Love the One You're With

  “Baby!” Layla called in her super-sweet voice. “Come meet the other half of Riled Up. Our band,” she clarified. “This is Riley. And Riley, this is Baby, who’s practically my new sister!”

  “We’ve met,” Baby said, shooting Riley a glance.

  “We actually just met in the magazine stand,” he explained, a little sheepishly. But Layla didn’t seem to notice the embarrassed flush that was rising in his cheeks.

  “Oh, cool. We’re gonna have fun this week.” Layla raised her eyebrows at both of them and Baby forced a smile back. The magazine suddenly felt heavy in her hand.

  “Here, we can switch tickets so you and Layla can sit together.” Baby coolly rummaged through her bag and yanked out her red ticket envelope. She ignored the hammering of her heart, instead concentrating on the small freckle at the top of Riley’s left ear. It almost looked like an earring. She hadn’t noticed that earlier, in the magazine stand.

  Not that it mattered anymore.

  up, up and away

  “Hey, it’s Avery. Our plane’s delayed, so I just wanted to say there’s still time to come with us if you change your mind. Apparently Layla’s bringing her boyfriend.” Avery lowered her voice into her phone as she continued her message on Jack’s voice mail. Just a few feet away Layla was practically smothering a gangly, dark-haired boy. Um, get a room?

  “Anyway, call me back if you get this.” Avery flipped her phone closed and walked toward the corner of the gate, far enough away from what seemed to be a Neil Diamond fan club, but close enough to hear boarding announcements. Hopefully, first class would be called soon. It was weird how Remington didn’t just have them wait in the Admiral’s Club or whatever, but it was probably just because he was traveling with six teenagers, like some sitcom.

  The Spoiled Bunch?

  “Oh, there you are, darling!” Her mom was wearing a large straw hat paired with a black wrap dress and multicolored leggings. “I know I’m being a mother hen, but I just want to make sure we all get on the plane together,” she fretted.

  “No worries,” Avery said agreeably. She slid her phone into her Marc by Marc Jacobs straw tote and dutifully followed her mom back to the entire row she’d commandeered with her mismatched collection of hemp bags.

  “Rows thirty-seven through fifty can board now,” intoned the screechy intercom voice. Instantly, people sprang to attention, as if the plane was about to take off immediately.

  “That’s us, troops!” Remington announced, slapping his hands against his knees and pulling himself to a standing position. He wore a pair of white linen pants and a white linen shirt, looking sort of like a monk. It was obvious Edie had picked out his outfit.

  “Really?” Avery asked in disbelief. They were flying coach? She hoped Remington was pulling one of those goofy-dad jokes. But he was leading Edie by the hand to the gate. “What?” Avery said, again, loudly. Owen walked by and offered a half-shrug, not bothering to take off his headphones.

  “I’m going to be sick,” Avery announced loudly to no one in particular as she walked down the Jetway. Not like she was being snobby, but Remington used to own an island! He gave away millions of dollars every year to fund art projects consisting of weird, ugly sculptures displayed in Brooklyn, and he couldn’t spring for first class?

  Better hope she doesn’t get a middle seat!

  Avery spotted Baby a few feet in front of her, holding a magazine open with her index finger. Avery sped up, wanting to commiserate with her sister. But instead of stopping, Baby marched quickly down the Jetway and through the tiny doorway of the plane.

  “Ticket?” the perky blond flight attendant asked, stopping Avery.

  “He has them.” Avery jutted her chin toward Remington.

  “Great! Just keep walking back!” The flight attendant flashed an ultra-fake smile as Avery stepped into the tiny cabin of the plane, which had three-seat rows on one side and two-seat rows on the other. It smelled like unwashed socks and wet wool.

  Ahead of her, Owen and Rhys were immersed in conversation, and Baby wordlessly sank into her window seat next to Layla. Layla’s boyfriend was kind of cute in that sort of pretentious intellectual way that Baby always loved. But instead of hanging out with Layla and her boyfriend, Baby had her arms crossed over her chest, her large vintage purple aviators pulled over her eyes. Weird. Maybe she was annoyed about the plane situation too.

  Avery glanced down at her ticket stub. If Rhys and Owen were in one of the double seats, and Baby, Layla, and her boyfriend were in one of the three-seat rows, who was she seated next to?

