Drink, poor mommies and daddies,
who wish they went to Vegas
on an adult getaway.
I can’t say he’s wrong, but this trip paid for itself and then some. And yet I can’t help but wonder about people who pay to do this.
The bartender flipping a bottle of tomato juice in the air distracts me, and I watch like a kid at the circus. It’s like a live version of the movieCocktail,except he doesn’t look like Tom Cruise.
That’s when I notice the back of some guy sitting at the bar. Scruffy hair, broad shoulders, downing a Bloody Mary himself. He’s kind of cute from behind ... and then the bartender finishes and yells to our server, “Melanie, drink’s up for the lovely lady at table forty-two.”
Mr. Cute watches Melanie pick up the drinks, and it’s not with lust or anything. He’s obviously taking note of his surroundings. That is, until his gaze lands on me.
Familiar green eyes behind dark-rimmed glasses find me, and I no longer need a Bloody Mary. I need a dozen Bloody Marys followed by a shot of tequila—because there I am, sitting in the Orlando airport with Reid sitting across from me. Mind you, I’m supposed to be home, busy with Gabby. Granted, Gabby’s here, but neither of us are supposed to be here.
I wave (like an absolute idiot ... anI carried a watermelonmoment straight out ofDirty Dancing) and Reid scowls.
I’ve never seen him look mad. Disappointment and confusion cloud his features, and I want to shrink and die. But then Gabby whispers, “Mom, there’s Reid. Lookie—can I go say hi?” Of course, she’s no longer whining or complaining.
I want to say no, worrying for just a second that Reid might take out his anger on her. But this is Reid, and he may be livid with me, but he knows this sham isn’t on Gabby.
“Sure,” I say, noticing Reid isn’t making an effort to come to us. He’s sitting there, staring, the drink in his hand never meeting his lips.
“Reid!” Gabby runs toward him, and he smiles huge at my little girl. She’s jumping and hopping on one foot when she gets to his bar stool, and he leans down and ruffles her hair. His words are quiet, not meant to be shared with me. Gabby’s nodding and not facing me, so I can’t see what she’s saying either.
I want to know, need to know like I need air to breathe. I suck in some oxygen, trying to calm myself. It’s not working.
The two are sharing a moment. It’s a happy one, and becomes too painful for me to watch. I turn my back and down my Bloody Mary. My throat burns, and I’m not sure if it’s the tabasco or tears, probably both.
Chalking up my swell of emotion to a drink that’s meant to be sipped, not chugged, I swallow my pride and turn back toward the pair. Gabby’s sitting next to Reid now, and I’m a lover scorned. She’s in an animated fit, probably discussing every adventure we had this weekend.
“Mom got it as a gift for working hard,” I hear her say, and Reid flicks his gaze to me. “Want to come sit with us?”
Reid nods and takes her hand on the way. My hands are cold, my fingers barren, and I suspect they will be—forever.
“Hey.” I try to be cheerful when he arrives at our table.
“Fancy meeting you here.” His words are light for Gabby’s sake, but his meaning is ripe with anger for me.
“It’s a long story.”
“Oh, I’m sure nothing more than you winning medical transcriptionist of the month.”
I’m sweating through my white T-shirt and gray cardigan, and have to resist the urge to sniff my armpits. I try to think about my morning shower and how much deodorant I applied, but at this point, who cares?
“I need to explain, but later?”
“It’s okay. I get it. There are secrets, and I’m not worthy of knowing.” He leans close and whispers this only for me, sparing Gabby, who is currently digging through her lemonade for a maraschino cherry.
Kissing my cheek, he says out loud, “Good seeing you. I guess we’re on the same flight. I skipped today’s wrap-up session and moved my flight a day early to surprise you at home. Joke’s on me.”
Gabby’s watching, her gaze flicking back and forth between us, a small line of worry between her eyes. “Can I sit with Reid on the plane?”
“We’ll see later, Gabbs. Let him go to the gate.”
“Oh,” she huffs.
“I need to settle the bill,” I tell her, like it all should make sense.
