Flat-Out Celeste(Flat-Out Love II)

To The Future

Justin: I’m going surfing today! I’ve never been, but I feel sure that I am on the edge of a professional boarding career.

Celeste: The water will allow you to surf without developing hypothermia now? It’s almost March, lest you have forgotten.

Justin: What? I thought it was August. August of 1975. Wait, what year is it? Where am I?

Celeste: Very funny. I was simply concerned for your well-being.

Justin: And I am super touched and all heartmelty.

Celeste: “Heartmelty” is not a word, I do not believe.

Justin: I’m a wordsmith, an inventor of words that should be. And “melty” is a word, didya know that, smartie girl? Ergo, “heartmelty” needed to be invented.

Celeste: If I recall, Webster’s fell to pressure and only very reluctantly added “melty” to their lexicon. “Didya” and “smartie,” however, are not… Well, never mind.

Justin: Celeste!

Celeste: Okay, fine.

Celeste: Didya think it is smartie to go surfing in the cold weather?

Justin: Look at you all sexy with the goofy words. And it’s still warm here, so don’t worry about me. This winter has been unusually gorgeous. It’s almost 80 today. Plus, I’ll be wearing some sort of protective bodysuit thing. Whatever it is that surfers wear. I best get the terminology down for my impending high-profile career. #Sharksbetternotbitemybutt

Celeste: Please report back with your surf tales. I will be eager to hear. And to know that you are in one piece, without half of you making its way through a shark’s digestive tract. I have lunch now, so I must run.

Justin: I’ll call you tonight! Surf’s up, dude!

Justin: Did that sound lame? Probably. Let’s pretend I didn’t write that. I will investigate socially awesome surf talk today.

Celeste: I would not be opposed should you want to text a photograph of yourself.

Justin: In my sexy bodysuit?

Celeste: Perhaps. Then we would be even, you know, since you have seen me in a bodysuit.

Justin: Don’t think I’ve forgotten that. I’ll see what I can do.



Celeste was becoming quite expert at walking and texting, although evidently her ability to attend to the rest of the world fell to the wayside when Justin was involved. Especially when a wet-suited boyfriend picture might be coming her way.

Boyfriend.

What a colossally glorious word. Not because having a boyfriend met some standard of teen life that she had finally attained. Celeste didn’t much care about that. What she did care about—what moved her heart so dramatically—was that she had Justin in her life. He was the first person with whom she could relax fully. And therefore, life was more vibrant.
   



In her distraction, Celeste bumped into another student. She quickly apologized, embarrassed at being so lost in boyfriend thoughts that she noticed too late the scene ahead of her.

Finding herself in the hallway of her high school with a swarm of screaming students swarming directly toward her triggered a sharp feeling of dread. Now what? Things had been going so well.

She counted her attackers. Perhaps it wasn’t really a swarm. There were five people. Yet it felt like an out-of-control mob. Something had gone terribly wrong. Her few months of happiness were over. And now, on this Friday afternoon during late February, she was about to be flogged or otherwise assaulted by this group, all waving their arms and hollering at her. “Celeste!” She heard Dallas’s voice rise above the others’. “Celeste, come with us!”

Before she could react, Dallas had grabbed her by the arm and was pulling her along with the whooping crowd toward Mr. Gil’s classroom. Classmates were patting her arms and back, chanting her name…. It was all incredibly disconcerting. Panic inducing, really.

“Dallas, I do not have philosophy class now. I have lunch.” Celeste could hear the tremor in her voice. She was going to run out of air any second, she knew it. “I need to go. I must go now.”

“I know, silly!” Dallas swung open the door, and Celeste was moved forward. “We have lunch for you here.”

Celeste looked into the room. Every person whom she had tutored through college applications was here. Jennifer held a cake, and a stack of pizza boxes sat on Mr. Gil’s desk. She inched forward and looked at the cake. Blue lettering spelled out Thank you! Confused, she looked at Dallas. “I do not understand.”

Leighann stepped out from behind her. “We’ve been waiting until we all heard, but it’s official. All of us got into college.”

“Even me!” Zeke piped up. “And into Kenyon at that.”

Celeste gasped. “That was your top choice!”

