Chapter 3
Elizabeth
ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS
First day of hell
I look around as more and more people start to come and wait by the belt, and people from my flight start to arrive at the carousel as they wait for their luggage too.
The first couple of bags come out and I’m ready to jump at any moment, especially since I have a priority sticker on mine.
Five suitcases come out and then it stops for a good fifteen minutes.
The same bags going around and around again.
Everyone is looking around and the frustration level rises, along with the fact it looks like another flight has just landed and their bags are also coming to this carousel.
I pull out my phone and text my brother Jack.
Me: Mom forgot me at the airport.
Jack: Boo hoo, you’re old enough to know how to get home.
Me: Wow, someone is salty today.
Jack: While you’ve been relaxing in business class and your own pod, I’ve been trying to deal with all the relatives who have descended on us and now have to be housed in different places.
Me: Well, you sound like you need some Christmas cheer.
Jack: Fuck off.
Me: Now this is what I’m talking about. Merry fucking Christmas.
Jack: I’ll see you soon.
I decide to text my father next.
Me: When are you coming home? We miss you so much.
Home feels so empty without you here. Does that sound familiar?
Because that’s what you guys tell me at least twice a week.
Now that I’m here, you guys forget to pick me up at the airport.
Nice. Good parenting. Father of the Year award goes to… NOT YOU.
Daddio: Will you ever forgive me for not picking up my adult child, who lives across the ocean and is her own person? Her words not mine.
Me: Well, now I know what I’m going to be discussing at my next therapy session.
Daddio: You go to therapy?
Me: You pay for it.
Daddio: Wait, is that the charge of one hundred and eighty-five dollars every month?
Me: That is correct. It’s because of you I’m in there in the first place, you should be paying for it.
Daddio: Maybe you’re in therapy because you miss us and want to move back home.
Me: Definitely not. Especially not now that you FORGOT your daughter at the airport!
Daddio: I didn’t forget you anywhere. Your mother once forgot you at school, now that is forgetting you. But you getting on a plane and landing isn’t us forgetting you.
Me: Wow, this is why my therapist says you gaslight me.
Daddio: WHAT!
I laugh and I’m about to answer him when my brother texts me.
Jack: What did you just tell Dad?
Me: I have no idea what you’re talking about.
Jack: He just asked me if he gaslights me.
Me: You’re welcome.
I stop talking to him when the carrousel makes a buzzing noise and then it starts to move again.
The first couple bags start coming out and then forty minutes later new faces fill the carousel, and a couple of people from my flight are still lingering.
I look around and see the counter for the airline, pick up my carry-on, and put it over my shoulder before going over to stand in line.
Fifteen people are in front of me, another man comes over to help, and I literally feel like I’m going to fall on my feet.
I’m so tired. I blink as my eyes start to get dryer.
I put my bag down and kick it forward when the person in front of me walks ahead.
It’s almost an hour later by the time I make my way to the counter.
“Hello,” the woman greets me. The happiness and cheer she probably started her day with is now gone, and who can blame her. How much does the job suck when you get yelled at hourly?
“Hi.” I smile at her. “My bag didn’t arrive,” I tell her and she looks at me with a blank expression on her face.
“Where did you originate from?” she asks me and holds out her hand to me, expecting something.
“Do I have to pay for this?” I ask her getting my wallet, and she snorts.
“Girl, I wish,” she replies, shaking her head and laughing. “No, I need your baggage ticket.”
“Oh.” I laugh at her. “Got it.” I grab my big tote bag to fish for the paper ticket I stuck in there. “I’ve been up for twenty-four hours now,” I ramble as I rummage through and find it at the bottom, “not that anyone seems to care.”
I hand her the ticket, and she turns it over. She clicks on her computer. “Hmm,” she says and then I hear her nails on the keyboard doing it again. “Are you sure this is the right ticket?”
I stare at her. “That is what she gave me,” I tell her. “She said this is for your bag.”
“There is nothing in my system,” she reports and now my mouth hangs open.
“Excuse me?” I blink five times, not sure I actually heard what she is saying.
“There is nothing in my system,” she repeats the words slowly.
“Yeah, I heard you the first time. What I mean is what?” I ask confused. “You see, I got to the airport. Gave my bag.” I start to motion with my hands. “She put a luggage tag through the top of my luggage and she put an orange tag that said priority on it, and then away it went.”
“Yeah”—she nods—“but there is nothing in my system to say it even scanned in.”
“What does that mean? So you don’t know where my luggage is?”
“Technically”—she looks at the screen—“no.” She then looks at me. “Usually when it goes in, it’s scanned and whatnot, but it doesn’t even show that it made it on your plane in”—she looks back down—“Australia.”
“I don’t know what the screen is telling you, but what I’m telling you is I checked in my bag, and now I have no bag. You can see from the sticker she gave me that I checked a bag, I didn’t make it up.”
