Page 78 of Drilled (Dad Bod Contracting 2)
At no point is there a hint of where we’re going. Once we’re in the security line, I fix Imogen with a hard stare. “Where are we going? You have to tell me!”
“Do not!” she singsongs. “It’s a surprise.”
“How much were the tickets? I can reimburse you.”
She blows a raspberry at me as we move forward, approaching the front of the line. “Nope! I’m so proud of you for taking this time off, and taking care of yourself, and this my way of showing it. Plus, I got promoted at work, so I’m celebrating that for myself.”
“You’re proud of me?”
She nods. “Yes, Audra, I’m proud of you. That’s not condescension, either. You take care of your body in terms of nutrition and fitness better than anyone I know, but psychologically and emotionally, you’re a disaster. You’re like a diabetic person about to go blind, emotionally. You need this time off, and if you spent it all just languishing alone at home, you’d go even crazier, because I know you’re also not working out or drinking—both of which are good. But you need a distraction, and it is my absolute pleasure to provide it.”
“Oh,” I say. I do have to take time to think. “Guess that makes sense.” I give her a quick side hug. “Thank you, in that case.”
Just then, we’re called up to the next open security guy, who glances at us, looks us up at down appreciatively, and then turns his eyes on me as I hand him my ID. “Where are you two lovely ladies going?”
Imogen answers. “I’m surprising her with a vacation because she’s never taken one, so she doesn’t know where we’re going.”
The security guy, who clearly is wishing he was going with us, eyes me in surprise. “You’ve never taken a vacation?”
“Nope. Lots of working trips, but never a real vacation with zero work and all play.”
“What kinda play you planning on, huh?” he asks with a broad, playful grin.
I wink at him. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
He just laughs good-naturedly. “I sure would. You’re all set. Have a good flight.” He makes a big show of handing the boarding passes back to Imogen without letting me see them, and then we get our bags and shoes and purses on the conveyer belt, go through the scanner, collect our stuff, and head for the gate. It didn’t take us long to go through security, and Imogen checks our boarding passes for flight time, and announces that we have plenty of time for a preflight drink. So we find seats at a bar not too far from our gate, order a glass of wine, and settle in, our bags at our feet.
“So. You got promoted?” I ask.
“I sure did! I’m a shift supervisor, now.”
“Congratulations. It seems like you’re really thriving at that hospital, huh?”
“I really am,” Imogen says with a happy sigh. “I love it so much, and it’s all thanks to Jesse. I can’t even begin to explain all the ways he’s made my life better.”
“I know I’m kind of a joy-kill about it sometimes, but I really am super amazing, sparkly-hearts, happy for you.”
Imogen bumps me with her shoulder. “You’re not a joy-kill, Audra. And I don’t want this vacation to turn into an endless discussion of your…stuff. It’s a distraction. It’s about fun and relaxation and that’s it.”
I sigh in relief. “God, thank you. I just want to have fun and relax and not think about anything.”
“What did you do for your first couple days off?” she asks.
“Not much, and it was everything I thought it could be.” I laugh. “Honestly, it was great. I slept in later than I’ve ever slept in, in my whole life, ate a bunch of garbage—well, garbage for me, at least. I also watched two whole seasons of a show on Netflix, and that’s about all I did, and it was awesome.”
“Good for you,” Imogen says. “And about damn time.”
We chat more about the kind of random crap two lifelong best friends gab about over a glass of wine, and then I pay for the wine and we head for our gate. And just in time: I see the gate number we’ve been assigned, and the attendant at the desk is on the loudspeaker:
“Now boarding zone two, now boarding zone two. Once again, flight D-L one-two-three-four, departing at one-twenty for St. Barth’s is now boarding zone two.”
I stop, gaping. “Are you for fucking real?” I grab her by the shoulders. “St. Barth’s?”
She grins at me, leaning in to kiss me on the cheek. “St. Barth’s, for fucking real!”
“How?”
“Let’s get our seats and I’ll tell you on the plane.”
We board, get our bags in the overhead compartment, find our seats and buckle in. By some mutual but unspoken agreement we decline a drink as the attendant comes around, and I turn to Imogen, who has the aisle seat, leaving me the window.
