Unexpectingly Happily Ever After

11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleve n

Expect all manner of changes after becoming a mother–physical, psychological and social. Your world has adjusted and you must change with it.

A Young Woman’s Guide to Raising Obedient Children

Dr. Francine Pascal Reid, (1943)

I decide to take J.B.’s advice to meet the girls at the airport because even though I hate to admit it at times, he’s a pretty smart guy. Brit will appreciate me making the effort to go to her, rather than waiting in the room with a bottle of champagne, which was what I had been planning to do.

It would be easy to sit here and wallow in self-pity, missing them all, but I promised J.B. I wouldn’t do that. The kids want me to have fun too .

″I’m here to have fun, so fun I shall have,” I tell my reflection in the mirror before I head to the bathroom.

I take a moment to contemplate how much fun J.B. and I could have in the room before stripping off to stand under the rainforest showerhead.

The soothing water manages to wake me up and wipe away the remnants of my tears. And once I finish my shower, clad only in a thick white towel, I call room service for some champagne.

Brit expects a bottle to be waiting for her, and I would be a bad friend if I didn’t taste test it for her.

Thank goodness for the alcohol, because I soon find that getting ready to go out with the girls in Sin City is like hauling myself up a huge hill.

I used to do this. I used to be very social, with dates, and parties and big groups of friends. Drinking, dancing, meeting new people.

But when was the last time I went to a party that didn’t involve kids? And where the hosts provided adult beverages rather than organic juice boxes? Since I’ve had the kids, my social life has taken a nosedive. And my friendships have, well, dwindled to Morgan and Brit and other couples with kids.

J.B. will still ask me occasionally if I want to go out on one of his nights off. But I know he likes to spend that time with the kids, and honestly, it makes me tired to think about the effort it takes to go out. Finding babysitters, not to mention what it takes me to get ready these days.

Is that what happens when you become parents, or when you get older? Because I’ve noticed Brit’s social calendar is more open than it used to be five years ago. Of course, this could be because Brit is sometimes not a nice person .

I shouldn’t think that. Brit is my oldest and dearest friend. We’ve been together through all my mother’s shenanigans, her parent’s divorce, all of her divorces, my dating disasters, the babies. We’ve been through a lot and no matter what I may think of her at times, I’m still proud to be her maid of honor.

Matron of honor now. That’s another thing that’s changed.

I’ll do my best to dip my toe into the Fountain of Youth tonight. I don’t know if it’s being here in Las Vegas or J.B.’s many lectures about having fun, but I take the preparations for this evening seriously.

The music turns on and I dance around the bathroom. The kids and I still have dance parties in the kitchen. I smile at the thought of Ben’s serious man-moves, of Sophie twirling and spinning until she makes herself so dizzy that she falls over. Of Lucy’s uncoordinated limbs that always makes me vow to enroll her in a dance class.

The makeup comes out, and I shadow and blend like a pro. The unruly curls are straightened into a red sheet down my back.

Holy shit, is that a white hair? In my eyebrow?

I tug at the offending hair with my fingers. Did I not bring a pair of tweezers? How could I I leave home without some? What if I got a sliver…or found a goddam white hair in my eyebrow?

I’m not that old, am I? Why am I thinking of having a baby if I have white hairs?

I snatch up the phone in the room and connect to the front desk. “Cosmopolitan Hotel and Resort. We’re here to serve your every need so how can I help you?” It’s a perky female voice and I wonder if it’s Ashleigh from earlier.

″I need a pair of tweezers?”

″Pardon me?”

″This is Casey Samms-Bergen in room– ”

″Yes, Ms. Samms-Bergen, how can I help you?”

″I need to borrow a pair of tweezers. Or buy them, I guess. Can you help me with that?”′

A pause. “Do you have a sliver? Do you need a doctor?”

″No, I…You’re a woman, right? Look, I just found my first white hair and I really need to get rid of it. Like now, because once my friend gets here she’s going to notice it right away and–”

″I can help you with that, Ms. Samms-Bergen.” Whoever she is, the girl has lost her perky tone and exchanged it for one that’s close to pitying.

I sigh. “Since we’re talking personal hygiene, I guess you can call me Casey.”

They send someone up with a brand new pair of tweezers still in the packaging. I have no doubt I’ll see it on the bill, but it’s worth it as I attack the invading hair. Once I finish my preparations, I preen in front of the mirror for a few minutes.

I may be the mother of three children, but I’ve still got it. I’ve also got the extra ten pounds of baby weight that I’ve never been able to get rid of, but I hide it under the loose, flowing shirt that leaves my shoulders bare.

And my backside still looks good in my tight black pants.

I arrange to have a taxi waiting to take me to the airport, but after I get ready, I have enough time to wander around the casino before it’s time to leave. When I headed to the room earlier, I bypassed it entirely, my head pounding from lack of sleep, my heart heavy from missing the kids. But I feel better now, and with my new have fun resolutions, I want to see as many things to tell the kids about.

Plus, it’d be fun to find a couple of quarters rolling around to bring home to Sophie.

The lights and the noise of the casino threaten to overwhelm me–it’s spastic, hypnotic, with no rhyme nor reason. But it also sucks me in and after a trip around the tables, admiring the clothes, the confident players showing absolutely no emotion, I find myself in front of one of the one-arm bandits with a handful of quarters rattling in my purse.

