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At first I think it’s nerves, which would make sense, considering the many miles I’m traveling to meet a strange man whom I’m supposed to marry. Then, I realize it’s something entirely different: I’m excited.
Why should I be? I wonder crankily, staring at the passing clouds beyond my tiny window. Getting married could put my singing career on hold. It could mean the end of Lolly Popz, or at least my involvement with them. It could signal the end of my independence, my autonomy, my ability to do what I want, when I want. It could be the end of late nights in bars and late mornings at brunch, and the beginning of many sexless, dispassionate years.
It’s not like you’re having any sex, anyway, my inner critic tells me. I sigh. I put dating on hold about a year ago, so it’s been quite the dry spell.
But the excitement prevails, fizzy like soda in my chest. I probe it a little, trying to sort through this unexpected emotion. I’m kind of excited, I guess, to visit Snow Valley. I googled it this morning and it looks quaint and picturesque, like a town in a Hallmark movie. I’m excited to meet a handsome man who is hopefully excited to meet me. And I’m excited, I think, at the prospect of the future--not sexless, dispassionate years after all, but fun ones, exciting ones, maybe even loving ones. Maybe this is a man I’m going to lose my heart to.
My heart pounds a little in my ears at the thought. I haven’t been in love for a long time. The last man I loved cheated on me, and the relationship ended painfully. I still have some scars on my heart from that. Still, like Sarah told me, I do love being in a relationship and having someone to laugh with, cry with, and be with. It’s just been so long that I tend to forget.
For the rest of the flight, I give up on sleeping or reading my magazine and just listen to music, watching the clouds go by. Everything feels dreamy and unreal, as if I’m in a movie. Even the man snoring loudly in the seat next to me can’t pop my bubble of strange contentment. I’ve decided that I’m really going to give this a chance, and see what happens. I can always get back on a plane to New York if it doesn’t work out. What have I got to lose?
After a while, I open my eyes, not even realizing that I had closed them in the first place. The snoring man is gone. With a jolt, I realize that, actually, everyone is gone. A flight attendant is smiling pointedly at me.
“We’ve arrived in Snow Valley, ma’am,” she says through her grinning teeth.
“Oh, shit!” I exclaim, gathering up my water, chips, blanket, magazine, phone, and purse as if I’ve been living on the plane for weeks. “I’m so sorry, I must have dozed off and not realized it.”
“Happens to the best of us,” the flight attendant says. She helps me bring down my bags from the overhead compartment and holds out a trash bag for my water bottle and chips.
“Thank you!” I say as I hobble off the plane with my bags in tow. I give her one last wave, take a deep breath, and proceed down the long tunnel leading to the gate.
With every step, I feel my excitement build. If I didn’t have so many damn bags, I’d be sprinting down the tunnel like a kid entering Disney World. The man I’m going to meet is named Matt--that’s all I know about him. I want to know more. I need to know more.
I finally emerge from the tunnel into the airport itself. I cast my gaze around, looking for any man who looks like he’s looking for me. I’m nearly bowled over by an impossibly-attractive man in a well-cut suit, standing with his hands in his pockets like he’s an Armani model. He’s tall and fit, black-haired and blue-eyed, his features chiseled as if from marble. My heart sinks a little. There’s no way that he’s the man I’m looking for.
But there’s no one else around…
“Jenna?” the ridiculously beautiful man says.
Holy shit, I think. He’s looking for me!
I throw my hand into the air and wave it madly. I’m in such shock that I stumble over the words as I say, “You must be Matt!”
He smiles as I walk towards him on legs made of jelly. He’s even more handsome up close, which I didn’t think was possible. He holds out his hand and I place mine in it, hoping he doesn’t notice that it’s trembling.
Is it just me, or does something Happen, with a capital ‘H’?
My hand sizzles a bit and my heart flutters. I shake my head and laugh a little as I withdraw my palm. My heart is drumming insistently in my ears, and my cheeks are heated, but I roll my eyes inwardly. You’re being dramatic as always, Jenna, I tell myself. But when I meet his gaze, he’s looking at me curiously, as if he, too, felt something when our hands touched.
