Pretenders (Firsts and Forever 3)

“Please don’t feel bad,” I said, as I squeezed his hand. “I did this to myself. You tried to warn me about keeping my distance, and I didn’t listen. But hey, it seems Wes was able to do what I couldn’t.”

“Do you want to call this off and give Wesley his money back? It’s not too late to tell him you’ve changed your mind.”

“No way. This trip is going to be hard enough on Wes without me abandoning him at the last moment. Besides, I’ve got this. Now that I know where we stand, I can be all business.”

That wasn’t even sort of true, but I hated the thought of Jasper worrying about me. I gave him what I hoped looked like a reassuring smile and changed the subject with, “So, what’s in store for you this upcoming week?”

“The usual. I’m working almost every day, and I’m starting a new diorama, which I’m excited about.”

He was an amazing artist who created fanciful little worlds contained in small boxes, but he didn’t consider it art. He just called it a hobby. I knew it was something special, though. And while I was glad he had a creative outlet, I still worried about him. He didn’t have many friends, and I was often the only reason he actually went out and did things, instead of hiding in the apartment.

“I want you to check in a lot while I’m gone,” I said, “and I promise to do the same. I checked, and San Francisco is three hours ahead of Bora Bora. That means you can message me as late as you want, seriously. If it’s two a.m. here, it’ll only be eleven p.m. there.”

“Okay, good to know.”

We chatted for a few more minutes, until my phone beeped. I glanced at the message and sent a quick one in return before saying, “Wes is downstairs.”

Jasper walked me to the door and gave me a huge hug as he said, “Be safe, Ash. I hope you end up having a great time.”

“I’m going to try my damnedest.” I kissed his cheek before letting go of him, and then I flashed him a smile and exclaimed, “Holy shit, I’m going to Bora Bora!”

He laughed at that, and we said our goodbyes before I slung my backpack over my shoulder and wheeled the suitcase out the door.

Getting fifty pounds of luggage down three flights of stairs was an ordeal, and by the time I arrived on the sidewalk, I was sweaty and flushed. Wes was waiting beside a black town car, and he rushed toward me and exclaimed, “You should have said yes when I asked if you wanted help with your luggage!”

“No need. I had it.” I started to heave the bulging bag into the open trunk, but our driver insisted on taking over so I stepped out of the way.

While the man played trunk Tetris with all the luggage, I compared my outfit to what Wes had gone with and realized we were once again totally mismatched. He was wearing one of his many white button-down shirts, dark gray khaki-style trousers, and a pale gray sweater vest—minus a bowtie, which probably meant this was his version of dressing super casual. Meanwhile, I was in white sweatpants that I’d tie-dyed with hot pink and purple, my purple Converse sneakers, and an oversized hot pink sweatshirt with a kangaroo pocket and a hood. I needed to be comfortable if I was going to spend ten hours on a plane.

Maybe the color palette I’d gone with was a bit much though, especially considering my hair. I’d had a friend of mine help me cut and color it the day before, so it was extra-vivid. I’d gone very short on the sides and back. Then we’d left that part my natural blond color and just re-dyed the longer hair on the top of my head lavender. I liked to think it looked a bit punk rock, but it might have actually made me look like some sort of exotic bird. Well, whatever.

Once we were settled into the back seat and on our way, Wes smiled at me and said, “It’s nice to see you, Ash. How’ve you been?”

Oh hell. He was going with this genteel, super-polite thing. It was probably the way he spoke to his parents’ friends, or to very small children.

But come on, I was from the south. I could bury you in politeness, dig you up, and bury you again. “I’ve been wonderful, Wesley, thank you for asking. And yourself?”

“I’ve been well, thanks. I like your haircut. It’s very becoming.”

“Thank you. I appreciate the compliment.”

For fuck’s sake. Was this how we were going to spend the next nine days?

We had a long-ass wait once we got to SFO and checked in, because Wes was one of those people who actually arrived a solid three hours early for an international flight. Of course he was.