3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
“ N ame under reservation and ID, please,” says the lady at the airport check-in counter, not even looking up from her computer. I can definitely tell that she doesn’t find this morning nearly as exciting as I do.
I don’t even hesitate as I animatedly pull out my special “travel wallet.” I made it years ago, and I mark it as one of my greatest achievements. It holds everything I could ever possibly need while traveling. It’s so intricately organized I feel like I’m winning the perfect traveler award every time I get to show it off.
Handing her my ID, I attempt to make light conversation. “Hi, Sheila, my name is Jane. Oh, yep you already know that…duh, you have my ID. Ha, um…anyway, you know there was a couple of months last year when I tried to use the app for my boarding pass, instead of having one printed out, but it’s so funny because I actually missed having the physical thing in my hand, ya know?” An awkward laugh escapes me.
Sheila doesn’t look at me.
“I love this part, I really do. It’s the beginning of the adventure, right? It’s like, after this moment, it’s real.” I smile before adding in a spooky voice, “There’s no turning back now.”
“Ma’am, are you wanting to ‘turn back,’ is that what you’re saying?”
“Oh! No! I was…just…never mind.”
“The scale is ready. Place the bag you want to check up here, please.”
Now I’m not saying I’m not an overpacker, but I don’t think I pack nearly as much as some people do. However, there is a small chance it could be overweight.
“Your bag is overweight,” Sheila says unamused.
Shit. “ Okay…um… I’ll just take some stuff out and put it in my personal bag. Is that okay?”
“Whatever you wanna do, Miss.”
Heaving my heavy bag off the scale, I tip it on its side and zip it open. Sitting right on top of everything I so carefully packed, is a Costco-sized box of condoms Jordyn must have snuck into it when she brought me to the airport this morning.
My cheeks flush as I hear an unapproving sigh come from up above me. A nervous laugh escapes my mouth as I quickly grab the condoms—and a handful of whatever else I can—and hurriedly shove them deep into my open purse. “Oh, man, I’m…um…I don’t…I think it should be at weight now.” My cheeks are still burning as I zip my suitcase shut and hoist it back onto the scale.
The anticipation grows as the scale is calculating the weight. I can feel my now overfull purse slowly sliding down my shoulder, warning me that there is no more room for anything else to be stuffed.
Sheila gives a little nod, then proceeds to tag my bag and put it on her side of the counter. A rush of relief slides down my spine as she passes me my boarding pass and ID.
“Thank you!” I say, with a big smile as she sends me on my way.
As soon as I turn around, I hear her let out an exasperated sigh and mutter quietly, “It's too early in the morning for this shit.”
I laugh and smile to myself. It’s almost noon.
I. Love. Airports. All the smells, the sounds, the hustle and bustle of people going places. For as long as I can remember, the airport has always been my special place.
As I make my way through the security checkpoint, I think back to when I was younger—going to the airport meant that I was on my way to visit my favorite person in the entire world, my grandma Lolly, or Nan, as I called her.
Every fall, my family would pack our bags and fly to Ohio to pay her a visit. We would stay there for a few days at a time, listening to her stories, and watching her sew. Those trips are some of the best memories I have. In fact, they mean everything to me.
When I was seven years old, I remember pulling up to her house in our rental car, my parents arguing itineraries in the front seat while my heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest with excitement.
I grabbed my backpack to retrieve whatever homemade crafts I had made for her in the past year since we had last seen each other. I could feel the smile on my face growing wider and wider as my parents opened the trunk to get out our luggage.
“Jane, I don’t know how you have this much energy after the flight we’ve just had, but my goodness it looks like you’re about to dance out of your skin,” my mom had said.
“I can’t wait! Can I please go to the door? Please can I go knock by myself?”
“Go ahead.”
The happy anticipation at the thought of seeing my Nan bubbled out of every part of my body.
She opened the door in her brightly colored muumuu of choice and pink foam curlers in her white-as-snow hair. She looked down at me and pretended not to know who I was. “Excuse me, Dear, who are you? What do you want? I’m going to need you to leave because I’m expecting my beautiful granddaughter here any minute, and you’re standing in her way.”
“Nan! It’s me!” I laughed hysterically.
“Oh no, darling girl, while you might have the same pretty blonde hair as she has, I’ll have you know that my beautiful granddaughter is much smaller than you are! She’s not nearly as tall as you. I'm sure of it. Now if you will excuse me…” She slowly closed the door as more laughter erupted from deep inside my belly.