“I know, right? Top choice and a reach.” He threw his arms around her. “And financial aid. You made that happen.”

“What?”

“My application was really strong. They complimented me on my essay. The one you made me redo forty-seven times. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Then she was getting hugs and handshakes and listening to college acceptance stories from everyone there. It was overwhelming.

“Speech!” Mr. Gil broke through the crowd. “Speech, Miss Watkins!”

Soda was poured into red cups, and Celeste did what she could to gather her thoughts. Someone handed her a drink and the room grew silent. She looked to Mr. Gil. He smiled kindly and gave her a supportive nod.

Celeste touched a hand to her heart, trying to compose herself.

“I… I do not know what to say…” She cleared her throat. “This is an honor. I am so very happy for all of you. Tremendously proud. All I did was to help you channel skills that you already had within you.” She paused, suddenly quite emotional. “I do believe that you did the same for me. Thank you for giving me that chance.” It was all that she could bring herself to say. It hit her that all of these new friends, her new level of social comfort, was going to come to an abrupt end upon graduation, less than four months away. She turned to Dallas, who knew—as a friend does—to rescue her.

Dallas raised her cup high. “To Celeste.”

“To Celeste!” the room cheered.

When pizza had been eaten, more thanks offered, and the celebration had started to wind down, Celeste found herself alone with Dallas and Mr. Gil, a few chair-desks pushed together. Her philosophy teacher nibbled on crust. “So, Dallas, where are you going to end up?”

“Yes, where will you study next year? I did not get to hear during the earlier chaos,” Celeste said.

Dallas tried to suppress a smile, but gave up and flashed a full-on beam. “USC. Film school.”

“Oh, Dallas, you did it.” Celeste practically jumped out of her seat. “I am unequivocally thrilled for you. I do think that you will take Los Angeles by the proverbial storm.”

Dallas blushed. “I’m really happy. Really. And you helped me pull together exactly what I needed for the application. I can’t believe it. What about you? Have you decided?”

She fidgeted with a napkin. “I am unsure which to accept.”

Mr. Gil reached for another slice. “Where have you gotten in?”

“Harvard, Wesleyan, Yale, Columbia, Princeton. Um… I can’t recall where else at the moment.”

“Don’t be modest. You got in everywhere you applied, right?” Dallas raised her eyebrows. “Right? C’mon, brag a little.”

The napkin was now shredded. “I did.” She forced a happy tone in her voice. “I don’t know how to pick. This is a hard choice.”

“You’ll figure it out. All good options,” Dallas said.

“Did any California schools make it onto your list?” Mr. Gil asked way too casually.

“What? Cambridge’s own Harvard isn’t good enough for her?” Dallas said, laughing.

He waved his hand. “No, no, it’s not that. I was just curious.”

“I am not one for flying,” Celeste confessed. She did not want him to think her ungrateful, as she knew he was the one who had spoken to Barton about her. “But I appreciate the interest that I’ve had from west coast schools.”

“Ah, well, not wanting to fly could be a problem. In any case, I’m very happy for you both, and I’ll miss you next year.” He stood. “I’m going to get a head start on grading some essays, but the room is yours as long as you like it. And these are for you.” He slapped two small papers onto the desk. “A couple of passes to keep you free for another period. Benefits of being my favorite students. It’s a half day today anyhow. Enjoy it.”

“Yes!” Dallas clapped her hands in the air. “Best. Day. Ever.”

Even Celeste, who was not one to be in favor of skipping classes, felt that she would not mind missing a class today. Just for once.

“You girls have fun. And congratulations to both of you.” Mr. Gil grabbed yet another slice of pizza and made his way out.
   



Dallas leaned in. “Okay, now that the teacher is gone, tell me what’s up with you and Justin?”

“Our relationship is…” Celeste didn’t know how to explain how perfect it felt without sounding trite. How she missed him every second of the day, but how they stayed in touch so much that she felt as if he were here. She sighed, more dreamily than she would have liked. “He’s just stupendous. He is not only a suitable first boyfriend, but a rather ideal one at that. Our phone conversations are quite wonderful, his emails detailed and engaging, and every morning he sends me a coffee picture.”

