Page 2 of Packed Up In Vegas

Where the hell was he?

I wheeled my suitcase down to the front desk and waited in line until the check-in staff could see me.

The woman at the desk beamed at me. “Hi there! Ready to check in?”

“Actually, I’m already staying here, but my keycard isn’t working, and I wasn’t able to charge my last purchase to the room even though it was fine earlier in the day.”

“Oh dear, let me look into it. What’s your room number?”

I gave her the info and she tapped away. “Hmm, it looks like Mr. McIntosh checked out a couple of hours ago and canceled the remainder of your stay with us.”

The world dropped out from under me. “Excuse me? What do you mean he checked out?”

“I’m so sorry, ma’am. That’s what the computer says.”

Okay. Don’t panic. I just needed to go over the facts. 1) My fiancé wasn’t answering calls. 2) He’d left my luggage in the hall. 3) He’d apparently checked out even though we had two more days booked.

“Is my car still in the hotel lot?”

“I’m not sure. Let me call the valet.”

I gave her the info on it, and, sure enough, it was gone too. Jerry had done a lot of stupid things in the eight years we’d been together, but stealing my car and abandoning me in Vegas was a new low.

I sank onto one of the many chairs in the lobby, trying to sort out what my next step should be. I could report my car stolen, but that would lead to a massive fight, and by the time anyone looked into anything, it would probably be back at the apartment. Plenty of buses went between LA and Vegas, so it wouldn’t be too difficult to get home, at the very least. I checked ticket prices and then went to the banking app on my phone to see if I could afford it. Student loans had been up my ass and we had budgeted so carefully for this vacation.

Zero dollars remaining.

I stared at the number incomprehensibly and refreshed the app, but the amount of money in my account remained a big fat goose egg. How was that possible? All our rent, all the money we had put aside for the vacation. Gone.

I dialed Jerry again, half-surprised when he actually answered. “Hey, Cal.”

“Hey yourself. Where the fuck are you?”

“Um, coming up on Barstow?”

“What the sweet fuck are you doing in California? Did you seriously leave me in Nevada? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Listen…I’ve been rethinking some things in my life.”

“Oh, have you now?”

“Yeah, so, I’m married.”

“What the fuck do you mean you’re married? We’re engaged.”

“Yeah, I know. But Katrina ate my ass in a back alley and you’re not that fun, babe.”

I stared off into the middle distance, tinnitus blaring in my ears, my skin hotter and pricklier than even the weather demanded. “You abandoned your fiancée in another state because some woman ate your ass?”

“I mean, I did also blow all of our money gambling, and those casino people are not nice about it when you can’t pay.”

“You lost all our money and got married? Who the hell even is this woman?”

“I met her at the blackjack tables when you refused to come down and wanted to sleep. Katrina and I got super drunk last night, we ended up at the chapel, and then I kind of panicked this morning. Sorry about all this, but you’ll figure it out.”

“You’re sorry?! Jerry!”

“Later, Cal.”

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