Page 3 of A Curvy Girl’s Hurricane Survival Guide

I hack once, twice, and the gum flies out into my palm. Mortifying. I’m gasping, tears streaming (from choking, not crying—mostly), and he’s still holding my shoulder as if I might keel over. I inhale deeply, and the warm smell of ginger and soap I noticed on him earlier hits me again, this time soothing me from the inside out while simultaneously making my heart race.

The plane shudders again, lighter this time, but enough to make me grip the armrest instinctively. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, face burning. “Thanks,” I mutter, my voice hoarse. “I’m fine. Really.”

He releases me slowly, eyes scanning my face. “You sure? That looked scary.”

I nod, crumpling the gum in a napkin. “Just… bad timing.”

He pulls a bottle of water out of his bag and hands it to me. “Here, take small sips.”

The cold plastic in my hand isn’t enough to distract me from his warm fingers brushing against my hand.

“What are you, a doctor?” I say, but take a drink from it gratefully.

He smiles and says, “Nah, nothing like that. I’m Sonny.”

I give a small wave and say “Cai” before unscrewing the bottle.

“You sure you’re good, Cai?” He looks like there’s genuine concern behind his eyes.

“Yeah. Thanks for…not letting me die on a plane,” I say with a shaky laugh.

“Would’ve been a dramatic way to go. You still have tears. Is that still from gagging, or… something else?”

I take a big swig of the water, small sips be damned, and answer him maybe too honestly; I don’t know why. Maybe it was the near-death experience. “Oh, probably a lot of things. My life’s a mess right now.” I wipe my face with my sleeve again, willing the tears to stop, and the look on his face seems to be urging me to keep going. “My boyfriend went to Puerto Rico for like a week, and now he says he’s staying. It’s going to be ok. I’m going to win him back. He’s like ‘the one,’ you know?”

“You must love him a lot, huh?” he says.

I hesitate for a second. Sure, I love him. I hadn’t stopped to consider how much I love him. I know I don’t want him to end things; isn’t that the same thing?

I nod, and he adds, “So why’s he staying in Puerto Rico?”

I swallow hard, not wanting to tell him. “Umm… I’m not like 100% sure.”

“He didn’t explain?”

“Well, no, not exactly…”

“You didn’t ask?” he looks at me like I’ve grown a second head.

I can feel my face redden.

“I mean, I did, but I don’t know; he didn’t respond. The texts didn’t go through. Something bad must’ve happened.”

I don’t really believe that. I can totally envision him just getting annoyed and blocking me. It wouldn’t even be the first time. Trevor was quick to avoid people, conversations, and things he finds annoying.

When Trevor and I first met at a bar about a year and a half ago, I was avoiding my coworkers, while he was surrounded by a large group, all hanging on his every word. Despite all that, he chatted me up. Asked to go home with me. The high from him choosing me that night still lingers.

Sonny pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay, so this guy ghosts you over text, then radio silence, and your plan is to fly to another country and… what? Show up with a boombox and a sign?”

When he puts it like that, it all sounds really bad. But he doesn’t get it. He chose me. So what if I have to work harder to keep him? That’s what love takes, right? I just need to remind him. “No, you don’t get it. You don’t know him. And technically Puerto Rico isn’t another country.”

He raises an eyebrow, fighting a grin. “Fair, but when he looks at you like you’re the crazy one for showing up, are you going to hit him with the ‘technically not international’ defense?”

“Or,” I shoot back, “he’ll be so impressed by my grand romantic gesture he’ll forget he ever wanted to leave. How about that?”

He puts his hands up in surrender. “Touché. You win the optimism award.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t keep my voice from cracking on the last word. “It’s not optimism. It’s… persistence. And like fighting for what you want. Guys like that, right?