Uh... what have I just walked into? There's a guy standing on a toilet seat looking like he's having an orgasm under a wall-mounted air freshener.

      This is the strangest thing I have ever seen and I have no idea what to do. Do I still use the toilet? Should I just go and let him have his pleasures in peace? Now I knew there would be some weirdos around the airport, but this is taking it to a whole new level.

      And he's young too, definitely younger than I am. He has too smooth a face to be older than me – a tiny nose, bright pink lips with flushed cheeks to match. The bags under his eyes are noticeable and ages him up a little.

      So, why is a guy like him getting his kicks out of standing on toilets and sniffing in the scent of lavender from a public bathroom air freshener? I really, really want to ask but... you know what? I'm going to leave it. I do not need the toilet that much and I'm not sure I'm in the mood to get to know colorful characters today. I have a long-haul flight ahead of me and there's nothing I hate more than sitting in one place for too long.

      I don't want to further embarrass the poor guy so I leave. I may have lingered a little longer than I should have but it's over now. I just need to make sure I don't walk into something like that again. No more bathroom breaks until I get on the plane.

      I head back to the coffee shop outside of my gate and return to my sister. She's one of the flight attendants on my upcoming flight and it's going to be the first time I see her in action.

      She is in the middle of applying lipstick when she notices me approaching. 'That was quick.'

      'I walked into something a little... bizarre. Don't ask.'

      Her eyes narrow. 'But I'm so eager to know.'

      'I wouldn't even know how to explain, Leah. I'm just... moving on, has dad called?'

      Leah nods as she puts her lipstick in her bag. 'Yeah, it was a really quick hello and goodbye though.'

      'Then why isn't he answering any of my calls?'

      I pull out my phone from my pocket, hoping to see a missed call, a text, anything with my dad's name on it. But there's nada. No love for me today.

      When I look back at Leah, she has this sort of look that's hard to describe. Pity, maybe? I always have a hard time reading her. It's not through lack of trying; she's my only sibling and I've always looked up to her but knowing what goes on in that head is a mission in itself. We're so close and yet she sometimes makes me feel like we're on different planets.

      'Maybe he's just busy,' she tells me in an unconvincing voice.

      'Do you really believe that?'

      She's trying to avoid my gaze now.

      I know what it is.

      'He's not reacting very well, is he?'

      Leah extends an arm and places her hand on mine. 'Don't be too hard on him; it's just come as a shock. Let him get used to it. He grew up in a different time, remember.'

      'I only told him I'm bisexual, I didn't say I murdered fifteen prostitutes and buried their bodies all around the house.'

      'I get it. I do. You know I support you and I'm always here for you. Always and always, don't ever forget that. Just give him a chance to get his head around it.'

      I look down at my lap. I hate that she's seeing me like this. Usually I wear a tough exterior like impenetrable armor. I'm probably harder to read than my sister is. But it took a lot of guts to allow my family to see beneath that armor, to share the secret that shouldn't have been a secret in the first place. Sharing should unburden the secret keeper, but all this has done is add a suffocating pressure to me as I await judgment.

      'And you know,' Leah continues with a more upbeat tone of voice, 'mom would be so proud of you if she was still alive. She's most likely up there in the clouds thinking wow, I raised such a strong man.'

      Without fail, I smile at the mention of my late mom. Leah always brings up what she would think or do or say to cheer me up. My sister is the clone of her – and I guess I'm the unwilling clone of my dad. He puts business first, he very rarely opens up about anything, he's judgmental, he's arrogant, he's a nightmare most of the time... and I'm just like him.

      I hate that so much. I know he's not a very nice person but I still clamor for his approval. I travel halfway across the world to impress him and take care of the parts of his business he doesn't care for. I do it for nothing but his recognition. And do I ever get it?

      I should have kept my mouth shut. He didn't have to know about that part of my life, I guess.

      'So, don't be upset about it,' Leah continues. 'You'll see him when we get back to New York and you'll see that it hasn't changed a thing.'

      'I guess I'm also afraid of that.'

      'You worry too much. Stop caring about what others think about you and just... live. You're my little brother and you're amazing. Do I ever lie?'

      'All the god-damn time, I'm sick of it.'

      'See? You have every reason to trust my word.'

      Leah pauses and stares at the floor beside me. I turn around slowly. 'What? What is it? Is there a rat?' When I look, there's nothing there. 'What's going on?'

      'Sorry,' she says as the glaze over her eyes wears away. 'I felt like I was about to throw up. You know when your stomach just falls and the contents are about to rush up through your entire body and out through your nose and mouth? That's what I just felt.'

      'I have to say I don't think I've ever felt that before, but then again I've never been pregnant either.'

      'Just seven months to go, seven months to go.'

      'You feeling alright?'

      Leah swallows as she nods. 'Absolutely. What eleven-hour flight, am I right?'

      'Did the doctor say it's okay to fly?'

      'How do you think I got out here, Daxten? I flew, and everything is fine with the baby. It's risky in the first three months of pregnancy but I'm almost at three months and I've been fine so far. Nothing to worry about, leave the worrying to me.'

      'And how does Howie feel about this?'

      'He's still wrapping his head around the fact that he's going to have more responsibility. I can't even pull him away from his games, can you imagine what will happen when the baby comes? It's going to be a one woman show.'

