Page 1 of Taking It To Overtime

Of course it’s raining.

Not a light drizzle that sends a rainbow peeking out from behind the tops of the broad-leaved trees. Not the clap of a thunderstorm with fat, warm raindrops splashing down onto the tarmac. Rain that pushes sideways, slicing through the air like a steak knife as our wheels finally touch down on solid ground.

I grip the center armrest, my knuckles going white as the plane lurches sideways. Eighty tons of aluminum at the mercy of the wind. This is what I get for being a good daughter. I’m going to die in this Puddle Jumper of a tin can, an hour from my hometown.

Is it too late to contact my attorney and write a will? Probably. It’s not like I can get anything notarized as we hurtle at alarming speed towards the tiny airport in the middle of nowhere. Airplanes need to invest in better brakes. I swear we’re going faster now that we’re on the ground.

Across the aisle, I make accidental eye contact with a tall, blond man and he smiles with all his teeth. He’s been staring for most of the forty-minute flight from NYC, and I let myself give a faint smile back even as my hands protest my crushing grip on my seat. I can’t tell if it’s normal male interest, or if he recognizes me, but either way, I’d rather die here than let anyone uncover how overwhelmed I am at this exact moment.

It seems improbable for Vera Novak—face of Cooper Wells Designs and Immaculate Beauty, known as a familiar presence at fashion week, fashion and lifestyle influencer with over one hundred million followers—to be terrified of flying, and travel in general, but here we are.

It doesn’t matter that I got on a bus at eighteen and moved to the city, that my first agency flew me to Japan to live in an eight-hundred square-foot apartment with three other models, that I traveled all over the island country for shoots and campaigns before being shipped off to Berlin. Then Toronto. Then LA. I never learned to love the journey so much as I learned to put on my game face and deal with the constant fear of death and dismemberment.

Travel has always been part of the job and no one wants to hear a model complain. Not about workouts, or food, or travel, or shoes two sizes too small, or the way the hairpins try to dig into my occipital lobe. Because according to the greater part of society, my job is supposed to be easy. And also coveted.

So I shut my mouth, and turn my gaze out the tiny oval window as the plane lurches to the left—leaving my stomach behind—and then slows to a stop.

The clapping sounds like rain too, and I watch the seatbelt sign flicker off as the grainy voice on the intercom announces our arrival in Eastbumfuck, New York. Population: more cows than people. I turn on my phone out of habit. I have zero missed calls and messages, but the pretense of scrolling through my email gives my heart rate time to level out and my breathing time to return to normal.

The hard part is over, Vera, I lie to myself.You’re back on solid ground. Don’t think about how you’ll need to do this again in a week. Just don’t.

I wait for the crush of passengers standing in the aisle to move before I stretch out my legs. I’m not in a rush, there’sno point in shouldering my way through the crowd just to be stopped by the plane’s closed door. My rowmate is already in the aisle, tapping a dark stiletto and sighing. She’s wearing a navy suit set, her hair pulled back into a chic twist, and I catch myself wondering what business she has here among the pastures. It’s mid-morning on a Monday so it could be a business meeting except I can’t think of a single place she’d need a suit and heels for within a few hour radius.

I smooth my hands down the tops of my thighs, fingers slipping over the smooth texture of my leggings. I’m not dressed for the rain, not with my favorite, worn in, pair of sneakers and my new yoga set. Maybe that’s why she’s annoyed. Not at the crush of people, or the lack of forward movement, but at the open rural-ness of where we are and that shealsoforgot an umbrella.

If there is one thing LA is not, it’s rural.

Or rainy.

My phone shakes in my lap, buzzing louder than it needs to against the metal of my seatbelt. I debate ignoring it, just for now, but Tandy will call back until I answer. She’s persistent and annoying and dependable like that. I couldn’t love her more.

I bring the phone to my ear and angle my body away from the aisle. Not a soul is paying attention to me, not even Blondie over there, but it still offers me the illusion of privacy.

“Hey T—”

I don’t get to finish my greeting before my best friend is dragging my name out into the longest two syllables in existence.

“Darling, I was going to see if you wanted to grab brunch with Mal and I, but I noticed something strange when I went to pull up your number. Do you want to tell me why your location says Genosa, New York?”

Do I?

“Because I’m in Genosa.”

“Well, obviously.” She laughs. “The only other explanation was that your phone was stolen, but I abandoned that one when you answered. Why are you all the way over there?”

“Um,” I stall.

“Aren’t your folks out that way?”

I rub a hand across my forehead, digging the pads of my fingers into the skin above my brows. The pressure is heavenly. Distracting.

“Is everything okay with your mama? Your daddy?”

This is why I stalled, because yes. Everything is okay with my parents for now. I talk to my dad at least once a week, Mom and I text and email almost daily, and I saw them at Christmas, but a few months ago everything wasn’t fine with Tandy’s dad. So now I’m sitting in a tiny vinyl plane seat, waiting for my blood pressure to return to normal—after what I’m sure was an objectively terrible landing—and I don’t know how to explain the pull I felt to come home and see my folks without making the sister-of-my-soul relive a painful reminder that she can never do the same.

“They’re great.” I say, and it isn’t a lie. They were great the last time I checked in a few days ago, but I wouldn’t mind dropping this line of conversation. “My dad’s birthday is this week. I thought I’d surprise them.”

There’s nothing like the unexpected death of a friend’s father, to rearrange priorities. It doesn’t matter that Tandy hadn’t spoken to her dad since she left home at eighteen. Her loss is a reminder that time—and people—don’t keep.

---