I dropped my backpack and scrambled to find something that she could remember me by. “Nan, it’s me, I swear!” My words came out too fast, as I tried to pick out a memory that only she and I shared. “Remember…remember when I was here last time, and you made me gush the chocolate milk out of my nose?!” My laugh grew, as she brought her hand to her mouth attempting to conceal her smile. “‘Member it was ‘cause you accidentally called your Mr. Popper Cat, ‘MR. POOP-ER CAT!’”
“Oh my!” She clutched her chest, giggling. Then, she brought me in closer and wrapped her gentle warm arms around me. “You really are my Bird! My oh my, how you have grown, my sugar! I can’t believe you’re really here! I’ve missed you, my Birdie girl.”
Her hug grew tighter as I breathed in her cozy vanilla and cinnamon scent. I never wanted her to let go. She kissed the top of my head and invited me into her home. My safe place.
These are the memories that play through my head every time I’m at the airport. The anticipation and joy of escaping reality envelops my entire body. I love airports, and I think I always will for that reason.
I finish getting through security and slowly make the long journey to my gate. I’m browsing through some of the special airport-only shops when the smell of hot, greasy French fries fills my nose, and my stomach rudely reminds me that it’s time for lunch.
The boy at Shake Shack who takes my order is a mixture between Ozzy Osbourne and Kevin McCallister from Home Alone. The long, black hair and thick black eyeliner, paired with the surprisingly sweet demeanor and loveable smile, is so heartwarming I don’t even mind when he charges me for the extra cheese sauces.
A warm rush of gratitude slides itself down my spine as I take my tray to the table. Funny enough, something as simple as a giant burger with crispy fries and extra cheese sauce is what finally starts to put this whole thing into perspective.
I’m so freaking lucky—I have a stable job that pays incredibly well, and I’m on my way to Hawaii for ten whole days to meet an attractive billionaire resort owner, while also getting to drink pina coladas on the beach. Wow.
I take a big, juicy bite of my burger as I hear the cutest little laugh escape from the booth to my right. Still chewing, I turn my head and see a little girl with curly red piggy tales and a unicorn backpack whispering something into her dad’s ear. He pulls a pretend look of surprise at the “secret” she just revealed to him, which makes her completely lose it and burst into the biggest belly laugh I’ve ever heard.
Hearing her laugh so hard makes me start to laugh. Now, this is cute when a three-year-old does it, but when a thirty-one-year-old woman who has just taken a bite of a burger does it, I’m sure it looks quite sad.
The girl and her dad look right at me, and it’s at this point I can’t differentiate if they’re laughing at me or if we’re all laughing together, but it honestly makes no difference. The three of us laugh so hard for so long that it becomes another point I add onto my airports-are-the-most-magical-places-in-the-world list.
After my meal, I grab my bags and continue the journey to my gate. It’s no surprise however, that before I even come close, I find myself at an airport bookstore. I don’t need a new book. I don’t need a new book. I one-hundred percent don’t need a new book.
In my personal bag alone, I have two books, and then a third and fourth in my checked bag. Let’s not even mention the shelves at my apartment that are overflowing with countless hopeful to-be-reads.
I walk past the bookstore entrance, pretending to myself I’m not going to walk in, but who am I kidding, my foot crosses the threshold before my mind even registers what’s happening.
Lazily scanning the shelves, I spy my favorite book in the entire world. I carefully take it off the shelf and hold it tightly to my chest. I know it’s silly because obviously this isn’t even the special copy my Nan gave me, but the effect it has on me is the same.
I mean, of course I did bring my special copy of To Kill a Mockingbird with me, but that doesn’t stop me from seriously thinking about buying the one right here in my hands. I have multiple copies of it at home, but it almost feels like sacrilege to set it back down on the shelf.
“That’s a fantastic book.”
I turn to see what type of mouth this beautiful sentence just came from, when I come face to face with not only a beautiful mouth but an entire beautiful man staring back at me. The handsome stranger’s mouth widens into a smile and says, “It really is a great book. The movie is far better, but it’s still worth a read, for sure,” the not-so-handsome-anymore man says with a wink.
I flinch back and swallow hard as I try to register what he just said. Standing here in horrified silence, I notice a worried crease popping up on his otherwise smooth forehead.
Before he can speak again, my years of debate team and law classes shove themselves to the front of my brain and the word vomit begins.
“I am, without a question in my mind, convinced that this book right here is what shaped the way Americans think about injustice, racism, and most of all, humanity itself . It holds one of the single most important lines in classic modern American literature, and I quote, ‘You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view…until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.’ The movie, while I admit it was a fantastic film that gave us a visual representation of the important story, didn’t portray the complete picture of compassion and growth that the book did. So, all of this is to say that the movie is never better than the book. Ever. No matter the movie. No matter the book.”