  “Are we neighbors?” Remington boomed from the row ahead. His six-foot-two frame was uncomfortably folded into the middle seat. Avery looked down and saw that she was assigned to the aisle seat next to him, her mother already seated by the window. Great.

  “Avery, I’m going to ask you to show some mercy on me. Switch?” he asked sheepishly, looking up from the clutter of Bose headphones, his BlackBerry, and a copy of the book The Fat Man in History. Avery hoped it was a metaphor and not some fetish or hobby.

  She nodded, her stomach sinking. It wasn’t her fault Remington couldn’t fit into his airplane seat. Already, this trip hadn’t quite lived up to her expectations.

  “Thank you.” Remington shuffled into the aisle to allow Avery room to squeeze into the ultra-cramped row.

  “Why are we traveling like this?” Avery whispered urgently as she poked her mom in her yoga-toned bicep. Edie flipped up the lilac-colored organic-fabric eye mask she was wearing.

  “Well, it’s not a long trip. I was looking online, and do you know the carbon footprint produced by just one private flight?” Edie’s eyes widened in disbelief.

  “I don’t care,” Avery said sulkily, looking straight ahead at the ugly pattern of the seat fabric in front of her. Couldn’t they just, like, donate money to some carbon emissions fund?

  “Besides, this is fun! Why be elitist?” Edie shook her head wildly as if to shake off the very idea. “I’m just going to sleep anyway.” She flipped the eyeshade back over her eyes and leaned back with a contented sigh.

  “A woman of many talents.” Remington nodded fondly over at Edie, who seemed to have already fallen asleep. She let out little birdlike whistles as she exhaled.

  “Yep,” Avery muttered. She pulled a copy of Vogue from her bag and flipped it open. Skirts, skirts, skirts! The text swam in front of her. All she wanted to do this week was spend as much time as possible in her bikini, anyway. She couldn’t wait to get out on the beach, margarita in hand, Bumble and Bumble surf spray tucked into her straw tote.

  The guy in front of her pushed his seat into a reclining position, bumping Avery’s knees. Avery accidentally-on-purpose banged her knee against the seat in annoyance and let out a loud sigh. Was it so important for him to recline right this second?

  She closed her eyes again as the engine whirred to life beneath them. She was always a little nervous about flying, and usually had to close her eyes and imagine something relaxing. Usually she thought of a Nantucket sunset, or a perfectly organized walk-in closet. Now, though, an image of Rhys sprang into her mind. Would he wear board shorts or Speedos on the beach? Speedos were sort of gross, but according to Owen, it was like a badge of honor for the swim team guys to wear their Speedos wherever and whenever possible. Owen used to wear them instead of boxers under his jeans on meet days back in Nantucket. Still, the idea of seeing Rhys in a Speedo made her feel shy and excited at the same time.

  So much for relaxing.

  Avery opened her eyes and flipped through her magazine. At least this was a short flight. “A drink, miss?” A spiky-haired, super-skinny male flight attendant looked down at her.

  “Tea with lemon, two Splendas,” Avery rattled off, looking guiltily at Remington. She really wanted to order a well-deserved I’m on vacation vodka tonic, but she couldn’t risk Remington thinking she was an alcoholic or something.

  “Hmmm, well, we have sugar, no Splenda. And we don’t have lemon.”
The steward shrugged, triumphantly handing her a tiny Styrofoam cup. “Pretzels?”

  “Do you have any fruit? Or a yogurt?” Avery asked, wrinkling her nose.

  “This isn’t a restaurant,” the steward responded loudly. “Here’s another pack of pretzels. I normally only give people one pack.”

  “Thanks.” Avery rolled her eyes as she gazed down at the two small foil packages the steward had flung on the plastic Formica tray in front of her.

  “I saw that eye-roll, young lady.” Remington closed his hands over her pretzels. He raised a salt-and-pepper eyebrow at her.

  “Sorry,” Avery huffed, feeling embarrassed but annoyed. Yeah, she was being a brat, and she knew it. But the fact that her mom had found someone with the same hippie-ish ideals as her made for a lot of craptastic experiences to come. She’d hoped Remington’s banker past would make for a cushy future, but apparently he was as annoyingly eco-chic as her mom.

