Great.Just what we need.
Thanks to Suzy’s tiny car, Gretchen does a good job inching into a lane, but we’re barely crawling forward, and the minutes are ticking away.I can already picture myself stuck behind a long line at check-in and missing my flight.This can’t be happening.
I keep glancing at the clock, silently pleading with the traffic to part.
My heart plunges into my stomach.
“Maybe this flight wasn’t meant to be,” I whisper.“Maybe this is a sign.”
“Oh, heck no.I’m getting you to that airport,” Gretchen declares, slamming down on the horn.
She expertly weaves through a sea of SUVs and semi-trucks.One moment we’re parting two lanes, and the next, she’s trucking down the gravelly shoulder.This must be what it’s like driving an emergency vehicle.Part of me is hanging on for dear life, while the other part is grinning like a lunatic.
We might make it after all.
Gretchen is completely unfazed by the whirlwind of chaos she’s creating.We speed past an elderly woman who can barely see over the steering wheel; her face contorts with disdain as she raises her middle finger at us.
“I think you’re making some new friends!”I joke.
“If they only knew the stakes here, they would totally understand,” she replies with such conviction that it makes me think she truly believes that.
However, I’ll never give people that kind of credit—especially New Yorkers.Out here, it’s every person for themselves.
Without missing a beat, she rolls down her window and shouts, “Merry Christmas!”while waving energetically.
I can’t help but burst into laughter.I love this girl!I’m so grateful we met at Foster & Sons, even if they did kick me to the curb just days ago.
Finally, the traffic eases up, and we hit a steady pace.With a victorious grin, Gretchen cranks up the music, turning the car into our own little version of carpool karaoke.I use everything I can find as a microphone—a phone, my hand, a pen—belting out every song that plays.It’s a fun distraction, but I keep my eyes fixed on the clock ticking away.
When we take the airport exit, I feel a wave of relief, but I know I still need everything to align perfectly to make it on time.
“Thanks again for the ride.I’m pretty darn impressed with your mad racecar skills.I don’t think an Uber driver or a cabbie could have pulled off what you did back there.I’m so glad I asked you,” I say as the car comes to a screeching halt in front of a busy terminal.
Gretchen whirls around in her seat and dramatically grabs my hands.I swear I can feel her energy vibrating between us.“Jemma, I wish you the most magical Christmas of your life.Don’t overthink things, and most importantly, have fun.”Her words tumble out in a quick, jumbled string.
“You’re so dramatic, but seriously, thank you.”I swing my door open and begin to wrestle my luggage from the back seat.“I’ll text you once I settle in.I hope you and Suzy have a wonderful Christmas too.May Santa bring you everything you wish for—maybe even an engagement ring,” I tease, flashing her my ring finger.
A slow smile spreads across my friend’s face, and with that, I whip around, quickly locating the closest entryway.
“Don’t forget to buy a SIM card at the airport!”Gretchen calls after me, her voice cutting through the sound of cab drivers impatiently honking their horns.
Cell service.
Her words nearly knock the wind out of me.How could I have forgotten to consider how my phone will work once I’m there?Thank goodness for Gretchen—the world’s best friend—always looking out for me.What would I do without her?I should have made a to-do list or did a bit more research, but there’s no time to overthink things now.I’ve got a plane to catch.
I burst through the revolving doors, my eyes darting to the overhead signs pointing me toward my airline’s counter.
Alright, Jemma, you can freaking do this.
I might need a small miracle, but I’ll make this flight.
I dash through the airport, my suitcase bouncing behind me as I race to the check-in counter.Thankfully, the line is short.Once it’s my turn, I hurl my luggage onto the scale and proceed with all the necessary steps to finally get my coveted ticket to Paris.
Next, I make a beeline for TSA, where the security line feels like an Olympic event—shoes off, laptop out, arms raised for the invasive body scanner.
Ugh.I always hate this part.
I clumsily gather my belongings, slipping back into my shoes as I juggle my boarding pass, random receipts from dropping off my luggage, and my passport.Then, I sprint toward my gate on the other side of the airport.
