Page 3 of The Killer Card

“Goddammit,” I sigh heavily, settling back into the mildly comfortable terminal seat.

When I’d booked my flights- months ago to get ahead of the seasonal up-pricing- it had seemed practical to fly into Montreal rather than deal with the possible layovers and delays of a flight into Burlington. My father warned me that Vermont was notoriously difficult to fly into. He always takes more indirect routes with faster results. So, with that advisement in mind, I’d checked my passport, booked a flight to Canada with the intention of renting a car, and waited for my travel day safe in my decision.

But now I was delayed by two freaking hours.

At least Elias was kind of enough to upgrade my flights. Or rather, have his manager upgrade them. He even paid the difference. According to Elias, it would be blasphemous- Nelly’s word I’m sure- if he let his wedding party fly anything less than first class. God forbid the press find out that The Island King cheaped out on flights for his soon to be wife’s closest friends. Clara and Rowan got to fly in on his goddamn private jet yesterday, which is the third chance I’ve missed to enjoy Mr. Santos’ hard-earned wealth.

I still can’t believe I’m on my way to Nelly’s wedding. Not because I expected any other outcome since she met Eli two years ago. Honestly, I’m surprised he didn’t elope with her sooner. I’m surprised he didn’t take advantage of her already being in a wedding dress in front of a minister two years ago. It’s just strange to picture her as someone’s wife, I guess. It’s even harder to imagine any of us settling into the life of husbands and children and quiet nights at home. But I guess she’s really been doing that for quite some time now, Clara too. Since I went to law school they’ve kind of folded themselves into a new routine that involves a lot less clubbing and one-night-stands and a whole lot more pasta making classes and wine tastings.

When Clara called me last Summer to invite me to a week-long trip to Napa Valley, I’d thought Hell had frozen over. We had never made a quiet vacation plan in our lives. Upon recovering from the shock, my next thought had been a bit more existential and just one of many reasons I declined the invitation.

Was I the problem?

Part of me refused to consider the possibility. After all, I’d also settled into my own version of quietude since moving to Cambridge. Law school was rigorous and required a lot of late nights studying and less doing body shots off some soccer player’s abs. Not that the latter was totally forgone, just less frequent. So, of course, I couldn’t be the problem.

And yet….

I can think of a handful of occasions my friends had to be dragged out to a club. There were even more that I’d gone to solo, the prospect of sitting at home doing nothing but sharing dinner with my father positively dreadful. Maybe I was the problem. I did a lot of questionable things to avoid being home from the ages of twelve to twenty-two. Things I’m not proud of, things that even Clara and Nelly don’t know about. Like that one time I let some guy- name unknown an unimportant at the time- talk me into letting him drive me home only to—

Nope. No, we are not going there, Queen.

Crossing my legs, I look around the steadily filling Fort Lauderdale terminal. I’ve been home a week for the shortest Summer vacation ever and only got to see Nelly and Clara once before they flew out yesterday morning. We’d gone to our final fitting and gotten lunch. Considering I hadn’t seen them since Clara’s last recital, the few hours felt ominously short. They’d left together to meet their significant others, and I’d gone back to my father’s house. Alone.

Nelly has been busy with the wedding preparations ever since, and Clara- even while on break- trained diligently for the ballet every. Single. Day.

I didn’t see Eli or Rowan, but I wasn’t about to stop by El Rincón just to say hello. I love them like brothers, but we’re only friends because of our girls. They don’t get surprise pop-in privileges, and it’s not like there’s anything or anyone else waiting for me at El Rincón. Just liquor and bad decisions.

God, this week is going to be brutal—

Not thinking about it!

What can one reasonably do to occupy themselves at an airport for four hours? I arrived- as custom dictates- at eight in the morning, expecting a much longer TSA process and, you know, for my flight to be on time. It’s only ten-thirty now. I still have three hours before boarding and I finished my Chai an hour ago.

I did come prepared. Currently my earbuds are reading me the latest in a long line of smutty books Nelly recommended for the week. She insisted Clara and I read them starting with one about a hockey team’s physical therapist getting railed by two players and an equipment manager. Nelly does not give her recommendations lightly.

“It’s for the bride,” she’d said.

I’m not a big reader, not unless it’s a textbook or a formal document, but I am a good listener. I’m now on chapter two of this hockey fast burn and I have to admit, not totally hating it. A tentacle dildo has entered the scene.

In my carry-on I also have my iPad and laptop just in case I decide to get some work done on my vacation. The partners at Williams, Williams, & Patterson were so ecstatic to hire the daughter of a U.S. Senator that when I told them I needed to take a two weeks for a wedding only a week into starting, they just thrust a laptop into my hands and said have a great time! But I still brought a few case files with me to review if I get the time. I want to make a good first impression, something I’ve found difficult to do in certain circles this past year.

The terminal comes equipped with the essential Starbucks- already taken advantage of- and the unused perfume stand. I can’t fathom purchasing my perfume from an airport kiosk, but I also grew up in the most lucrative zip code in the continental U.S. The sushi restaurant is definitely the more appalling business model anyway. Only someone who has never endured ceaseless stomach cramps and pleas for death on a bathroom floor would ever. Buffets and sushi anywhere that caters to large tourist crowds have a lifetime ban from me.

There’s an Italian restaurant, as well as a quick service burger joint, but I’m neither interested in a burger nor pizza before eleven in the morning. I should eat though. If I don’t grab something before the flight my next chance won’t be until I arrive at the cabins.

Several times I’ve asked Nelly why she decided to have her pre-wedding events in what is basically the middle of nowhere Vermont. The actual wedding is in New York, a private affair at the church Elias attended as a child. She told me it was to keep the press from ruining their week. I guess no one expects The Island King to hole himself up in the woods leading up to his wedding? I certainly didn’t. Rowan, maybe- the man hates attention- but Elias has taken Nelly to Coachella twice, put out a new album, and done a national tour since I’ve known him. He’s walked four red carpets this past year alone. A week in Vermont is the exact opposite of his vibe.

But I guess if his family isn’t complaining about having to come out for the rehearsal just to go back home for the actual ceremony, who am I to bitch? Vermont is only the tick capital of the country this time of year. What’s a little Lyme disease for my best friend’s happiness?

So, help me God if I find a single bug on my shit….

“Naomi?”

Pausing my audiobook- I’ll have to listen to this chapter again later anyway for… reasons- I give a tight smile to the lady behind the counter, taking my microwaved empanada. I’d give my soul for real Cuban food again. Where is Dr. Ramirez when I need her.

I try not to cringe through my, “Thank you.”

As I walk back to the gate I pull up my chat with Nelly and Clara, letting them know about the delay. Honestly, the fact that we’ve had this chat running for so long is absolutely disgusting. It’s been like, thirteen years.