  “I haven’t flown coach since eighty-eight,” Remington whispered confidentially. “But I thought ahead.” He leaned down and pulled a white-and-orange paper bag from his briefcase. “I’ve got bagels with chive cream cheese or lemon-zest scones. Your choice.”

  “Oh my God, thanks.” Avery gratefully grabbed a slightly crumbled scone from the bag, instantly feeling better.

  “I had my assistant get them this morning. I wish I could also get my assistant to persuade your mother to take my plane.” He shook his head ruefully, glancing over at a sleeping Edie. Her mouth was half open, her head resting against the window.

  “Your plane?” Avery raised one blond eyebrow. So Remington hadn’t totally lost touch with his former luxe lifestyle.

  You never can go back.

  “Yep.” Remington sighed as he pulled a bagel out from the bag and placed it on his own tray. “Maybe you can help persuade your mom to take it on the way back? I’m not doing this again.” Remington grinned as he took a bite of bagel.

  “Sure.” Avery nodded and smiled. It was so obvious that Remington was head over heels in love with her mother. It made her feel weird, but not for the reasons she’d thought it would. She honestly didn’t mind the fact that her mom was with a guy. What made her feel weird was wondering whether she’d ever feel that way about anyone.

  She glanced across the aisle. Rhys was hunched down over his iPod, his dark hair falling over his forehead. Avery quickly looked away, back down at her magazine, concentrating on her relaxing vision of the waves lapping the beach in Nantucket as the plane took off.

  Across the aisle, Owen shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable. He must have grown since the last time he’d flown coach, because his knees were banging into the blue seat in front of him. The plane was full, and he could just make out the dark tangle of Baby’s hair several rows ahead. Why was she sitting up there, with Remington’s daughter and her hipster boyfriend? It was as if they’d totally infiltrated their family.

  “Do you think Baby’s okay?” Owen asked Rhys, nodding ahead.

  “Huh?” Rhys glanced up from his iPod. He’d downloaded a season of Lost, but he had no idea what the fuck was going on.

  “What is Remington’s deal? Why is, like, his entire extended family coming on this trip? Can’t he just chill out?” Owen leaned back in his seat, jabbing his knees against the seat in front of him.

  “Hey!” A fat, red-faced man wearing an ill-fitting Yankees cap on his almost-bald head turned around and glared at Owen.

  “Sorry, man.” Owen shook his head. He took a sip of orange juice from the Styrofoam cup on the plastic tray in front of him. It sucked that the flight attendant had been such a hard-ass about alcohol. A couple mini bottles of vodka sounded really good right about now.

  “Dude, you want to talk?” Rhys pulled off his Bose headphones and glanced pointedly at his friend. He’d never seen Owen like this, and while a tiny part of him was sort of happy to see Carlyle being less than perfect, the other, better part of him wanted to help his buddy out.

  “Sorry, I’ll chill.” Owen unclenched his jaw. For as long as he remembered, it had always been the triplets and their mom. Now, all of a sudden, this guy was telling them where to vacation and how to get there. What the fuck?. “It’s just, they just started dating, and all of a sudden, we’re going on a family vacation. I feel like the next thing they’ll do is get married.” A shiver ran down Owen’s spine. Would they get married?

  What happens in the Bahamas, stays in the Bahamas….

  Rhys shrugged. “Dude, I know, it sucks. But maybe he’ll be cool once you get to know him,” he offered lamely.

  “Yeah.” Owen didn’t want to talk about Remington anymore. “Anyway, who cares, right? Fuck it,” he said with false conviction. “We’ll just do our own thing this weekend. Aka getting laid,” Owen finished.

  The spiky-haired steward who’d refused to serve them alcohol stopped mid-step and glared at them. “Please keep your voices down—some of our passengers are trying to sleep,” he hissed as he pushed his beverage cart further down the aisle.

  “Sorry.” Owen shrugged.

  “I can’t wait to meet some new girls,” Rhys said a little unconvincingly. He couldn’t stop sneaking glances toward Avery, who looked hot even when she was smushed into the middle seat, in coach.

  “Yeah, man. It’s going to be legendary!” Owen nodded. He needed to forget about his mom and her freaky-ass boyfriend. There was work to be done: His buddy needed to lose his V card.

