Your Flight Will Leave Soon Page 6

  “So, can I ask how it went?” Kat asked after she put out his coveted pain meds and water, for when he needed them later on. He sat awkwardly on a hightop stool at the makeshift bar the girls built. Not perfect. It had adequate space for a person of lesser size for bartending duty, which described all four residents. They had a Blend-tec beside a stainless juicer and a rotation schedule for its cleaning.

  “I can’t say. I’m sworn to secrecy.”

  “Stop toying with me. I know you’re not,” Kat said. “You can’t come over here and not tell me about the interview of your life.”

  Galen suddenly didn’t feel much like talking about the interview anymore, knowing that he had possibly blown his best opportunity, wanting the job so badly it hurt. He figured Kat didn’t want to hear him mope. She deserved better than that. “Industry secrets,” Galen offered an explanation, trying to hide his smile.

  Kat rolled her eyes, then fussed with her dark hair as though she were touching up to dash off to work. She had been growing it out, for reasons she didn’t entirely understand, other than she was tired of short hair. She had confessed as much to Galen, as though it were a big secret.

  “Nice eye roll,” Galen said.

  “Fine. If you didn’t get an offer, then fight back. Follow up with the guy who interviewed you at Marcson. Connect with him on Linked In or something. Show them how brilliant you are.”

  Galen felt a little sheepish at her compliment.

  When he didn’t say anything, she asked him, “So how many interviewed you?”

  “Two.”

  “How many interviews?”

  “Tests, then more tests, then a one on one tech talk, then a group interview. I had three college kids with me in the same room.”

  Kat chortled. “Uh. Oh. I guess that’s how it went. But you’re getting better, right?”

  She didn’t have to say he didn’t do well in groups. So what if he hated being in a throng of people? He hated boy bands, but no one said anything about that.

  Galen went to doctors and took prescribed medicine. It helped. Sort of. The problem would get better as he aged. No epileptic shock or seizure ever happened. A crowded school bus couldn’t make him foam at the mouth. Or a classroom. And the more often he frequented a place, the better.

  As Galen grew up, it got easier. His reactions were less visceral. He got better at concealing his feelings.

  “So, when do they tell you?” Kat asked, sipping ice water. She had been in the middle of chores when he arrived, unannounced and she had looked all too happy to have company. Kat didn’t like quiet. She thrived around people and had the personality match to her current job as a bartender.

  “Someone will call, either way. A couple of weeks. I better keep looking.”

  “Pick it up, Galen. C’mon. You can’t quit. You’re giving me all puppy dog eyes, which is really cute, by the way.”

  Galen returned a smile back at Kat, wishing she would stand upright instead of leaning over on the counter in her little blue and flowery tee shirt dress that hit high on her thighs. She bought it a month ago at an environmentally conscious clothier. Most of the time, Kat wore a sports bra and tights.

  He watched her face. Kat, elbows on the counter, dangling oversized artisan earrings, a matching necklace like an ad, complete with a braless model. Her roommate sold the stuff, apparently for hefty profits and vacations, though the product was supposedly made by former slaves in third world countries.

  “Sure,” Galen said. “But I don’t want to screw this up. Not like my other chances.”

  “How many times did you apply?”

  “Five. My family can’t wait to be rid of me. I don’t want to move.”

  “You waiting too though, aren’t you?”

  Galen nodded, then showed Kat the wedding invite, though he had considered keeping it a secret. She read it quickly in silence, then twisted her lips. “Maybe you could take me with you. Weddings are more fun with a date.” She twitched her thin, dark eyebrows into wicked slants, “I like this idea.”

  “My aunt and uncle are…conservative,” Galen said.

  Kat made a face, “So?”

  Galen gulped his water and gagged, coughed.

  “I’ve thought about transferring out west, actually. That would be a better location for you, right?”

  Galen studied her several seconds, “Sure. Because I graduated from Stanford, remember? Silicon Valley companies would be lining up to hire me.”

