I very seldom have regrets in life.

Even when I took part in the hot wings competition in high school and nearly had to go to the emergency room after eating the habanero one, I still had no regrets.

Even during my Freshman year of college, after I got caught painting a scene from the movie Fight Club on the building where they hosted the Peace & Happiness Club, regret never reared its ugly head.

But now, as I sit in this torture device known as a Basic Economy airplane seat, and stare at the last few messages I sent to Boxer Briefs, the heaviness of regret overtakes my limbs.

Why the hell did I bring up meeting in person?

Was I having an aneurysm of some sort? Or maybe I was put at gunpoint and just don't remember it? Why am I deliberately trying to ruin this amazing friendship we have going on? It's been twenty four hours since I sent that message and he still hasn't responded yet. I can't believe I didn't think for one second that he may not ever want to meet me for real.

At first I thought the same things he's probably thinking right now: meeting in person changes things, it'd be too weird, and not knowing what each other looks like is the only thing making this exciting.

But now, after really getting to know him more, and feeling all kinds of things when he sent me those paint brushes, everything is changing. My heart gallops in my chest every time I get that little message notification popping up on my screen, and that's something that has never happened to me before...with anyone.

I'm so curious to find out his real name and what he looks like. And I want to hear his smooth voice again, especially after these past couple of months of not fully remembering what he sounds like on the phone.

A couple of weeks ago I almost asked him if he wanted to FaceTime, late at night and after my shower, when I was changing into the gray underwear he inadvertently gave me. But the thought smothered me like a pillow directly to the face. What would he think if he saw me? Would he take one look and regret ever spending a minute of his time with me? Has he built up this image in his head of what I look like and anything other than that would be a sour disappointment?

Oh God, I'm getting way too invested. I need to chill out. As soon as we land and I get cell service back, I'm going to tell him I was kidding.

I take a deep breath in and stare out of the oval window beside me. We're somewhere over the midwest and all I see is a blanket of clouds lit up by the bright afternoon sun. I settle back in my seat, the low hum of the plane's engine like a sobering glass of water.

Nothing can or will ever happen with Boxer Briefs. Not only does he live across the country, we agreed to keep everything strictly platonic and virtual, and I don't have the mental space for anything else.

"Who are you texting?" My sister Erika pulls me from my thoughts, calling over the large man with crossed arms that sits between us in this three-seater row. She pushes her pink headphones down to her shoulders and smoothes out her pin straight blonde hair.

I quickly lock my phone and tuck it between my thighs. "I'm not texting anyone. There's no Wifi."

"There is Wifi, you just have to pay for it. I have it for the flight. Do you need to use my phone to text Dean?"

Guilt itches at my skin. I haven't told her that Dean and I broke up. I haven't told anyone except for Boxer Briefs. I meant to say something, but with everyone so focused on their own lives, I didn't want to cause any unnecessary concern. Once I'm able to fully land back on my feet with work, I'll start telling people.

"No, I'm good. Thanks."

"How's the job hunt going?" she asks as she starts applying a hot pink bullet of chapstick.

The man between us shifts in his seat and sighs. "Did you want to switch spots so you guys can sit together?" he asks with clearly masked annoyance.

"No thanks," my sister says sweetly before rubbing her lips together. "I like the aisle and my sister likes the window."

I smile apologetically at him. I need this seat to sleep as we've been up since the butt crack of dawn. The man simply nods curtly before leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

"Did anything ever pan out with that restaurant that wanted a mural done?" she continues our conversation as she pulls out her moisturizer.

"No. They never called me back."

Deep in thought, she starts rubbing her hands with the cream. A unique eucalyptus aroma wafts over to my side. The man in the middle briefly opens his eyes and rubs at his nose.

"Hmm, that's too bad." She holds up the hand cream bottle. "Want some?"

"Yeah, actually. It smells amazing."

"It's this new product we have at work." Erika hands over the small bottle and dives excitedly into the history of how the scent was made. If there is anyone who could write an encyclopedia about skincare and makeup it's Erika.

I'm about to hand it back but accidentally drop it on Middle Seat Man's lap. He startles up and looks down as I say, "Oh, shit, sorry!" All three of us go to grab the small bottle now resting on his crotch.

"I got it," he says gruffly and lifts it up. "Actually, I'm going to use the facilities." He gestures for Erika to stand up and she lets him pass while taking back the cream.

Erika leans over the armrest facing me. "I meant to tell you—I was looking at your Instagram the other day, and I really think you need a rebrand. It'll really help get yourself out there more. Right now, your page lacks cohesion and we don't get a real sense of what you bring to the table. People look for that sort of stuff when hiring."

"All I post is my art, I think that speaks for itself. If they like my art then they'll want to hire me."

"True. But the page doesn't say really anything about who you are and what it would be like working with you. And I love everything you put out but to be honest it's a bit all over the place. What do you want to be known for? The funny girl who paints comedic art? Or the whimsical feelings girl who paints abstract nature things?"

I purse my lips. I've gotten that feedback before, that I need to pick one thing and be really good in that area, but the truth is I like a bit of everything. I paint based on my mood whether that be a dark satirical piece, or a field of lilies and butterflies. "I like to paint everything. And there's a bit of something for everyone."

"If you want to appeal to everyone you won't find anyone. It's the basic principle of brand building."

I sigh. The thought of pigeon-holing myself to one thing feels suffocating. Conforming myself to anything goes against my natural inclination. It's like mixing oil and acrylic paint, not a good combo. If used, the artwork degrades over time.

