When Harry Met Luna

“Cabin crew, doors on automatic, cross-check and report. Thank you.”

I looked around me with a bored expression while the faint sound of seat-belts clicked shut and the light thuds of the flight attendant’s kitten heels marched down the aisles of the airplane. Since I was fortunate enough to sit in first class, I was only surrounded by business men in suits with The New York Times newspapers concealing their identities. Luckily, the seat next to me was empty.

The plane pushed back.

After being harassed several times by the flight attendant with the red frizzy hair and the pearly white teeth, I finally pulled the straps to my seat belt together and clasped it securely. I didn’t even bother watching her do the usual schpiel about safety since I knew the whole damn thing by heart. It was entirely outdated, anyways. In an actual event that our airplane decided to fall out of the sky and into the ocean, do you honestly think the first thing I would do is grab the seat cushion and pull it to my chest? No. We just belly flopped into the middle of the ocean and there are probably hungry whales and sharks circling our sinking plane waiting for their late night snack. That cushion wasn’t going to do squat.

Instead, I turned my attention to the window and watched the tiny raindrops cascade down the scratched glass. The heavy clouds above had made the skies look infinitely darker, which funnily enough, was also an accurate portrayal of how I was feeling. Downcast, despair, delirious.

Up until 48 hours ago, I had no intentions of going back to London for my summer vacation.

Up until 48 hours ago, I also had no intentions of finding out that my boyfriend of two years had been seeing some skank behind my back for the past five months.

But that’s just life, isn’t it? You wake up one day, and it doesn’t feel weird at first, but once you start going through your daily routines, something begins to feel strange. Something feels off. You can’t pinpoint it that day, because it wasn’t in your range of vision, but it was there nevertheless. It was in the back of your mind that day, it was in the way you poured your coffee, the way you closed the door of your four wheel drive, the way you parked in your boyfriend’s driveway, the way you walked in on your boyfriend naked in bed with another woman.

I shut my eyes tightly, trying to dispose the mental image of seeing him with someone else.

Fool that I am, for thinking he was in love with me.

What was even worse was that he didn’t even look sorry. He shrugged off my desperate pleas for an explanation. If anything, he looked sort of relieved that I had found him cheating on me. He had the actual balls to say he preferred it this way since ‘It saved him for an awkward break up conversation’. The naked woman waiting in bed behind him chuckled under her breathe after he said it. With a quick hard slap across his left cheek, I ran out of there, out of that neighborhood, out of Los Angeles.

And now, out of the country.

My dad had been begging me to do an internship at his company for years now, thinking it would be a ‘humbling’ experience for me and to finally understand how a business works. I’ve always politely declined his offer, due to my natural curiosity for adventure and exploring. So after I graduated from the most vainglorious private Academy in London, I applied to UCLA in California and to my surprise, got in. I couldn’t have dreamt up a better adventure than moving across the world for University. After I was accepted, I hadn’t stopped dreaming up scenarios of myself with my blonde-haired friends, sitting by the California beaches, gossiping about boy X and girl Y doing god knows what at boy Z’s crazy party over the weekend. Can you believe I actually got what I wanted? I moved out there, I made friends, I developed crushes on guys, I went to the beach, I even got myself a tan....and now, a broken heart.


Derek Hunter seemed like an innocent enough guy when he asked me if he could borrow a pencil in our first class together. He was incredibly tan, muscular and freckled. I couldn’t help the blush that dominated my face when he would talk to me in class and it certainly didn’t stop when we went out on our first date or when he asked me to be his girlfriend. I was completely smitten by this guy, and honestly never had a relationship last longer than a month.

Well, that’s all gone to shit now.

Two years later, my dad finally got his wish: a choked up, distraught daughter asking him if she could apply to the summer internship. With absolute glee and excitement, my dad booked me on the next flight to England.

“Prepare for take-off” a voice mumbled over the intercom which was a subtle way of telling the flight attendants to take their seats. They obliged accordingly.

I dug my cold hands under my legs and leaned my head against the window, hoping at some point of this flight I can sleep and forget about what I’m leaving behind me for the next three months.



Heathrow airport was congested with people as usual. Union flags were spotted everywhere, and mini Harrods shops were on every corner. Despite being inside, I figured it would be a good idea to hide my red puffy eyes with my oversized black sunglasses. Just like I predicted, I spent the past eight hours on the flight to England crying and listening to sappy love songs that were sung by Frank Sinatra while drinking three glasses of scotch. I was feeling weak and lousy; I felt like the 2007 version of Britney Spears (sans the bald head, of course) as I walked through Customs in my black leggings and grey UCLA sweater. I was quickly reminded of how much I despised Heathrow after struggling to get past a large Asian family that wore matching sweaters. The scowl on my face was practically permanent after I almost tripped over a buggie full of two ugly crying babies. This place was a nightmare. And don’t even get me started on fighting people over securing a spot on a bus that takes you to other terminals. It’s equivalent to a mosh pit at a goddamn metal concert.

While I was getting my passport stamped by the EU officer, I wondered what my Dad had planned for us today. One look at the greasy hair knot on the top of my head and my bloodshot eyes, he’ll be racing us to the closest therapist in town.

However, in typical dad fashion, he wasn’t waiting for me in the Baggage claim area.

“Roger.” I greeted the warm, familiar face with a weak smile as I wheeled my two bags to a halt behind me.

“Good morning, Ms. Monet.” Roger grinned at me after reaching for my two suitcases. “It has indeed been a while since I’ve had the privilege of picking you up.”

Roger Appleton has been with the family for as long as I could remember. He is, and forever will be, my dad’s most reliable driver. He’s aged over the past two years, and it definitely showed in his now smiling face. Roger had his cropped, white hair tucked under his hat, and was wearing his usual getup: a black suit and tie.

“Hope you’ve been well, Roger.” I didn’t mean to sound so defeated but I was still partly drunk from the flight and also, oh yes, incredibly depressed. “Is father here?”

I walked alongside Roger as we headed for the exit. He looked down at the ground briefly before responding. “Your father sends his apologies, Miss. He was called into a very early meeting this morning and won’t be home until this evening.”

“Of course.”

It was very typical of my dad to not show up because of work. He missed my first ballet recital when I was five, and even missed me walk the graduation ceremony from Secondary School due to a ‘very important meeting’ with potential investors from Japan. So wishing for my dear old pops to greet me at the airport was by far, a long shot.

The shiny, black Mercedes Benz was not hard to miss once we entered the parking lot. It was the car that transported me everywhere during my entire childhood and was also my dad’s go-to car for work. Roger opened the backseat door for me and I gracefully slid inside. While he put my bags in the trunk, I noticed the little baggie of sticky waffles from my favorite bakery in London and a cup of hot english breakfast tea waiting for me.

I grinned and immediately thanked Roger the minute he got into the car.

“You spoil me, Roger!” For the first time in three days, a genuine smile appeared on my face as I began to tear apart the sticky waffle. “How did you know that this was exactly what I needed right now?”

As he pulled out of the parking spot, he gave me a soft smile and said. “Welcome home, Ms. Monet.”