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I looked Lars dead in the eye. “Would you?” I asked. “If it were you?”
“Er,” he said. “Well, no. Probably not.”
“Hey.” Ephrain Kleinschmidt glared at us in the rearview mirror. Ephrain had gotten out from behind the tractor-trailer and was making serious time along the highway now. “I’m not turning around. We’re almost there.”
“I’m not calling him, Lars,” I said. “Not unless I have to. I mean, Arwen wouldn’t call Aragorn.”
“Who?”
“Princess Arwen. She wouldn’t call Aragorn. Something like this requires a BIG GESTURE, Lars. I’m no Arwen. I haven’t saved any hobbits from peril or outraced any Ringwraiths. I already have a lot of strikes against me—I acted like a snotty jerk, I kissed another guy, AND I haven’t made any particularly valuable contributions to society…not like Michael will, when his robotic surgical arm revolutionizes heart surgery as we know it. I’m just a princess.”
“Wasn’t this Arwen just a princess?” Lars wanted to know.
“Yes. But her hair didn’t look as stupid as mine does right now.”
Lars looked at my head. “True.”
I couldn’t even get offended. Because when you’re already at rock bottom, nothing hurts anymore.
“Plus,” I added, “Arwen never tried to keep Aragorn from completing his quest, the way I tried to keep Michael from completing his. Arwen played a crucial role in the destruction of the One Ring. What have I ever done?”
“You built houses for the homeless,” Lars pointed out.
“Yeah, so did Michael.”
“You got parking meters installed in Genovia.”
“Big whoop.”
“You saved the Genovian bay from killer algae.”
“No one cares about that but the fishermen.”
“You got recycling bins installed all over the school.”
“And bankrupted the student government in doing so. Face it, Lars: I’m no Melinda Gates—donating millions of dollars to help eradicate malaria, the biggest health crisis facing the globe, causing over a million children to die needlessly every year, just from a lack of a three-dollar mosquito net. I’m really going to have to start working on becoming something special if I’m going to hang on to Michael. I mean, if he’ll even take me back after this.”
“I think Michael likes you the way you are,” Lars said, grabbing the handle of the passenger door to keep from sliding over and crushing me as Ephrain Kleinschmidt swerved into the exit lane.
“He DID,” I said. “Before I blew it by dumping him. And kissing his sister’s ex-boyfriend right in front of him.”
“True,” Lars said.
Which is, in a way, one of the reasons I love Lars so much. You don’t have to worry about him saying anything just to make you feel better. He always tells the truth. As he sees the truth, anyway.
“What airline?” Ephrain Kleinschmidt wanted to know.
“Continental,” I said. I had to hang on to the safety strap to keep from being hurled from one side of the backseat to the other. “Departures!”
Ephrain put his foot on the accelerator.
Can’t write anymore. Fear for my life.
Friday, September 10, JFK International Airport, limo shelter
Well. That really didn’t work out the way I’d hoped it would.
I’d really hoped that what would happen was, I’d walk into the airport and see Michael standing in the security line. I would call his name and he would turn around and see me, and duck out of the security line and come over, and I would tell him how sorry I was for being such a total ass, and he would forgive me instantly and wrap me in his arms and kiss me and I would smell his neck and he would be so moved he’d decide to stay in New York.
