Sheesh. We haven’t even taken off yet.
God, I feel for her.
I check my bag, hoping I have something that might distract him. Candy. Paper. A pen. A miracle.
The plane starts to push back, and right on cue, the little boy groans that he feels sick.
His mom is already flagging down the flight attendant. “I need to take him to the bathroom.”
“I’m sorry, you can’t,” the attendant says. “We’re about to take off. But there should be a vomit bag in the seat pocket.”
“There isn’t!” his dad snaps, with the urgency of a man who’s survived the hell of projectile vomit and lived to tell about it.
With any luck, it hits the guy next to me. What kind of person picks their nose, thinks no one’s watching, and wipes it on the seat?
I grab his puke bag, and mine, and pass both over the seat.
“Here you go, kiddo,” I say, coaxing a smile. “Better safe than… everywhere.”
CHAPTER 6
Harrison
“I’m sending you a car,” Brian says, having already apologized for the fifth time for pulling me away from the kids on a Saturday.
After this morning’s epic shitstorm of fishing a drowned remote out of the toilet, sealing it into a bag of rice I’ll now treat like a biohazard, and undoing a post-breakfast kitchen apocalypse, my only response was, “No problem. I’ll be right there.”
We end the call, and I text my failsafe.
Me
Got called in to work.
Can you cover?
Hannah-BananaHead
No-notice kids?
Today?
GIMME!!
Muffins and a coffee-to-go will be waiting.
I smile and love my sister even more.
Me
I take back at least half of what I said about you in grade school.
You’re the best!
Then I jot a quick note to Gabe’s sister and stick it to the entry mirror.
Dear Gabe’s sister,
Our casa es su casa.