“He sends you a picture of his coffee?”

“Yes, it’s charming. See he takes a photograph of… Well, never mind. The point is that I am in the throes of my first romance, and I’m deliriously happy.”

“So what are you going to do? There’s that flying issue you have, which I really think you need to get over. And next year? I mean, you’re not going to school out there, are you? Not like you didn’t get into enough good schools on this coast, .”

“Yeah.”

“And you sound so happy about it.” Dallas glared at her. “What is your problem?”

Celeste got up and paced the floor. “Oh, I don’t know, Dallas. This entire college process has not been what I expected.”

“How so?”

“Despite having worked my entire life to be in this position, I am unsatisfied. Unenthused. Academics are all that I have ever had. But I am just now stepping into new waters and exploring other sides of myself.”

“You can’t do that in college?”

“I can. It just seems a monstrous task to manage the level of work and stress associated with an Ivy League school with other parts of life that I already find so intimidating.”

Dallas thought for a moment. “Are you freaked out about you and Justin?”

“I am unclear on what you are asking.”

“I mean, you’re going to be out here somewhere, and he’s still going to be in San Diego.”

“Yes?”

“That’s going to become a problem, don’t you think? You can’t manage to sustain a relationship like that, can you? It’s not like you two were a solid couple for a long time, and then he left. Then you’d have a better base. But even then…”

Celeste finished the sentence. “Even then it would be near impossible at our ages.”

“Kind of.”

“What about you and Zeke? You two will be separated. That is unfair.” Celeste was getting riled up now. “Having just found each other, your relationship will be ripped apart at the seams come September. That is tragic, is it not? What are we to do? The heartache of the high school senior must be like none other.” She flopped back into her chair and chugged down some soda. “Of course, even my brother and his long-term girlfriend, Julie, who had, as you called it, a solid base, could not survive great physical distance.”

“You’re right. We are in big trouble here.” Dallas dropped her head onto the desk, smushing her cheek and almost making Celeste laugh despite herself. “You could apply to Stanford late. I bet they’d take you. That’s not far from San Diego, and you’d be near me. Oh wait, but the plane thing. Damn it. So I guess Barton is out, too.”

“Dallas, that is outrageous. One does not make crucial, life-impacting choices, such as which college to attend, based on a boy. One chooses an educational institution after careful consideration of what the school offers one intellectually and academically. End of story.”

“There’s more to college than just classwork, you know.”

“I know that. That’s the part that I’m not good at!” she said with near panic.

“Easy girl, easy.” Dallas half smiled. “You’re doing just fine.”

Celeste sighed. “Thanks. And sorry. I am a bit emotional.”

The girls indulged in their crankiness over what they saw as the impending demise of their relationships, both emitting the occasional whimper of dramatic misery. Celeste drummed her fingers on the table over and over until Dallas finally slapped her hand over them.

Celeste didn’t like this. All of her recent happiness was going to come undone.

“Dallas?” she whispered.

“What?”

“Do you happen to have a fake ID?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I do not mean to stereotype. That was terrifically unfair of me. But if I were to go by cultural stereotypes, you would strike me as the sort who might, just perhaps, have a form of false identification for the occasional—but I’m sure responsible—purchase of alcohol.”

Dallas sat up. She looked Celeste in the eyes. “I’m shocked and horrified.”

“Oh. I apologize. I’m really terribly sorry to have offended you. Please forgive me. That was very rude.”

Dallas started laughing and cracked her knuckles. “I totally have a fake ID. Whatcha need?”

She shrugged. “This will sound silly, but Justin once mentioned drinking something called an Old Fashioned, and I feel as though sipping a drink might somehow… Oh, this is nutty.”

“I think it’s sort of adorable. You drinking your boyfriend’s favorite drink, thinking about him, letting the warm glow of alcohol make you even more googley–eyed.”

“I don’t know. I miss Justin. And all this talk about college makes me refocus on how difficult I will find the social transition. As you can imagine. I think it is reasonable to want to have my first drink before I am already at a new school, and my parents are away, so it seems an opportune time.”

“Look at you, being all quintessential teenagery and stuff. Well, I’ve got plans with Zeke tonight that don’t involve drinking, so you’re just going to drink alone?”