I can’t not play. Only a couple of times. The taxi will be here in a half-hour; I can play for a few minutes and still have time to get a drink at the bar.

Twenty-two minutes later, I’m still there and down to my last few quarters.

″This is my last time,” I mutter as I feed the coin into the slot. Nothing. “This is my very last time.”

I pull the bar, glancing at the middle-aged man beside me. He’s been there longer than I have, feeding coins in with a ferocity that’s more than a little frightening.

An alarm blasts, lights flash, and for a moment I think he’s won.

″You won,” he tells me with less emotion than the poker players.

″Holy shit!” Coins begin pouring out of the machine. The lights, the alarm, the noise of the quarters is awesome, and I stand staring at the slot machine. “I think I won. I won! I never win anything!”

And once again, I pull out my phone, taking pictures of the coins overflowing onto the floor. The man beside me looks at me with disgust.

″Are you just going to leave them there?”

For a moment, I think he’s going to take my winnings, and frantically begin stuffing quarters into my purse, my pockets…some even go into my bra. I glance over my shoulder, feeling the staring, unable to stop the grin.

If Sophie was here, she would be racing around to pick up every last coin. And Ben would follow her, his hands open to hold them for his sister. Lucy would be cheering …

I wish they were here to see this.

″I found a few for you,” a deep voice behind me says. Still crouched on the floor, I look up, way up. He’s tall, he’s built, and he’s very bald. And he’s holding a handful of quarters.

″Thank you.” I stumble to my feet, my hands full and useless. I look at him helplessly and laugh. “I don’t know where to put them all.”

″You can exchange them over there.” He nods to a wicket in the corner of the casino.

I stuff the coins in my hands in my purse, which is already overflowing. “I don’t have time,” I admit. “I have to pick up my girls at the airport.”

″Your girls? Like, kids?”

″Girlfriends,” I correct. “My kids are at home. Two girls and a boy.” I give my head a shake. “You don’t want to know that. I’m here for a stagette.”

He smiles knowingly still holding a handful of my winnings. I have never seen broader shoulders on a man. He’s about the size of a tree, with arms the size of my legs. “You keep them,” I say impulsively. “Thanks for being a nice guy and not stealing them.”

″Are you staying at the hotel?” he asks. I nod. “I’ll find you later. Here.” He drops the handful of quarters in his pocket before handing me a colourful flyer.

″I can’t…You want to sell me something?” I stammer, clutching my oversize purse with two hands, so he reaches around and tucks it into the back pocket of my pants with a rueful smile.

″Sorry to be so forward. It’s for a show tomorrow night. Bring your friends. And have fun.”

I stare at him, mouth open as he walks away. Then with a last glance at the floor to check for runaway coins, I turn and race to the front doors, only to find my cab ready to leave without me .

″Wait, please,” I cry, my hands full so it takes a moment to open the door. “I need to get to the airport.” Coins fall out of my purse as I throw myself in the car. “Thanks.”

The driver turns and glares at me over his shoulder. “Is someone going to be chasing us for that money? Because I charge extra for that.”

″What? No, this is mine. I won it–”

″Why in such a hurry then? Going to the airport with no bags? Suspicious, wouldn’t you say?”

My mouth falls open. The last ten minutes have been plenty unbelievable, but this? “Uh, I had a few minutes before I had to leave. I’m meeting my friends at the airport, not leaving. I just got here this morning, so even though I miss my kids, I’m not ready to go home.”

The realization surprises me.

″And I was playing the slots and all this money came out because I won but I didn’t have time to cash it in because Brit and Morgan’s flight gets in…” I glance at my Fitbit. “Like now. So can we go? To the airport, so I can meet them? Not run away?”

The driver turns. “Fair enough.” Without another word, he pulls away from the hotel, leaving me staring after him.

Did he just accuse me of stealing the money?

I spend the twenty minutes rearranging my purse so the coins fit, without another word to the driver. He doesn’t get a very good tip.

In the airport, it’s easy to find the line of burly guys in chauffeur uniforms holding up signs. Brit mentioned she’d have a car waiting, but I never expected this. It’s just like in a movie. The driver for Brit is on the end. “That’s not for the real Britney Spears, is it?” I ask worriedly, gesturing to the sign that says, Ms. Spears.

There’s a small group behind the chauffeurs, tittering excitedly.

Brit’s full moniker, including married names, is Britney Annabeth Spears Smith Dover Hart, but she still goes by Brit Spears. Since then, she’s had a hate on the singer, even refusing to talk to me for a day when I casually mentioned that I would have liked to have seen her show in Vegas.

It’s too bad. I like her music.

″I don’t know if she’s real or not,” the chauffeur says with a bored expression. “I’m only supposed to hold the sign.”

But then I see Brit and Morgan walking towards us, talking and laughing. I push down the FOMO feeling that I should have changed my flight to be with them, and rush towards them from behind the line of chauffeurs.

″Casey!” Brit cries. “You’re here!”

She looks so happy to see me.

″Welcome to Las Vegas and the best weekend of your life!” I shriek.