"I'll think about changing things. But I'm good for now. I actually may have a small gig where we're going," I say and her blue eyes light up. I feel the same bubble of excitement rising that I felt when I saw the job posting online. "I found out this Middle School club is putting on a Christmas play, and they're looking to hire an artist to paint the backdrop. It's only work for a couple of days but it's something."

"Zoey, that's amazing!" she squeals.

I smile widely, feeding off her excitement. It truly is thrilling to have something potentially lined up even if it's just a one time thing. "Yeah, I sent them some pictures of my work and they want to meet me this week. The play is on Christmas Eve so I would need to start as soon as possible. Honestly it's one of the main reasons I'm going on this trip."

"Excuse me!" Erika says in mock-offense. "I thought the reason was to get your sister set up with a handsome stranger." She flings a hand in the air in show.

Erika found out Mom's plan during Thanksgiving when Mom spilled the beans. I actually ended up being a good daughter for once and didn't say anything, thinking Mom would eventually abandon the idea. But then as we were surrounded by mounds of food at the dinner table, Erika said something about missing her ex, and then Mom made some subtle comment about the set-up.

At first Erika was annoyed like we'd expected. The obligatory yearly Thanksgiving family argument while Margaret's kids smeared cranberry sauce all over themselves kicked off with a bang. And for once I wasn't the one who was directly involved. But then days later she couldn't stop making fun of the situation and laughing at how ridiculous it was. Now it's intrigued her more than anything, and we're en route to see truly how much our mother has lost her marbles.

"Oh right, I forgot. We shan't forget Princess Erika's betrothal. The Lord of Woodstock is waiting for his future Queen," I tease in some sort of accent that kind of sounds British.

"I can't wait to see how this is all going to play out. I need to document everything for my TikTok. I'm here for the plot, honestly," Erika says in a whisper and with a playful squint. Our parents are a couple of rows ahead so there's really no way they'd be able to hear us even if we talked normally.

"Okay, don't be too harsh on the poor guy though. He probably has social anxiety and needs his mom to set him up. He could be plastered against the window in a suit right now waiting for your arrival with a single rose in his hand. Don't break the man's heart," I tease.

"Oh, don't worry. I'll show him a wonder of a time."

I let out a laugh, knowing my sister would commit to anything if it means going viral. "Oh my God, Er. Don't do anything mean. And don't go popping his cherry all for the sake of TikTok."

The Middle Seat Man chooses this moment to get back to our row. Erika and I both snap our faces toward him. His eyes widen and he mumbles something before turning back and walking toward the back of the plane again.

Erika starts laughing and I just smack a hand over my smile. "Oopsies."

The rest of the trip moves slowly. I can't seem to get some sleep like I'd hoped, as my thoughts keep ping-ponging from potential work, to the inevitably awkward encounters this trip will have, to my last text with Mr. Boxer Briefs. When we finally arrive in Vermont, it's nearly midnight and not much of the town can be seen from the airport. My heart sinks when I get service again and I don't see any text from Boxer Briefs. Why is he ghosting me? Could something else have happened? I shoot off another text, hoping it'll ease any tension.

Me: Okay clearly you can't be trusted to not have a heart attack for my mere ponderings. Hope your recovery is going well, BB!

Alright, no more texting him until I hear back. I can't be scaring him off any more than I already am. 

Dad, Mom, Erika, and I grab the rental car and head to their friends' place. While it's dark out, thick blankets of snow are illuminated by the Christmas lights adorning each of the gigantic houses we pass by. It's been a long time since I saw snow in person. Something about this setting with its crisp air and festive spirit is actually making me excited about spending time here.

It isn't long before we arrive at the Londers' cabin. It looks similar to some of the other houses with a myriad of Christmas decor, but this one is more cabin-like with sienna colored wood around the exterior. Mrs. Londer comes out bundled in a long puffy purple coat and Mom practically shrieks when she sees her. They hug for the longest time before Mrs. Londer greets the rest of us. Her brown hair is tied up and her almond-shaped chestnut eyes sparkle when she takes a look at my sister.

"Everyone's asleep," she says apologetically, "and you guys must be exhausted. I have all the bedrooms upstairs prepared so if the door is open feel free to claim the room as yours." Her nose scrunches and she looks at Mom. "Unfortunately, Tristan won't be able to make it after all. I'm so sorry you guys." She turns to all of us. "I was really hoping you'd get to meet him."

I try to stifle the laugh coming up as I witness the obvious disappointment on my mom's face. I knew this plan of hers would fail, I just didn't expect it to be so soon. I glance over at Erika who looks to be biting back a smile with the subtle shifts of her mouth and her widened eyes glancing over at me.

"Ohh, that's a shame," Mom says a little too sincerely for my comfort as she hands Dad her bag.

We make it inside, instant heat thawing my frozen limbs, and we don't see much of the darkened interior besides the hanging twinkle lights and the huge Christmas tree that's lit and fully decorated. No doubt when we wake up tomorrow we'll get to see the coziness that the space is promising.

Mrs. Londer is so kind as she orients us to the house. I can see why my parents love her. After some small talk we're upstairs picking out our rooms. I end up in the most boyish looking one, with baseball paraphernalia on the walls and shelves and an old Nintendo Game Cube connected to a small TV on the stand. I shuffle through the discs and see games like 007 Goldeneye and Paper Mario.

I waste no time in getting ready for bed. This has been a long day, but I'm hopeful that with a potential job for me on the horizon and no matchmaking efforts that I need to participate in, we'll actually get to have a pretty decent Christmas.

I only pray that Boxer Briefs texts me back.

***

Get ready for things to pop-off in the next chapter! 😇