“It’s just a cocktail. I’ll call my sweet boyfriend and chat with him.” Celeste pulled out her phone and opened a browser. “Do you know anything about muddling bitters?”





Have a Drink on Me

It was Friday afternoon, and her parents were gone until Wednesday at a conference in Philadelphia. Despite her assurances that she would be fine on her own, Matt insisted on coming over, and he’d be here any minute. The truth was that she liked having him around, and the thought of being alone in that big house for four nights was intimidating. She probably could have asked Dallas to stay over. Girlfriends did things like that, didn’t they? Were they too old for that? Or was that just something fictionalized in the movies? Dallas would certainly laugh and lovingly correct any misperceptions she had, but investigating the validity of sleepovers would have to wait.
   



Celeste rearranged the glasses and bottles on the kitchen counter for the fifth time. Presentation and mood felt important here if she was going to prevent Matt from completely flipping out. She turned on a country radio station because most country songs were about pining over love or about drinking, and both seemed fitting. She heard the front door rattle and then struck a casual pose by her display.

“Hello, my open-minded, sweet brother. I am most looking forward to our weekend together.” She flashed Matt a smile. “Have you eaten lunch yet?”

Matt tossed his overnight bag on the floor. “I did. Pasta from an Italian place near my apartment.”

“Carbs! Perfect. You may need them.”

“Why would I need—” Matt looked around. “What’s going on? Why do I feel as though I walked into an old fashioned saloon?”

“It’s funny that you should say old fashioned because—”

“What’s up with all the booze?”

Matt looked exhausted, more pale than usual. His dirty blond hair had again grown longer than she knew he liked, and he appeared generally washed out. In need of some sunshine, she thought. And happiness.

“I am eighteen, heading off to college in a matter of months, and I thought it appropriate to try my first drink. It seemed best to do that under brotherly supervision. And there is the added bonus in that it will be a bonding experience. Afternoon-cocktail-hour-in-the-library type situation. Fun, yes?”

“Illegal is more like it,” he scowled. “I think this is a terrible idea. We don’t even have a library in this house. What exactly are you planning on doing with bourbon and gin? I feel sick already.”

“You do not feel sick,” she protested. “You feel festive and ready to partake in relationship building with your sister.” Celeste rounded the kitchen island and tossed one arm around Matt. “Matthew, do not be so uptight.”

“Uptight? I’m uptight?”

Celeste frowned. “Fine. Perhaps we both could use a little loosening up. Let’s have a cocktail together, shall we? I find it rather civilized, the idea of sitting back with a fancy drink on this dark afternoon.”

Matt laughed lightly. “You know what? Sure. Let’s have a drink. One drink, okay? That’s it. One.” He pulled out a barstool and sat down. “What are we having, bar wench?”

“Assuming you do not again refer to me as bar wench, we will be starting with an Old Fashioned.”

Matt wrinkled his nose. “An Old Fashioned? That’s rather an odd choice. Although perhaps not for you. But maybe you should start with something fruity with parasols and fizz?”

“Absolutely not! How undignified. Although I will confess that while I do not have parasols, I do have mini swords for piercing the orange peel and cherry.”

“Mini swords?”

“I hear they are a fine finishing touch for cocktail presentation. One is simply not going to haphazardly slosh liquor into a cup and chug it.”

“Well, no, we couldn’t have that.”

“Besides, Justin mentioned Old Fashioneds one time, and my curiosity has been piqued. I spent a decent amount of time investigating various methods to mix this drink, though all involve muddling, a term I find undeniably charming. Then we can move on to the classic gin and tonic, always a solid choice from what my research tells me.”

“Nice to hear you’ve been so thorough.” He crossed his arms. “Hey, didn’t I say one drink?”

