Flat-Out Celeste (22 page)

“Okay, it kind of is,” she agreed.

Celeste grabbed for the coffee table to lift herself to a seated position. Her hand landed on a stack of mail that she pulled onto her face, causing her to fall into a fit of giggles. “That did not work out as I planned.” She managed to sit up and started to gather the envelopes. Matt was looking rather glazed over, but he made a sudden swipe for one envelope.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Nothing. I’m just helping.” He picked up a flyer. “Oh, look, how fascinating. Do you need a new roof?”

She squinted her eyes and held out a hand. “Gimme.”

“I had no idea you cared so much about shingles, but you’re in luck because they have a wide assortment for your roofing pleasure.”

“Give me the envelope that you are hiding!”

“It’s just a personal letter from the roofer threatening to sneak on over and poke holes in”—Matt jabbed his finger in the general direction of the ceiling—“this here roof if he is not hired. Desperate times and all. So sad.”

Celeste lunged for the letter and snatched it from Matt. “You have delayed reflexes, brother. I win.”

“Celeste…” Matt mumbled as he crawled to a stand, slammed back the rest of his drink, and headed for the kitchen. “Don’t get all crazy mad, okay?”

The letter was addressed to her, and she tore it open. She read it three times. “MATTHEW!”

“I said don’t get all crazy mad,” he called back.

She stood unsteadily and marched after him, waving the paper around. “Either I am more inebriated than I think I am, or this is a letter from Barton College.”

Matt pushed his glass under the ice dispenser and did a terrible job disguising his amusement. “Is it? How interesting.”

“What?” she shrieked. “It is not interesting. The words on this page indicate that I have been accepted into Barton College for next fall, something which I find confusing because I did not apply to Barton College.”

“Well, that’s weird.” Matt refused to look at her as he poured another gin and tonic. “Are you gonna go there?”

“No, I’m not
gonna go
there, Matthew Watkins!” she said snidely.

“Why did you apply then?”

“I don’t know. I guess I thought that Justin said so many good things— Wait, stop that. I did not apply to Barton!”

“See? You
do
want to go there!”

“Maybe
you
want to go there, Matty.
You
filled out the application.”

“Technically
you
filled out the application.”

In the back of her head, Celeste could hear her own words from last December.
Oh, would you turn off my computer for me? I believe that I left it on.
She gasped. “The online application on my computer. You sent that? You went snooping through my computer? That was… that was not a real application,” she protested. “It was just for demonstration purposes.”

Matt raised one of his eyebrows and held out his drink in the most pompous of manners. “Or was it? One might conclude that you had secret hopes and dreams of attending the school in question.”

She balked at his drunken accusation. “Oh, please.” She took the glass from his hand and gulped down a mouthful. “I got into… into… other places.”

Matt laughed. “You don’t even know where you got in ‘cause you don’t even care, do you?”

“I care! Bunches! And bushels! And… other amounts that start with the letter B.”

“Barrels?”

“Yes.”

“Bounds?”

“Yes.”

“Banshees?”

“One cannot,” she said waving a finger at him, “care banshees about something.”

“That is not true. I care banshees about you, my dear sister.”

“You do?” Celeste clapped her hands to her heart. “Matty, that’s so sweet of you. I care banjos about you, too.”

“Banshees! Not banjos!” Matt added a second lime slice to his drink.

“Whatever. Anything with a B is cool beans with me.”

Matt laughed. “Beans starts with B, too.”

“It really does, doesn’t it? We are so smart.”

“Know what else starts with that letter?”

“Burlesque?”

“No. Fine, it does, but,” he said as he leaned over the counter, “I was thinking of Barton.”

She nodded. “You are correct.”

“I think you might like it there.”

“Matthew, you are clearly drunk beyond sanity.” Celeste rolled her eyes and started pouring herself another gin and tonic.

“I think you might. Really.”

“Why would you say that?” she asked with a slight slur. “You wanted me to go to Yale.”

“I want you to be happy.”

“I am happy.”

“Okay. I just want you to stay that way.” Matt was then silent.

Celeste peered at him. “Do you like Justin?”

“I do.” He nodded. “Very much.”