Mr. Stranger purses his lips, dips his head, and saunters off to find someone much less intense when it comes to books than I am. Good riddance. Who wants to talk to a guy who believes that any movie version of a book is better than the actual book anyway? Not me, that’s who.
I question it again, but I realize I don’t need two copies of this book on my ten-day vacation, so I tenderly place it back on the shelf and give a little reassuring *pat pat* on its cover when my phone buzzes. The notification that pops up informs me that my gate has changed, and I better haul ass to the other side of the terminal before boarding starts.
The exhilarating thought of paradise rushes through my brain. Tropical air is waiting for me. Blue skies and sandy beaches are just a few hours away.
The plane ride was uncomplicated and uneventful, which just so happens to be my favorite type of plane ride. I listened to a few new podcast episodes, drank two ice cold Diet Pepsis, and put together some important documents for Mr. Dumont to look over during our dinner tonight.
“Do you have any exciting things planned while you’re here, Miss?” My Uber driver peeks at me from the rearview mirror.
We drive with all the windows down and the sunroof open, so the smell of fresh ocean air washes over me as we drive to the resort.
“Work mostly, but I’m hopefully going to get some much-needed sunshine and rest too.”
“Sounds like my kind of vacation. What do you do for work, if you don't mind me asking?”
I take in a deep breath of that warm salty air and say confidently, “I’m an attorney. My firm just acquired Howard Dumont, the owner of Dumont Luxury Resorts as our client, so I’m here just to get things rolling.”
“Woah, big time, Miss! I don’t know if you’ll have much time to rest then,” he says with his welcoming Hawaiian grin.“But if you do find yourself hungry while you’re here, you be sure to go visit my brudda Leo down at Kekoa Family Poke. It’s the best poke you’ll ever eat, and if you tell them that Liam sent you, they’ll only charge you double the price.” He laughs.
“If the poke is as good as you say it is, then paying double sounds fair.” I chuckle to myself and rest my head on the seat behind me. I am in heaven. I can feel the tension in my muscles melting away with each passing mile.
We pull up to the resort, and my eyeballs feel like they are about to fall right out of my head. When I heard the term “luxury resorts,” a clear picture popped into my head. But now, that picture in my mind looks like a Best Western compared to the grandeur that is currently in front of me.
I step out of the Uber, and Liam gets out to help me with my bags. “Nice digs, huh?”
Words are having a hard time coming out of my mouth, so I just stare wide-eyed at the mammoth resort in front of me.
“Have a good vacation, Miss, and get yourself a pair of slippahs while you’re here. Those tennis shoes will be full of sand before you even get into the building.”
I look down at my shoes and let out a laugh. “Oh, I definitely will. Thanks for all your help, Liam.”
“No problem, Miss. A Hui Hou.” He gives me his big happy smile before getting into his car and driving off.
I turn back to the resort, and I’m met with the most drop-dead gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid eyes upon. Her thick, dark hair is almost to her waist and her tawny-colored eyes are mesmerizing. She gently places a necklace of brightly colored flowers around my neck and welcomes me graciously into the resort.
A rush of cool air hits me as I enter through the glass doors. The giant lobby is full of people coming and going. Families in swimsuits with little kids running around their feet, wealthy businessmen sporting cheesy Hawaiian-print shirts, and gorgeous women in long, breezy dresses and sun-kissed skin.
I feel severely out of place in my leggings and running shoes, but what can I say, comfort trumps beauty when I travel.
The check-in goes smoothly and a very handsome bellhop grabs my bags from behind me before I even have the chance to protest. He leads the way to the elevators with a smile on his face, and I can tell the next ten days are going to go by much too fast.
Once I’m alone inside my room, I rush over to the balcony and slide open the doors. Stepping out into the warm air, I gaze at the beautiful blue water glistening in the sunlight down below. Giant green palms sway in the breeze, and I hear people laughing on the beach. I could get used to this.
Turning back into my room, I take a running leap and Superman-dive onto the fluffy, white bed, and inhale the fresh laundry scent. I can’t believe I’m really here.
My body sinks deeper into the soft downy comforter, and my long day of travel finally catches up to me. I turn to look at the clock on the nightstand and feel a sense of relief rush through me. It’s only 6:30. At home it’s nearly ten p.m., which means I would most definitely be in bed ready for sleep. No wonder I feel extra tired.
I have some time before I need to get ready for my dinner with Mr. Dumont, so I’m going to bask in the light of this moment and, for the first time in a long time, rest. I lay still and close my eyes, a small smile still on my lips. My heart feels so full.