Page 5 of Married with Mayhem

“Get lost,” I say to Gavin. “And go call your wife instead of hassling random women.”

Not a bad parting line. I’m proud of myself as I walk away without awaiting his response.

“Thank god,” I say into the phone as I turn a corner, dodge a garbage can and nearly trip over the outstretched legs of a man who has decided to sprawl on the floor. “You’ll never believe what kind of a day I’m having.”

There are no seats available anywhere. Even finding an empty section of wall to lean against is a challenge. I settle for an unoccupied spot beneath bright digital screens, all of them ominously listing every flight as ‘CANCELLED’.

“Sabrina!” exclaims Daisy. “How did you get to New York?”

“I invented a teleportation device.”

“Oh,” she says with hushed awe.

I adore my sister but she can be a trifle gullible.

“Daisy, I’m kidding. I snuck out of Vittorio’s villa prison and took a plane from Palermo to go see Anni and the baby.”

“I heard the planes weren’t working.”

“This was before the cyberattack. I’ll explain everything but can you come pick me up? I can’t even call a car becausemy cards don’t work and I’m not sure a driver would show up anyway now that the traveling world has plummeted into anarchy.”

“Hmm,” she says. “Okay but it will take a really long time to get there.”

“Do you and Big Man Bowie have the truck at Jones Beach today?”

Daisy’s husband is the inventor of the food truck franchise Big Man Bowie’s Burgers. I think it was Anni who initially refused to call our new brother-in-law anything other than Big Man Bowie. The trend stuck.

Big Man Bowie might be the most cheerful, least complicated man on the planet. He loves the beach and he loves feeding people red meat and most of all he loves my sister. He and Daisy eloped three days after they met.

I’ll admit Big Man Bowie’s trademark hamburgers are exceptional. He’s generously tried to share his secret aioli sauce recipe and offers random tips about toasting thick brioche buns to perfection.

Too bad my interest in cooking hovers somewhere near my interest in slugs. As long as the food lands on my plate, I don’t give a hot damn what it went through to get there.

“No, we’re in Atlanta,” Daisy says. “We just got here last night. So much driving.”

“Atlanta?”An icky feeling starts to bloom in my gut. “The one about ten states and a thousand miles away?”

“Yup. This weekend is the annual food truck convention. Bowie is presenting his white truffle burger with mushrooms and caramelized onions. Didn’t I tell you about the white truffle burger?”

“Probably,” I mutter, feeling defeated as yet another complication is added to my situation. It never occurred to me that Daisy and Big Man Bowie would be out of town.

“Brina?” says my sister when I’m silent for too long. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Don’t worry and have fun at your convention. I’ll figure something else out until I can get a flight to Colorado.”

She sighs. “You should call Mama. She keeps texting, asking if I’ve heard from you. She’s so worried.”

The stab of guilt is worse than hunger and anxiety combined.

I hate the fact that I’ve caused my mother grief. But if I’d admitted that I was taking off on my own she would have freaked and tipped off my uncle. He would have sent a Sicilian army to stop me. Reminding these people that I’m not a helpless child does no good. I’ve tried.

I’ve learned to accept that my mother will still see me as her baby when I’m fifty. As for Uncle Vittorio, he’s a little behind the times when it comes to respecting feminism. He also feels a lot of brotherly remorse for the abuse his younger sister endured during the years she was married to my father. Ever since she moved to Sicily, he’s been on a mission to keep her happy. If my mother is unhappy, then my uncle is unhappy. And if Uncle Vittorio is unhappy, heads tend to roll. Literally.

“I’ll call Mama,” I promise my sister. “Say hi to the burger prince for me. Love you.”

“Love you too, sweetie,” Daisy replies with typical upbeat cheer. “Be careful.”

The terminal is teeming with humanity and the temperature is starting to feel unpleasant. I’d probably be cooler standing outside on city concrete in the direct summer sunlight.

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