  She snickered. “Okay, whatever. Shut up.” She tussled with her hair again while Galen tried not to notice her preening.

  What was he afraid of? That she would hate him if they turned out badly? That dating someone who knew you so well would become uncomfortable?

  She said, “I’m hopeful.” She paused too long and realized her mistake. “For you, I mean. A job means you get on with your life, maybe get married, date, whatever.”

  “Uhh. Press pause on rapid life plans. I need work first.”

  “What’s wrong?” Kat asked, her hands gently teasing his as they rested on the counter. “You were doing awesome when you had your own place.”

  Galen sighed. Those lonely days of consistent projects were gone. He had two companies hiring him for contract work, and he got to work long hours in his PJs for good money. He didn’t like living alone, with only a dark and nearly silent apartment to return to. Paranoia always played a starring role when he came home from whatever watering hole his friends wanted to visit, which was most often Stout’s, where Kat worked.

  “I don’t think I got the job and it’s pissing me off,” Galen said after a while. “I can’t say why. I know the work. I’m qualified. I don’t interview well.”

  “You did awesomely. I’m sure,” Kat said. “But I could roleplay if you want? Like, practice interviewing?”

  He paused a moment, trying to decide if this exercise would ever work. Preparing just might have elevated his expectations of himself and thereby made the whole process much harder. “I don’t know that I would be a good student. I tense up in those situations. Anxiousness. Butterflies. Whatever. Must be a condition.”

  She smiled at him. “Then you can help me, with my clay. I’m struggling with the eyes.”

  He agreed. Getting his hands immersed in clay tended to help him relax.

  Five

  Darcy

  Darcy hung up and screamed at the wall. Why did she get herself pulled into these things? She scolded her own impulsiveness. Yes, she had to rescue her sister. She loved the idea of planning the shower, but she couldn’t get her head around why she felt so stressed about it.

  Lila needed help. Of course she did. She had no one else? But wait, didn’t Lila have a horde of old high school friends who she actually still socialized with, unlike most people who lost those seemingly unbreakable elastic bonds with the hurling of a black cap that felt both strange and amazing at the same time? Of course she did. She had to. She was so well liked, which is completely different from being popular. The popular girls were like former celebrities trying to hang onto yesterday’s successes and jean sizes and keep riding the wave that died a decade ago. Surely, someone still lived there in the cold she hailed from, who wanted to celebrate Lila’s baby with her instead of seeing her face smeared in that March to April crusty mud after a snow melt then refreeze. But who wanted that for Lila? No one. Not really. Everyone loved Lila.

  But how? She told Lila she would plan the shower. She couldn’t bail now. She’d be doing the same thing as Gillian! Darcy couldn’t be the backstabbing sister, after the much-adored childhood friend did just that. Wait. If she doesn’t plan the shower, someone else will, but Darcy would still be invited. And she couldn’t just not go. So, what was wrong with planning it? At least Darcy could control all the details. She didn’t like the idea that some shoddy place could be the venue.

  Work wouldn’t be a strong enough excuse, and it wasn’t like she had a family to tow. So what was Darcy’s problem? She wanted to plan the baby sh
ower. She did. But she didn’t want to be pushed into it, was that it? She didn’t want a job she was forced into, but got to…be chosen? But are people ever chosen for that job? It’s not like a maid of honor!

  Not that again. Darcy had to find chores around the apartment, though she didn’t have much, considering she had little outside other than water the Banzai and try to read a book, listening to traffic and conversation from pedestrians. She had invites to go out all the time, but did she really want to hit the bars, the clubs all the time? People were kinda slimy, and it was so expensive.

  Outside, she got benefits for free. It felt like not quite having company, but she felt less alone. Dishes were a non-factor, thanks to her dishwasher-safe multi-cooker insert. And she kept her patient pending blue fabric pricy cleaning cloth on hand for a quick wipe down on impulse. You never knew when or where bacteria lingered.