  Ever since Owen and Kelsey had broken up, things had been almost back to normal between him and Rhys. But there were still tense moments, like when the topic of sex came up in the locker room, or Hugh Moore made some inappropriate comment about the time Rhys had walked in on Owen and Kelsey together. But if Owen helped Rhys find someone to lose it to, they could put it all behind them. They’d be on the same page, ready to go back to New York as equals. It was the perfect plan.

  As long as it doesn’t become a family plan.

  j needs a challenge

  Jack strode into Barneys later that morning, her brand-new only-available-in-France five-inch black suede Christian Louboutin ankle booties—which her mother had shipped to her in a fit of obvious maternal guilt—clacking loudly against the ultra-polished floor. Even though it was only 11 a.m., the aisles around the handbag displays surrounding the entrance were already buzzing with Eurotrashy tourists.

  She ignored the Balenciaga and Marc Jacobs displays and confidently made a left toward the elevator bank. She was on a mission, and that mission was to get ready for Operation: Do It, tomorrow night.

  Jack pushed the button firmly with her petal-polished finger. Now that she’d finally gotten her credit cards back from her father, after an embarrassing three months of being cut off, she had to make up for lost time. And of course, she’d come to Barneys, her favorite place on earth. When Jack was in fourth grade, she’d written a report on the children’s book From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, which was all about two kids who stay overnight in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Jack had written about how much better it would have been if the kids had spent the night in Barneys. The fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Gherke, whom everyone called Mrs. Jerk and whose hair was always styled in a dykey bowl cut, had made her redo the report. But sometimes Jack still wished she could get trapped at Barneys overnight.

  The door to the elevator opened and Jack stepped on, squeezing between several women wearing fur coats that doubled their body mass. Just as she pressed the door-closed button, two girls run-walked up to the elevator and shoved on.

  “Hey! You’re here. Why didn’t you tell us where you were?” Genevieve demanded. Jack could smell smoke on her breath.

  “I thought we were meeting outside,” Jiffy seconded. “Even though it’s freezing.” She theatrically pulled off her purple leather motorcycle gloves and blew on her fingers for warmth.

  “Sorry, guys. I forgot,” Jack said coolly, appraising her two friends. In truth, she wasn’t sure why she’d invited Gene
vieve and Jiffy to come with her. It wasn’t as if underwear shopping was exactly a group activity. Of course, back when they were thirteen or fourteen, they used to spend hours looking at the underwear displays at Barneys, daring each other to actually buy a La Perla bra or Cosabella thong. But now it was real.

  And even more fun than dress-up!

  “Obviously, you’re nervous,” Genevieve said condescendingly as she marched off the elevator and made a beeline for the rows of underwear and bras.

  “Thanks,” Jack said shortly, resisting the very immature desire to stick her tongue out at Genevieve’s back. Genevieve had lost her virginity to some C-list teen actor a couple weeks ago, when she’d been visiting her director dad in L.A. over Columbus Day weekend for the Teen Choice Awards. She was the first of Jack’s friends to have had sex and wouldn’t let the rest of them forget it.

  “So you’re really going to do it?” Jiffy asked loudly, stopping by a collection of ugly pink-and-black lace demi-bras.

  “Can I help you ladies?” a saleswoman asked, smoothly stepping in between Jiffy and the display. From her tone of voice, it was clear she wanted to kick them upstairs to the Co-op to giggle over Marc Jacobs handbags.

  “No, we’re fine.” Jack stalked over to a collection of soft cashmere pajama pants. They were boring, but at least she’d be out of the nosy saleslady’s earshot.

  “Honestly, I think lingerie is passé.” Genevieve sighed loudly as she gestured around the room. “I mean, it’s all coming off anyway. You should, like, come to the door just wearing a strategically tied bow. They have these really big gold ones at Kate’s Paperie. It’d be so sexy, because he’d be, like, unwrapping you.”

  Jack glared at her friend. Unwrapping her? Was she serious?

  She wandered over to a round, glass-covered display table and fingered a light blue bra and panty set. It was cute, but did it look too much like a bikini? She closed her eyes and tried to imagine her and J.P. finally doing it. She would play music, maybe something jazzy and Nina Simone–esque. And maybe she’d light candles, or set up some low, figure-flattering lighting. Strawberries and champagne were a must. But should she go slutty or girly? Cover up or show it all? Why was this so hard?