“I can’t believe I’m flying first-class!” sang Rachel a week later.
I’d spent the previous week searching for a job. I’d even had one interview. Mostly, however, I’d been sitting at my computer tweaking my résumé and submitting to one place, then another. Sifting through emails to separate the wheat from the chaff got old fast. There was a lot of chaff. So much chaff.
But I didn’t have to think about that right now because my two good friends—mybestfriends—were on a plane with me to New York. Mitch was officially gone, and Mom was looking out for Lucky.
“I can’t believe I’m flying,” muttered Abi. She’d already checked in with Zeke three times on the way to the airport, so I could only hope she would be okay on this trip. She grabbed her armrests tightly, but she also jutted out her chin in alet’s do thismanner.
“I’m just glad you both decided to come with me.” I marveled at how Abi and I were trying our best not to visibly lean away from Rachel. She’d scratched her head a couple of times, and I was sure it was just psychological, but ... one did not forget picking through one’s friend’s hair with a nit comb.
I should’ve called that the Ride or Die Badge or the True Friendship Badge.
Deborah from Busy Mom Cosmetics had chastised me for recording about lice so close to the makeover. Fortunately, everything had been arranged so she couldn’t renege on us.
“Are you kidding?” Rachel said. “We get to stay at that new boutique hotel and then get full makeovers? This was more than worth having to draw up sub plans for today, tomorrow, and Monday.”
I locked eyes with Abi, giving her a look that was half hey-how-are-you-doing-over-there and half I-know-this-is-tough-for-you-so-thanks.
We enjoyed adult beverages and all the other amenities of first class, including being greeted at baggage claim by a driver in an honest-to-goodness hat with an honest-to-goodness iPad with text that read “Quackenbush.”
“You’ve really got to change your name,” Abi said.
“Tell me about it.”
Even so, we enjoyed champagne in the limo and arrived at the hotel to be greeted by a very thin woman in a pencil skirt. She looked a lot like Olive Oyl.
“Vivian?”
“That’s me!”
“I’m Deborah.”
“How nice to finally meet you,” I said enthusiastically, my overly loud southern accent bouncing around the New York streets. I clamped my mouth shut.
“Come on inside, and let’s get you checked into the hotel.”
My head swirled as she went over a per diem and something about a suite that would be big enough for all of us. All we had to do was be downstairs the next morning at seven and bring my phone to record the entire process.
First class, a limo, a handler—still none of that prepared us for our room.
We had a suite to ourselves, and I stared at the gilt double doors thinking they looked like something from the soap operas I’d watched during summers as a child. I had no choice but to fling those doors open in the melodramatic style of Erica Kane.
The space beyond felt as big as my house.
“How many chandeliers can one suite hold?” asked Abi. Sure enough, a huge chandelier hung over a small, round table, but then there was another over a dinette set to the left and another over a coffee table to the right. Straight ahead, we could see through opened french doors to a pair of king beds and two smaller chandeliers above each one.
“If there’s a chandelier over the bathtub, I’m going to lose my mind.”
Rachel ran ahead and soon her voice echoed out. “Get ready to lose your mind!”
“Vivian,” Abi said. “This is ... incredible.”
I shrugged, but I was glad to provide something of value to my friends since they’d put up with so much. Sure, I also felt a little guilty about leaving Mom behind, but I’d make that up to her later.
Somehow.
Maybe with the trip to Napa?
In the foyer sat a round table with a vase of yellow roses and an envelope, a fancy envelope, the kind that held good surprises. “What’s this?”