  It was chilly out and breezy and Darcy had forgotten to put on a jacket, but she didn’t care. Cold burns more calories.

  She didn’t know for sure how long she had to plan the shower. No clue where to hold the thing. How many would come? What about timing. When was Lila’s due date? June 8th. Right. Two months away, almost to the day. How loose were due dates? Babies could come late, right?

  She was too deep in thought and fighting her own emotions trying to get her head around the situation to think clearly. Of course, this was supposed to be fun. It was her sister’s baby! Her first niece. Or nephew. Why the hell did Lila have to keep the baby’s gender a secret? What was that all about? No one needs more suspense, thank you.

  What was Darcy’s problem? Why didn’t she want to plan the shower for Lila?

  She had offered to throw a shower, happily, when Lila told her, because Lila, of course, told her sister she’s pregnant first, well, not before her hubby knew, but Darcy knew before anyone else. Darcy knew before their mother knew. So there. And Darcy offered to throw Lila a shower and her sister skirted out of that, using their geographical distance as the linchpin. But Darcy sensed more to the story, and it ate at her for days, weeks, that she wasn’t throwing a shower for Lila. She’d taken an overpriced trip to Vegas with Rebecca and a friend of hers named Briana because Heather at work had backed out at the very last minute and it had been a miracle they had gotten someone to come and split the hotel costs.

  She went inside to call old friends on the chance one of them could host the event and help her out in planning it because she was otherwise at a loss, planning from a distance on a tight schedule. What else could she do?

  She wanted to plan the shower, but she didn’t understand why she felt the way she did. Uneasy? Was that the right way to describe it? No. Not quite.

  She got what she wanted, but that was months ago. She took forever to get over it. Maybe she had checked out? Thinking she wouldn’t even go to Lila’s shower? Show up for the birthday?

  Darcy decided she needed stress relief. At the gym.

  Planning the baby shower from who knows how many miles from home felt daunting at first, then impossible, then doable. Then exhausting. Dealing with opinions and locations, costs and party size and times and dates were all the fun little bonuses that came with the job.

  Darcy wasn’t alone.

  She had Lila’s friends and some family members who didn’t live in town but swore they would pay a visit for the baby shower, insisting they had to see Lila in person and celebrate the miraculous first baby––like it was god save the queen––with her, though Darcy knew they were highly unlikely to come, on chance they did, they would throw themselves upon her parents like they were a hotel and that thought infuriated Darcy more than their insistence on putting them down as guests for the baby shower.

  One look at plane ticket prices in June––any week in June––and they’d be passing it off. It wasn’t her wedding. They would use the excuse that making the birth would be more important so they would suggest or require depending on the point of view, coming months later to visit the baby.

  Family close enough to drive had already said they would come and while she knew Lila would want them, her parents home was not a bed and breakfast! They sort of had room, considering how Darcy’s mother used every spare inch to store holiday decorations she didn’t have space to display yet she could not part company with them.

  It was all too much and overwhelming.

  Fun was null and void. Well, a little. This was her sister’s shower, for her first little niece or nephew––and Darcy kept her opinion about names to herself, knowing Lila had her own ideas and didn’t discuss them because more comments were not needed.

  She knew the right venue, a picturesque old hotel, popular, prominent, with all the right charm and recognition, so everyone would find it easily, even those from out of town, but it was so expensive. But how many people would actually come? It was a baby shower, not a wedding. No royalty on the guest list though she knew Marcella would try to make that happen.

  Outside. Perfect. That was the plan, until Darcy and Lila talked over the phone and Lila told Darcy not to plan anything outside because she’d had a dream the night before about wasps and flies invading the baby shower and landing on all the food and guests so having it outside would panic the momma to be––not that anything didn’t panic her––but it wasn’t a safe idea to upset momma bear.