Celeste circled around the kitchen island and leaned over the counter, shoulder to shoulder with Matt. “I know another word that starts with B,” she whispered. “Beach.”

He nodded.

“Matty, I wanna go to the beach.”

“It’s winter. Too cold,” he said. “Too dark.”

“We could go.”

He thought for a moment. “Know where they have nice beaches?”

“Brazil? Bali?”

“California.”

Celeste continued to whisper. “That does not start with the correct letter.”

“Still…”

“Then we should go to California and look at some beaches.”

“That sounds fun. I think we have to,” he agreed. “We could look at Barton.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

“You could see that boyfriend of yours.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

“It would be sunny.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

“We could catch a plane right now, I bet. We should go to California.”

Celeste nodded. “We should do that. Book us a flight. I shall go pack for our travels.”

Matt was already tapping at the screen on his phone. “Do we like first class?”

Celeste stood up tall and clamped her hands on her hips. “I believe that sounds very elitist and obnoxious.”

Matt looked up briefly to stick out his lower lip. “Fine. You can fly for the first time in the cramped section of the plane, and I’m gonna stretch out in first class.”

“Oh. Well, okay then. I do not want to be separated from you.”

“Then it’s first class, baby!” Matt whooped.

“Okay, let’s go,” Celeste said and started to make her way rather clumsily to the front door before stopping in her tracks. “Oh wait. I must pack. Didn’t I already say that? And we must call a taxi cab because I do not want to walk to Logan Airport. It is cold. And far away.”

Matt continued booking their flight online. “Wait. Do
I
need to pack?”

“Yes, that’s a good idea. You need to wear clothes in California.” Celeste spun around to go for the stairs, but tripped over his weekend bag that he’d thrown on the floor. “Oh look! You already packed!”

“God, I’m so smart,” he muttered.

“You really are, Matt.” Celeste was floundering up the stairs to her room.

“You should tell Justin we’re coming.” Matt’s voice carried up the stairwell.

“You have had yet another smart idea, Matthew Watkins. I shall do that. I shall tell him that we are listening to our guts and behaving impulsively. He will like that!”

“Hurry up. The cab will be here in fifteen minutes, and our flight leaves in two hours.”

“Yes, sir, boss man. I shall do as instructed.” She barreled into her room and delved into her closet to locate a suitable bag. As she rooted through her dresser and tossed clothes into the bag, she called Justin. “Ouch!” She tripped over a shoe and dropped her phone, but thankfully caught herself before she careened into her desk. It would not due to show up to see Justin with a giant lumpy bruise on her head.

She heard the beep of voice mail from where her phone had landed across the room. “I AM COMING TO SAN DIEGO IN AN ACT OF IMPUSLIVITY! WE SHOULD HAVE LUNCH OR SOMETHING ALONG THOSE LINES! I WILL BE ARRIVING LATE TONIGHT, SO I SHALL SEE YOU ANON, MY BELOVED ONE!” she shouted. Well, hopefully he caught all of that. She knelt in front of her dresser and grabbed a handful of… well, she didn’t know what, but they were items. Items for a spontaneous trip. Another few handfuls from more drawers, a quick trip to the bathroom for supplies, and she was back downstairs.

“You ready, oh world traveler?” Matt asked. He was leaning against the wall in the front hall and halfway through a drink.

“I am, oh distinguished escort.” She took the glass from him and downed a sizable gulp.

“Cool beans,” he said with a wink. “Our chariot awaits.”

They stumbled through the doorway, and Matt locked the house. “Hop on,” he said as he patted his back.

“Woo hoo, Matty! You are piggybacking me, yes?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The two miraculously made it down the front steps and up the icy path to the concerned cab driver. “You two goin’ to Logan?”

“That is indeed our destination,” Celeste said. “We are taking a spontaneous journey together for the purpose of… spontaneous journeying.” She scooted in beside Matt. “It’s a really good idea; I’m sure you’ll agree.”

“Yeah. Great.” The driver started the meter.

Celeste immediately started a search on her phone for airport protocol, as this would be her first experience with security and such. One must appear to know the part. She read for a few minutes. “Psst, Matty, did you know that we
have to take off our shoes to go through the line thingie?”

