standing at baggage claim, I notice two younger women, probably college-age, whispering to one another and watching me. This is the good kind of whispering. Finally, they walk over.
“Are you …” one starts in and then she blushes.
The other one takes over. “Are you Fab-U-lous Ella Mae?”
“That’s me!” I strike a little pose even though I’m travel-weary.
“OH MY GOSH!” the shy one gushes. “Can we … would you … can we get a selfie with you? I’m dying.” She fans her face. “I can’t believe it’s really you. I’m such a fan. Oh my word.” She turns to her friend. “I’m freaking out. Stop me from freaking out. I’m making a complete fool of myself.”
“You’re adorable. Don’t worry,” I assure her.
“I’ve followed you since I was sixteen,” she says. “You taught me so much about fashion, beauty—and just life.”
She’s got stars in her eyes when she looks at me.
“We’re both hugely devoted superfans,” the other girl says. She rattles off their insta-handles just so I’ll know who they are.
We huddle up and the girls take selfies. We do duck lips and peace signs, and then they stand gawking at me a little longer. In a city where nearly six out of every hundred people are famous, I can’t believe I’ve just been treated like a celebrity. I’ll take it. Considering the stress of what I’m about to walk into this weekend, a little extra fan-crushing is just the boost I needed.
I pick up my rental car and drive the twenty-five minutes to my hotel in Santa Monica. Drake continued to offer me the room at his house in Malibu right up until a few days ago. The man is certainly persistent.
Even though I think Chris is being overly cautious about Drake, I’m not throwing prudence to the wind and staying with a near stranger when I’m traveling alone over two thousand miles from my hometown. I may have spent an afternoon with Drake in Columbus, but I don’t know him well enough to be his houseguest.
I fall back onto the hotel queen bed. The view out my window contains the whole skyline, littered with lights. I’m one of millions here. A dot. A speck. Easily forgotten or overlooked. But to those two girls at the airport, I’m someone. And, most of all, I matter to Chris. He’d notice if something happened to me. I picture him going allDie Hardon whoever did something to hurt me, and I smile.
Despite the overwhelming urge to crawl under the covers and let sleep overtake me, I send Meg, Mom, and Chris quick texts to let them know I made it and I’m settling in for the night. They each answer separately, telling me to have fun, be careful, and best of all, from Chris,I love you, Boots.