  May would be beautiful outside, no? Of course. But Lila would worry herself to death, and we couldn’t have her more worried than she already was, her mother had insisted. Darcy asked herself for over an hour about why she had called her mother, who just made everything more complicated by throwing her opinion into the mix. It was always, or, almost always, destructive. Darcy knew the shower would be held outside. No. Matter. What.

  Darcy called back the quaint park close to Lila’s home, whom she’d begged to accept a reservation for their outside gazebo, just perfect to host maybe twenty people, only to nix the deal. Hard work. Hours on the phone. All flushed by a pregnant woman’s damn wasp infested dream.

  Where should she have Lila’s baby shower? Not where could she have it. It couldn’t just be anywhere, because everyone had an opinion about the anywhere she could host it. Was this the last baby the family would ever have?

  Darcy had to admit to herself that considering her own prospects, that might be a reality. Maybe their mother had a reason for freaking out?

  She had to tell herself this shower planning would not be the end of her mental sanity. Like a cold spring with tons of mud and yuck, it too would pass.

  She called old friends and got ideas––those friends she didn’t want to call because she knew they still lived there and had married someone local, had kids, and they would probably never leave. Was that better? Was that what Darcy had really wanted? She just couldn’t find the right guy? No, she told herself her work brought her away.

  Right. The dating hotline was worth moving away for. Not quite. College came first and she went where she got a decent scholarship, and they had her sociology program. The program that would be the kiss of career death because she elected she didn’t want to keep going for her Ph.D. It’s one of those programs you don’t realize you’re in the wrong career course until it’s too late to turn around, like driving to California only to realize you forgot to pack clothes about ten hours into the drive––you don’t go back, you buy a new wardrobe when you get there.

  Darcy hung up her phone and plugged it in, because it was nearly dead, even though it was just after two p.m. How long had she been on the phone, killing a Saturday? What else did she have to do? She’d had calls and texts from friends, but she didn’t feel like doing anything else because planning this had to happen. The pressure was getting to her.

  Crazy was okay. There was no shame in being a little crazy for your sister’s benefit. The line was out there called stupid, and she didn’t want to cross that. Darcy told herself that the stupid line crossing phase had passed and while she insisted on that, her friends told her she hadn’t bought a house yet, so she d
idn’t know what forces would push her toward that line, over and over again.

  Darcy found that she liked to talk to herself a lot during the planning phase and she often asked herself the same question: what the fuck? It became seriously repetitive, and she thought she might need to get herself a swear jar to help her stop using such potty talk, but she thought she couldn’t help it with how people, especially family members, were acting. And she had no idea what to do with the money she would undoubtedly collect. Maybe a downpayment fund? That didn’t seem right, somehow.

  She wished she could shop for two plane tickets, even though a boyfriend or husband would not go to the shower, at least she could have some moral support. Or better yet, she had someone to show off to her hometown friends like–look what I found in Texas! Everything there is bigger, girlfriends!

  When she bought her plane ticket, looking for the cheapest ticket possible, came to realize that she didn’t get a direct non stop flight––she must learn to remember the lingo of airline travel before she dies, seriously––she got a super cheap ticket that had her cheering at her computer and happy to spend the money, until she got her confirm which showed the bitter reality of her connecting flight in Denver, leaving her stuck for hours in the airport.

  Why did she have to do things like this to herself? What good could possibly come from getting stuck in the airport?

  Lila wanted all the details. Why? The shower was planned. Booked. Smashing location. Delectable food, but not too fussy. Floral arrangements and some of them were even edible! Darcy had help–Lila’s old friends chipped in suggestions. Two of them even had their own kids, which helped for everything not to do, yet neither wanted the responsibility of throwing Lila a shower. That was essentially what they said. Darcy didn’t realize the drama that had started in the background, starting with what was perceived as judgmental comments from Lila toward Gillian, which started the fallout, former Monarch of baby shower planning. Darcy was afraid to dig for the root cause. Their mother had told Darcy on every call not to upset Lila. It was not healthy for the baby, she had said.