“I know.”

“I,” she said drawing out her words, “find that to be an entirely civilized custom.”

“It’s not really a custom so much as a requirement.”

“I shall enjoy this part so much.”

She continued reading. “Oh no, Matty.” She leaned in to whisper in his ear. Or at least what she thought was whispering.

“What is it?”

“It says here that we are not to be inebriated when flying or they might deny us access to the airplane.”

“Then don’t act drunk.”

“We are inebriated.”

“Don’t act inebriated.”

“Sir?” Celeste tapped on the heavy plastic panel that separated them from the front of the cab. “Sir?”

“Yeah?”

“Sir? Do we look inebriated to you?”

“Pretty much.”

“That’s not okay. We cannot look inebriated. We would like to fly via airplane, and inebriated is not allowed. Do you have a suggestion for how not to be inebriated?”

“Don’t drink?”

She waved her hands. “Too late. Now what?”

“A breath mint wouldn’t kill you. And don’t talk when you go through security. Or board the plane. Or at all.”

“Aha!” She slapped Matt’s knee. “Our chauffeur has a set of brilliant ideas which we will incorporate into our sneaky scheme. Matt, are you paying attention here?”

“What? I was just booking us a hotel room.”

“Ohmigod. How are we paying for this trip?”

He leaned, or perhaps tipped slightly, into her and said, “I got a buncha money.”

“You have what?”

“I dunno. I mean, I make money and don’t spend a lot. I saved up. Then I never spent it.”

“What did you save up for?”

He started to say something and then stopped. “Nothing really. I’m just stingy.”

“You’re not so stingy. You are taking us on this trip.”

“Then I’m a big spender.”

“Hey, big spender….” Celeste started to sing.

“Don’t sing. It makes you look inebriated.”

“Oh. We can’t be inebriated, or they won’t let us on the plane.”

“I know.”

“Inebriated is not appropriate travel behavior.”

“Calm down. Don’t be scared. It’s just a dumb airplane.”

“I’m not scared. I’m going to think about seeing Justin. And you’ll be with me. I will be fine. That is what I have decided.”

“Check out the new Celeste, all ballsy and stuff.”

“Matty! Do not say
ballsy
! That is disgusting.” She sunk into the seat and looked out the window. “But I am gettin’ ballsy, aren’t I? It’s fun.”

HEY, CELESTE?

“WE’RE ABOUT TO hit a little turbulence, folks, so I’m going to keep the seatbelt sign on. We should be through this pocket in about ten minutes.”

Celeste winced with every word from the captain. “Flying is not fun, flying is not fun, flying is not fun,” she whispered.

Despite the luxurious first-class seats, she was anything but comfortable. She leaned against Matt, grabbing his arm and resting her head against him. True, she couldn’t fault him for being asleep considering how much he’d had to drink. However, he was not being particularly helpful right now, but it was slightly comforting to clutch onto him each time the airplane bounced. She couldn’t decide if closing her eyes or keeping them open was worse, but when shut, every noise and movement did seem intensified, so she settled on bug-eyed awake. Old Fashioneds and gin and tonics had certainly eased the take-off, but now that she was sobering up… Well, just one more hour and they would land. Presumably with all of their limbs still intact. The good news was that there was a reward at the end of this misery: Justin.

Celeste:
Our plane should begin its descent in approximately 40 minutes.

Justin:
Your what should what?

Celeste:
The airplane that I am on will be landing soon.

Justin:
You’re on an airplane?

Celeste:
Have you not checked your voice mail? I left you a message. I’m almost in San Diego.

Justin:
Hold on…

Justin:
I don’t have a message from you, but, OH MY GOD, you are? You seriously got on an airplane? I’m freaking out. And totally damn happy.

Oh dear. She knew for sure that she had called him, but… Of course, she had been a bit under the influence of alcohol and perhaps her memory was failing her. There was, she realized, a very distinct possibility that she had not actually phoned him. Or worse, that she had phoned someone else.

Celeste:
Matthew and I were experimenting with cocktail hour, and it seems that things got a bit out of hand.