      'You're not going to let him get away with that, I know you too well.'

      'Damn straight, he's gonna be in for a rude awakening.' Leah moves uncomfortably on the chair. She unfolds her legs and stretches them.

      I pretend to smell something foul – it's a joke we always do to each other. It's lame but it's our thing. 'Close your legs, I can smell fish down there!'

      Leah smirks. 'It's the closest you'll come to caviar, darling.' She puts on a posh accent and I can't help but laugh. 'I'm going to have to leave you.'

      'Leave me?'

      She grabs her handbag from the floor and stands. 'Firstly, I gotta pee so bad. Secondly, I have a job to do so I need to get on the plane.'

      'Mom would be proud of you too,' I tell her before she can leave. 'You actually have the balls to pursue a career outside of the family business.'

      'Well I don't want to answer to dad every day of my life. It's bad enough when I visit the family estate and he treats me like I'm still a child.'

      'You summed up my entire life in one sentence.'

      Leah puts her hand under my chin to lift my head up. 'Don't be so glum, you have the life of luxury to look forward to. You're in first class with your own suite while I'm working in the back of the plane.'

      'Why? You don't belong down there.'

      'It's way more fun in economy,' she says with a wink.

      I watch as she walks out of the coffee shop and around the corner. I'll be joining her on the plane in about fifty minutes so I won't have to wait long to see her again. First class get to go on first, after all.

      I need another coffee. If I'm going to get through this painful day, I need more of the elixir of life. I stand up and head for the counter. I look up to the board of drinks they serve. I don't know why – I always get the same thing. Americano, no cream. None of that fancy stuff.

      The guy at the cash register asks the barista for a gingerbread latte. Great, now I've got to wait ages for the barista to make a fancy-ass drink before he can make my plain and simple coffee.

      'Would you like whipped cream on the top?'

      'Yes please,' the customer replies.

      'And the small gingerbread man too?'

      'Absolutely.'

      Whatever happened to good old-fashioned coffee? Why do we have to get the syrups and the creams and the gingerbread men?

      Wow, I really do sound like my father. This has to stop. Knock it off, Daxten. Knock. It. Off.

      I start to physically hit my head when the guy ordering turns around. 'Are you okay?' he asks me. My hand lowers. His eyes widen. 'Oh, shit.'

      It's the guy from the bathroom, the one standing on the toilet seat. Judging by his reaction, he recognizes me too. His face changes color rapidly as if red ink has spilled underneath his skin.

      He's trying so hard to ignore the situation that I think it's making him more red. His face becomes glued to the barista. I can't help but feel sorry for him. He did ask if I was okay – that was rather nice of him, if not a little uncalled for.

      I should help him out a bit here. But what to say?

      'Erm, hi,' I say, digging deep to find the appropriate words. 'I just want to say that I really don't mind what you were doing in the bathroom. It's forgotten about, seriously.'

      It obviously isn't forgotten about if I'm bringing it up. This is why I keep my mouth shut with strangers unless they're a client or someone my dad has sent to me to impress.

      'Oh, it looks so bad but I swear it's not,' he begins, now looking at me with a desperate look. 'I was only trying to smell nice.'

      'By standing on a toilet?'

      'The air freshener above the toilet. I have no deodorant and I just ran through the entire airport thinking I was going to miss my flight, but it turns out I didn't set my watch back so I'm actually an hour early. By the time I figured that one out it was too late because I now look like I've been dragged through a hedge backwards and I smell like I've gone swimming in sweat. I still do. Oh God, I'm so sorry for freaking you out before.'

      He's talking way too much and way too quickly. 'Slow down, slow down.' He's giving me a headache. 'You don't smell that bad. And you don't look like you've been dragged through a hedge backwards.'

      'Really?'

      'Maybe forwards but not backwards.'

      He manages to crack a smile at that. That's strange for me – when have I ever cracked jokes with strangers?

      'You were trying to use the air freshener that's connected high up the wall?'

      'Stupid idea, I know. It was a last resort. I've learned my lesson. I just don't like smelling like BO.'

      'Understood.'

      I can sympathize with the poor guy. Well, I've never been in his situation before but I understand that missing a flight is a scary thought. He doesn't really look like he can afford a new ticket either.

      The barista hands him his drink. As he gives him the money, he asks me for my name. It's strange to ask for someone's name after a small exchange, isn't it? He isn't really going to benefit from knowing it. It's an airport and we're not going to bump into each other again so he'll have no use for it.

      But I can't help but want to give him it. 'My name is Daxten... Lowe.'

      'Last name too? Okay, I'm Brando Hallward,' he tells me in response.

      Should I tell him it's nice to meet him? Should I invite him over to my table to talk? What's the protocol here?

      I hold out my hand and force a smile like I do after every successful business meeting. He's far from the big corporate leaders I've shaken hands with in the past, but his hand is softer, warmer. Might have been the running.

      'Nice to meet you.' He gives me a toothy smile before he turns his back on me. He walks to a table near my own where another man is sitting. I stand and watch for a minute, baffled by our interaction. I am so entranced that I completely ignore the barista as he tries to take my order.

      I shake out of my trance. 'Oh, sorry. I'll have an Americano please.'

      As the barista prepares my drink, my eyes wander back to Brando.

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