“Yes, we’ll see. Anyhow, first I am going to douse this sugar cube in bitters and then smash it up in the bottom of the glass until it takes on the look of a syrup.” Celeste narrated as she concocted the first drink, not unaware of the bemused look on Matt’s face. “Because I did not have access to a true muddling device or whatever it is termed, I have opted to use the handle of this oversized wooden spoon. Now I shall squeeze the oils from this slice of orange peel and incorporate that essence into my muddled… my muddled stuff. Ahem. Then, a few ounces of this lovely bourbon, poured slowly and mixed in nicely to dissolve the sugar. Now some ice cubes, another quick splash of bourbon and garnished with another spritz of orange peel that I will then affix to this garish mini sword along with a disgusting maraschino cherry.” Celeste carefully carried the nearly overflowing glass over to Matt and set it down gently onto a coaster. “For the gentleman.”

“You’ve lost your mind.”

“I have not. Now try it,” she ordered.

Matt lifted the glass to his lips, took a tiny sip, and then winced exaggeratedly. “Oh dear Lord! Horror of horrors.”

Celeste stomped her foot and tried not to giggle. “Matthew, that is not funny. How is it really?”

He took another taste. “Actually, it’s pretty damned good, I must admit.”

“Fabulous. Now I will make one for myself.”

“For the record, I’m not encouraging you to have a drink, but since I think you’d go ahead and do it anyway, I am here to supervise.”

“Yes. You be the responsible adult, and I shall be the out-of-control teenager who is experimenting with alcohol consumption.”

“Great. Role playing in its most pathological form. Fine.” He swirled the glass, clinking ice cubes before having another longer drink.

Two hours later, when Matt had finished his third Old Fashioned and was halfway through a gin and tonic, he and Celeste found themselves sprawled on the living room floor. Her own gin and tonic was going down rather easily, and the country music was sounding better and better. She rolled over onto her back and reached for the volume on the stereo.

“This is fun, Matty, isn’t it? Cocktail hour is intoxicating.”

“It is.”

“I made a little joke there.”

“It was a riot.” Matt was on his stomach with his chin in his hands. “It is kinda fun. I think I might be a little drunk.”

“Good for you, Matty! If I don’t go to college next year, I could be a bartender, huh?”

“Yeah, totally.”

“I know this country tune,” she said loudly. “This is a very famous song called ‘The Gambler’ by Mr. Kenneth Rogers.”
   



Matt started laughing uncontrollably. “I think he just goes by Kenny.”

“Whatever. The point is that I know it.” She started singing from her spot on the floor, and much to her surprise, Matt was soon belting out lyrics with her. “I had no idea that you had such a country–boy side to you.”

He paused in his now near-screaming singing. “I do not have a country side to me, but everyone knows this song.” When the song ended, he tapped her shoulder repeatedly. “Celeste.”

“What?”

“I have to know what song you sang for that rock band audition.”

“They were skate punk, not rock,” she corrected him. “That is important.”

“Fine. What song?”

“A very meaningful song by Joan Baez called ‘The Night They—‘“

Matt finished the title with her. “‘Drove Old Dixie Down’!”

She rolled over so that they were practically nose to nose. “How could you possibly know that song?”

Matt smiled drunkenly. “You don’t remember, do you? You were probably too little.”

“Remember what?”

He looked at her for a moment. “You know how much Mom hates any sort of hippie political folk music singer stuff? Like, Arlo Guthrie makes her gag?”

Celeste nodded vehemently. “And Pete Seger. And Bob Dylan.”

“Right. So Finn used to piggyback you around the backyard. And he’d sing that Dixie song at the top of his lungs while he ran around and around with you bouncing on his back, laughing the whole time. Mom used to hate it, and she’d yell at him to knock it off, but the more she yelled, the louder he’d sing.”

Celeste’s jaw dropped. “And he would say to me…” The memory was coming back. “‘Here comes the chorus,’ every time so that I would join in. I’d forgotten.”

“That’s right. He was very good with you.”

Celeste put her hand on top of Matt’s head. “You are very good with me.”

“I never gave you piggybacks.”

“That’s okay, Matty. You give me other things. You always have.”

“Like the T-shirt that I gave you for Christmas?”

“No, not like that, dummy! And that shirt is inappropriate.”

“Is not. You like science. That’s not inappropriate.”

“The shirt says, All This Science Gives Me a Hadron. I understand the play on words, and it’s inappropriate. I can’t even get a Hadron, Matthew! I don’t have the right parts.”

“But it’s funny,” Matt snickered.

“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.”