The Paradise Problem (18)

Anna frowns. “Why’s that?”

“Because I told them you’re flying in from Cambodia.”

She waits for me to say more and when I don’t, she laughs. “Why’s that?”

“I needed a reason why we couldn’t fly with my parents on the family plane.”

Her eyes go round. “The fam—” Anna shakes her head. “You know what? Never mind. Of course you have a plane.” Straightening, she asks, “So, why was I in Cambodia? Photography? Fabric design?”

I roll my lips between my teeth, inhaling a deep breath. This probably won’t go over well. “You were there as part of a medical school course.”

Her mouth shapes out a few sounds before she manages to speak. “This is why you were freaking out about me changing my major! Oh my God, West, they think I’m in medical school?”

“In my defense, it wasn’t a lie when we knew each other. I just embellished a little.”

“A little? You have me studying in Cambodia.”

I hesitate but know I should just get it over with. “They think you’ve just finished your third year.”

“West, there’s a reason I switched to fine arts. I was a solid C-minus student in every premed class. I barely know what temperature is considered a fever.”

I can only hope she’s being dramatic, but either way, this is going to be a shit show, and I can only blame myself. I reach for the handle on the bathroom stall, telling her quietly, “Fortunately, you have thirty hours to learn.”





Seven


LIAM


Once, when we were roommates, Anna flew to Seattle with a friend. It had been her first time on an airplane, and she struggled so much navigating the travel website that she brought me her laptop at midnight and asked for help. I finished the transaction for her, prebooked the car to the airport, and then quietly tracked the ride the day she left to make sure she got there okay. When she got home, she made a point of thanking me for the help. Apparently, the trip itself was fine, but the highlight for her had been flying on an airplane.

Even if it was a spectacular flight to Seattle, I’m betting that experience is nothing like this one, where we each get a small pod with a fully reclining seat and a TV screen that extends on a long, automated arm, controlled by a remote. I watch her push every button on her seat and giddily open every gift bag to reveal a sleeping mask, slippers, pajamas, and all manner of toiletries.

“Can we live here now?” she asks, tugging the sleeping mask on and letting it sit over her forehead. She pulls out a bottle of hand lotion and squirts a thin line down her forearm, happily rubbing it in. “This seat is better stocked than my bedroom and bathroom combined.”

“Trust me, you’ll be more than ready to get out of that seat when we land in Singapore.”

A female flight attendant comes around with a tray of bubbly wine. “Would you like some prosecco before takeoff?”

“How much is it?” Anna asks, and the woman laughs sweetly like Anna is joking.

“It’s free, Green,” I murmur, my stomach sinking with the realization that we should have been practicing for this charade for a lot longer than the thirty hours we have until we reach Pulau Jingga. Of course she wouldn’t be accustomed to any of this.

Anna’s face lights up. “Free? Oh, hell yes then!” She takes the flute and holds the bubbles to the light. “West, this is so fancy.” She sits back in her seat and looks around. “You’ve flown a lot, right?”

I decline a glass of prosecco and look back over at Anna. “A fair amount.”

“What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever seen someone do on the plane?”

“I sat next to someone who was giving themselves a pedicure.”

“That person deserves jail time.” She brings the glass to her lips, taking a tiny sip. “Mmmmm.” Anna turns to meet my eyes. “And by the way, it’s anything over ninety-nine.”

“What’s that?”

“A fever,” she says, taking another sip.

“Okay. Well. The island has a physician in residence so you should be fine. I’m sure your skills won’t be needed.”

“That’s good because I don’t really have any unless someone breaks a leg and wants me to paint them a new one.”

It’s quiet for a moment and I close my eyes, leaning my head back against my seat.

Her voice comes out echoing, as if she’s speaking the words directly into her prosecco: “I’ve never been a girl for hire before.”

I sit up again, feeling the need to address this misunderstanding. “Okay, I realize that’s not what you were asking for help with in the restroom, but you do know that I don’t… I’m not thinking we’re going to… you know.”

Anna smirks at me. “Are you trying to say the word sex aloud, Dr. Weston? You’re saying you’re not expecting sex?”

I feel the shifting of a few passengers around us as they turn our way. “Of course not,” I whisper.

“I appreciate that. And I’m not for sale in that way.” She pauses and then grins at me. “But for two hundred thousand—”

“Anna.”

“I’m kidding! God, lighten up.” Careful of her nails, she gingerly pulls out a pencil and a thick sketchbook. As she flips through it, I catch flashes of drawings, and a handful of vivid watercolors. Coming to a stop, she smooths a hand over the blank page and looks up at me expectantly. “I have thirty hours to learn everything I need to know about being a med student married to a bajillionaire. Let’s start with your family. Tell me about your mom.”