Page 4 of Dream Lover
I dragged my luggage along, clutching my boarding pass. This was a disaster waiting to implode. Not only did I not want to spend a week in Vegas with bridezilla and her posse, I had to contend with this mystery man.
Restless and in need of more sleep, I was in no mood for mishaps … or, at least, anymore. Carrie had refused to tell me who my surprise date for the week would be, even after asking her repeatedly. I doubted it was anyone I knew, but with her one could never tell.
After checking in, there was a small bit of time to kill. Luckily, I decided to change my flight to one later than the rest of the wedding party.
It worked for two reasons. One—I didn’t want them to see me alone and think I couldn’t get a date. I knew it was pathetic, but I didn’t want to deal with Rebecca any more than I already needed to. She didn’t need more ammunition to fire at me. The woman got in little jabs with me whenever she was able to do so. Two—I wouldn’t have to ride with any of them. God forbid I had to sit next to one of them whining the entire way.
The line for coffee was only four deep, and I was thrilled to see they had one banana bread muffin left. At this point my stomach would be happy with anything.
There I had a bit of hope my luck was changing. It was as if the heavens were shining down on this one muffin. I could hear a harp playing it looked so damn delicious. I was salivating at the mouth. The one thing I needed to make this day not a complete loss was within reach. Things needed to turn around.
Sometimes I was an emotional eater, grabbing whatever was in reaching distance to soothe the soul. This was an emotional time and, in that moment, I needed that muffin to pair with my coffee. The universe understood me and the cosmic need I had to devour this single pastry.
Only there was a problem in the form of a little old lady with tight cut curled hair and glasses. She was reaching for my glorious carbs. My stomach tightened.
My mother taught me to respect my elders, and I had every day of my life. At least up until this point because it was the last muffin in the entire place. My stomach was growling in protest. Fight or flight was kicking in as my body reacted.
I had a split-second choice to make—suffer in hunger pains for the flight because once I had a craving for something nothing else would suffice. Or I could be a jerk and grab the muffin before she got to it.
It played out in slow motion as I watched her hand tremble as it moved toward my muffin, and before I could internalize further, I did something I never thought I would do. Something my mother would be pissed about. Stepping to the side of the woman, I went for that damn muffin. I was going to be stuck spending a week with Rebecca, doing God only knew what and having to put on a smile with someone I disliked because my brother loved her. I deserved the damn muffin.
So, I claimed it.
My fingers curled around the plastic wrapping as it crinkled under my touch. Elation hit me, but instead of celebrating, a cry tore from my lips because the little old lady who looked like a sweet grandma type was anything but. She wielded a bronzed colored cane that must have cement in it or something.
Thwack.
I felt a sharp sting smack my arm as the cane made contact with me. Glancing down, a red welt appeared on my skin.
She actually smacked me with her damn cane. Twice. What the hell?
“Put down my muffin,” she hissed at me, and continued to hem and haw about young folk today not having respect for their elders. She was right, but at this point I didn’t care. She hit me over a muffin. There was no sympathy for her whatsoever.
Her glasses slid down her nose as she gawked at me, flapping her jaws and growing winded. While she shamed me in the middle of the airport, I was hangry. There was this point when a person was hungry to the point of angry. Hence hangry. It really wasn’t a made-up word. No, hangry was a state of being, a truly desperate time when a person should not be held accountable for their emotions or actions.
I didn’t let go and slid my arm back with the muffin in hand.
The sweet smile didn’t do anything for her because she scowled at me. “Sorry. I have low blood sugar.” This was actually true because my hand was shaking. Every time that happened, I needed food.
“I hope you choke on it,” she growled, walking off.
Was I wrong? Possibly, but this was a truly desperate time, therefore I was not going to feel the shame in my most desperate measures.
The cashier gave me a look but didn’t say anything as she rang up my purchase. Karma was already against me today; may as well make it count.
I was going to enjoy every banana baked goodness morsel as if it were the last thing I’d ever put in my mouth. The welt would bruise, and the damn thing had better be worth the trouble.
In the end, though, it didn’t matter. The muffin didn’t taste anywhere as good as it had looked in the case. It was dry and tasted like cardboard. I suppose that was what I got for fighting an old lady for it in the first place.
Karma. She was not my friend. It was racking up something fierce today.
After that the day continued its downward spiral. On the plane, I practically fell on top of the chubby bald guy in the outside seat as I tried to get to my window seat. Instead of him getting up and letting me through like a gentleman, he remained in place. Did he apologize for the inconvenience or uncomfortableness? Nope, he glared at me, but considering it was his foot I tripped on since he didn’t move, I didn’t care he was pissed. He wasn’t good company either, complaining to the stewardess about not having peanuts on the plane. I felt bad for the lady and then remembered the old lady and looked up to the ceiling.
Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. I get it.
There was a kid maybe four-years-old in the row behind us who kept kicking the back of bald man’s seat. I had the pleasure of listening to him gripe for most of the flight aboutparents not taking care of their kidsandhow he would ban children from flying.
I thought nothing else could go wrong, but sure enough in the ‘it can only happen to Quinn soap opera’ that is my life, all the coffee I drank hit me, and I had to go to the bathroom. There was no holding it. I’d tried.
