Chapter 1 #2
The cashier raises a brow at my choice of reading material—pure, unadulterated smut—and rings me through.
I give him a pointed look and tap my smartwatch to pay.
Guilt creeps up my spine at the thought of spending money I don’t have on a book I don’t need while Kyla is stressed out about rent, but I shake it off.
It’s not my fault I’m the only one of us working right now.
Book secured, I turn and beeline in the direction of my gate, dodging slow walkers and stressed families.
The strap of my gear bag digs deeper into my shoulder as I hustle through the crowds, and I think about how much better I’ll feel once it’s crammed into the overhead bin and not crushing my body and soul.
I glance down at my watch as I lift my phone back to my ear. Six minutes until boarding. I still have to find the Starbucks I sent my mobile order to.
“Sorry, you were saying?” I ask, scanning the overhead signs for the logo that will deliver me to caffeine. It takes a moment for Kyla to reply, and I wonder if she’s fallen asleep.
Then she mumbles around a yawn, “I don’t remember. Sorry, I’m just stressed. I guess…I just need to know that we’ll be okay.”
“We will,” I say firmly, nearly cutting her off again. “I’ll transfer the money to you as soon as I get it. I already talked to Tony and he knows we’ll be late. Kyla, I got you.”
“Okay,” she says, sounding resigned. “I just hate this. I’ve never been late for a bill in my life. And now I can’t even pay rent.”
Kyla’s anxiety has been worse in the year since Dad’s death. It’s not entirely her fault—she was coddled a lot growing up. Not in a way that made me jealous—because, honestly, I was one of the people coddling her—but in a way that made me aware of how different our formative years were.
Mom’s death when Kyla was little, combined with Kyla being Mensa-level smart, meant that Dad never wanted her to worry.
Not about school, not about either of us, and definitely not about money.
She was supposed to focus her education, on making something of the gift she was given, as Dad liked to put it—whatever that meant…
So, Kyla paid her own bills—like her phone bill, or her car insurance—and that was it.
She wasn’t expected to pay rent to Dad, and she never needed much outside of her textbooks or paint supplies, which her part-time job always covered.
Having to survive by the skin of her teeth, as we’re trying to do now, is completely new to Kyla.
I, on the other hand, am nine years older than her and nowhere near as academically gifted.
I had to pay my own tuition and cover my own rent when I moved into the city to go to school, instead of staying local and living at home.
So, I’m well-acquainted with terrible financial decisions and late bill payments.
And while I usually find a way to pay rent on time, I try not to panic too much about our current situation.
Tony, our landlord, is a decent guy and has granted us an exception.
This one time.
Does it matter that, in exchange, I agreed to film a promotional video for his side hustle, Toned by Tony? No. It does not. Because I’m used to doing much worse for much less.
Case in point: I’m traveling halfway around the world to film a trashy reality TV show—for well below my usual rate—because I am desperate. And because I have zero shame.
Love at First Sail has been on the air for the same amount of time I’ve been in the industry, and it has earned a bit of a reputation for attracting ruthless and intensely competitive individuals, both on the crew and in the cast. I was contracted to join the crew for one season just after I graduated from film school, and those six weeks told me all I needed to know about working in reality TV.
Basically, you need thick skin—a quality I definitely do not possess.
However, work has been really scarce lately.
And, since I’m already agreeing to make no-charge promos for a very tall, very hairy, middle-aged man whose vanity license plate reads brOSQACH, I suppose I can suck it up for a few weeks to film hot twenty- and thirty-somethings as they attempt to find love.
I clench my phone a little tighter in my hand and exhale.
“Ky, I’ll send the per diem when it comes through. That should cover you for groceries and whatever else you need. Once my first paycheck is in, I’ll set up an auto-transfer. Give it a few weeks. Rent will be fully paid before you know it.”
Kyla lets loose a relieved sigh, and the vice that was gripping my chest loosens.
“Thanks, Chloe. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Starve, probably,” I say with a chuckle. I’m mostly joking, but a part of me is worried that Kyla may never grow up.
Thankfully, she laughs—a real laugh—and I feel better about leaving. I’m still not thrilled about this job in particular, but it will cover our rent and, at the very least, I can trade the uncharacteristic-for-April snowflakes swirling outside the airport windows for some warmth and sunshine.
“Ha ha. Very funny.”
She’s quiet for a second. When she speaks again, her tone is earnest—as if tuning into my mood like a radio.
“I know this isn’t the type of gig you want to be doing, Chloe. I know you gave up this kind of work so you could focus on your documentary. But I…appreciate it. I appreciate you, sissy. I hope you know that.”
