“No.”
I sighed.“You are absolutely zero help.”
“You’re going to do great.Do I need to ride to the airport with you so you don’t go to Hawaii and open a snow cone hut on the beach instead?”she asked.
My eyes widen.“That’s such a great idea.”
“Samantha.”She leveled her gaze at me.
“No.I promise not to bail and move to Hawaii to open a snow cone hut.I will go to Florida and save the human race.”
“Great.Then it’s settled.Let’s get your ass to the airport before you change your mind and miss your flight.I need a martini after all this.”
I was goinghome.As I rolled my carry-on through LaGuardia security, I ran through the roster at Goodrich in my head again.I’d looked at the situation from every angle and suffice to say, I was heading to Florida unless I wanted to spoon-feed Robby my promotion.
A loud buzzer went off as I walked through the scanner, interrupting my internal debate of fighting a decision I’d already made.
“Ma’am, step aside,” the very tall TSA agent barked at me.
“Sorry, I forgot I have to go through the other line.I spaced out.”I reached for my medical card and stepped to the side for the one-on-one pat down party.
Fun fact—when I walk through metal detectors, it sounds like a really aggressive outdoor garden chime section at Home Depot during a hurricane.
“Is this your bag?”he asked as he plucked my carry-on from the conveyor belt.
“Yes, it is.”I gave him the brightest smile I could muster as I handed over my medical card.
He glared at me, inspected the little plastic card I always carried around, and bounced his gaze to my arm like he didn’t believe there were exactly twenty-three screws holding it together.
“Accident in high school.Just call meTer-mi-na-tor.”I rocked my arm back and forth like a robot.
“Spread your legs, ma’am.”
“Not a joke guy.Got it.Too early for that stuff anyway.”I held my breath as he groped me with a plastic wand that blared as it circled my arm.Once the unofficial first base had been crossed, he put my carry-on on top of the table.He unzipped the top and eyed me as he pulled out the brown paper bag.
“They’re all under three ounces each,” I blurted out, like that’s going to explain away all the alcoholic vibes I was giving off.
“Ma’am, have you been drinking today?”
“I have anxiety with flying.”Liar.“And I’ll be gone for a whole month.To my hometown.And I’m seeing my mom and we don’t exactly get along all that well.These are kinda like mini backup reinforcements.Little bottles of courage.”
He didn’t even respond, and walked over to his supervisor who put my carry-on into one of those little machines that test for bomb residue.It clicked green after an agonizing ten-second stare-down competition.He handed me my bag and reluctantly nodded me through.
My phone rang.
FACETIME—MOMflashed across the top of my screen.Against my better judgment, I answered the call.
“Happy birthday to you…”
“Mom—”
“Happy birthday to you…”
I turned down the volume on my phone.
“Happy birthday, dear sweat pea…”
“Mom—”