I frown.
Taking care of my anxious baby sister by cracking jokes and talking her off the ledge? Easy.
Covering our rent and bills while she tries to find a job? Even easier.
Opening up about my stalled film career and the documentary project I can’t seem to finish? Hard pass.
Especially without any caffeine in my system.
“Well, um—you know, whatever. It’s fine. Free travel!” I try to sound bright and airy, but it comes out a little strangled.
At that moment, the Starbucks I’ve been desperately searching for comes into view—and it’s directly across from my gate. Finally, something is going my way.
A second later, it’s clear I celebrated too soon. I halt abruptly when I notice the complete and utter chaos spilling out of the crowded waiting area.
Multiple crying babies are being rocked and bounced by tired parents.
Stressed flight attendants are bickering at the counter.
The pilot waiting in line looks to be approximately fifteen years old.
And a big guy in a flamboyant cowboy hat is both howling with laughter and swaying slightly—either from lack of sleep or an overindulgence in airport beers.
I groan.
“Hey, Kyla? I’m just getting to my gate, and it’s a circus. I’ll text you when I land safely, okay? Love you!” I end the call before she can argue and pocket my phone, making my way to the mobile order pick-up counter.
I’m not sure if caffeine alone will be enough to get me through this eight-hour flight, but at least it’ll soften the blow to my mental health. And maybe it will help soothe the worry about Kyla that’s still lurking in the back of my mind, too.
I frown when I realize there are no drinks waiting at the pick-up counter. Weird…I put the order in before I went through security. It should definitely be ready by now.
I flag down a frazzled barista, his shirt half-untucked and his wavy hair unruly, as if he’s been running his hands through it repeatedly. The barista shoots me an expectant glare.
“Hey, um, I’m looking for an order for—”
“Our system is down,” he snaps, pointing at a sign taped to the counter, its message printed in size ten font. I squint down at the text, feeling old all of a sudden.
How am I supposed to read that?
As if gifted with mind-reading abilities in addition to his near-perfect impression of Agent Perma-Scowl, the barista rolls his eyes and mutters, “We aren’t taking mobile orders. Cash only.”
Annoyance flares in my chest, but I tamp it down.
“Oh…because it says the order went through already. It was a free birthday drink?” I pull out my phone to bring up the app and flip the screen toward him, as if that’s all he needs to see to make this right. He doesn’t even spare my phone a glance.
“I don’t know what to tell you, ma’am. You’ll have to line up and pay cash.”
There was that damn word again.
Ma’am.
Does no one understand the implications of calling a young woman “ma’am” these days?
And anyway, thirty isn’t ma’am-worthy.
Is it?
Before I can squeak out a reply, the barista is gone. My stomach turns over as I realize I’m going to have to endure this transatlantic flight without any drinkable coffee. There’s no way I have time to wait in line, and even if I did, I don’t think I have enough cash on me to pay for it.
Damnit, I was really relying on that free birthday drink. And now I’ve already redeemed the offer with nothing to show for it.
Also—rude that he didn’t even wish me a happy birthday.
Not that I wanted him to. But still.
I gaze longingly at a woman sipping her latte and sigh. It’s not even so much about the caffeine as it is the fact that I hate flying.
I know it’s a necessary evil when it comes to travel, but every flight I’ve ever taken has filled me with a sense of dread I can’t shake.
Not just because of the cramped, uncomfortable seats, the forced proximity to strangers, or the weird sensation of being completely still and yet traveling at a speed my brain can’t even comprehend—though all those things are horrible in their own regard.
It’s just that, even with an elementary grasp of physics and how planes work, I’m still convinced they can basically fall right out of the sky.
My phone buzzes in my hand, and I unlock it to see that Kyla has sent me a voice note. I press play and hold the phone up to my ear.
“CHLOE! I forgot to tell you HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” she shouts, the volume of her voice edging into static through the speaker.
I can picture her mouth pressed up close to the microphone and the corner of my mouth ticks up.
“I hope you have the best birthday, even though you’re flying and I know you hate flying.
And don’t think about how you’re turning thirty.
I’ve heard that thirty is the new twenty, so enjoy! I love you so much, sissy! Mwah!”
I feel tears prick at my lash line, and I quickly blink them away.
I will not cry in an airport.
An announcement echoes overhead, informing me that boarding is now starting at my gate. With a sigh, I head reluctantly toward the line forming at the boarding desk.
At least I have priority boarding, I remind myself. And I’ll have my book to keep me occupied.
Besides, knowing that the plane will have coffee gives me some hope.
It will be fine.
Everything is going to be fine.