“We can fill out a lost bag report,” she offers. “They usually turn up…” I let out a sigh. “…in a couple of days.”
“A couple of days,” I say, flabbergasted.
“With the holidays”—she starts to type, ignoring looking at me—“it could be longer.”
“Great. How does this happen?”
“Could be a whole slew of things. One could be that your tag literally just ripped off.” She shrugs one shoulder. “Another could be that it got onto the wrong belt.”
“And my bag could be sitting anywhere right now?”
“That would be correct.” She smiles. “Okay, so I’ll ask you a couple of questions.”
“Great.”
“Was there anything on the bag besides the tag?”
“Yes,” I reply. “There was the luggage tag on there. It’s from Coach and it’s blue with sparkles. It has my name and address on it. I think even my phone number.”
I put my elbow on the counter and form a fist, leaning my forehead on it.
She types away on her keyboard. “Okay, what size and shape is it?
“It’s black and it’s a suitcase.”
“Black.” Her face makes a grimace. “For the future, never go with black.”
“Noted.”
“What is inside of it? A list of things in case”—she looks at me and is almost afraid to say the words—“the bag opened somewhere and things are out.”
I put my hands on my cheeks, sort of like Kevin McAlister did in Home Alone, right before he yelled at the top of his lungs. “Things are out?”
“Sometimes zippers break and by accident there are items that come out. Of course, not at the fault of anyone. These things just happen.”
I look up at the ceiling and try to calm myself down. “Well, there were clothes, a pair of high-heel shoes, Louboutins, size seven.” She tilts her head to the side. “I’m here for my brother’s wedding.”
“Yikes,” she squeaks. “Anything else?”
“I don’t know, really. I know I brought a couple of pairs of jeans. A couple shirts,” I tell her and she nods at me.
“Okay,” she says, “I’m going to need a contact number.”
“Great,” I reply and give her my phone number.
“Here is your ticket number.” She hands me the white ticket. “Also, this is a little something to tide you over.” She hands me a little bag. “It has some toiletries in there.”
“Thank you,” I say, shaking my head, “but I won’t be needing that. My parents have things at their house.”
“Well then, you have a great day.” She smiles. “Happy holidays.”
I pick up my bag and head toward the exit, my phone in my hand as I brace for the cold.
The wind whips my hair to the side as I walk toward the taxi line.
I’m waiting in line, going from one foot to the other as I wait for my turn.
I’m literally shivering when the SUV stops at the curb and I get into the back seat.
“No luggage?” he asks me as I rub my hands together.
“Santa Claus won’t make me happy with a toy on Christmas Day” blares out of the radio.
“No, they lost my luggage.”
He hisses, “That’s not good.”
“Yeah, you’re telling me,” I grouse and give him the address to my parents’ house.
An hour and forty-five minutes later, he’s pulling into the end of the driveway since it’s packed with cars. All the lights in the house are on. He stops the vehicle, and I take my credit card out and pay the fee before grabbing my bag and rushing to the front door.
I turn and push open the door but the door is locked. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I grumble and then ring the fucking doorbell.
“I’ve got it,” I hear my father yelling and then he comes to the door and swings it open. “Oh my gosh, Elizabeth.” He reaches for me and pulls me to him. “You’re here.” He hugs me and the warmth of the house hits me. “We’ve been calling and calling you and it’s going straight to voicemail.”
“That would happen,” I snap and put my hands on my hips, “when you’ve been flying for twenty-four hours and your phone dies.”
“Why didn’t you charge it on the plane?” He shuts the door behind me.
“Yeah, why didn’t I do that?” I throw up my hands. “I should have done that,” I say sarcastically, kicking off my sneakers. “I don’t know why it didn’t dawn on me to do this before.”
“I’m sensing sarcasm,” he replies, smiling at me. Even though he retired from hockey a long time ago, he’s stayed fit.
“You would be sensing right,” I retort and then I hear my mother shrieking when she runs into the room.
“My baby,” she wails, running to me. “My baby is home.”
“Oh, now she cares.” I roll my eyes as she hugs me and swings me from side to side.
“It’s been two and a half hours since I landed, and instead of you guys tearing up the country looking for me, you’re all here. I could have been kidnapped and taken to some cellar somewhere.”
“Okay, let’s simmer down.” My brother Jack comes into the room, a huge smile on his face. He looks exactly like my dad. “I think you’re giving yourself a lot of credit.”
He takes me in his arms and gives me the biggest bear hug ever. “I’m prime picking.” I look over at my father, who rolls his eyes, and then at my mother, who smiles through her tears.
“All my kids together.”
“What took you so long?” Jack asks when he lets me go.
“They lost my luggage,” I reply and my mother gasps. “I know, so much for packing early.”
“You must be starving. Let’s get you something to eat,” my mother says, grabbing my hands and pulling me into the kitchen where I’m greeted with about forty family members.
It takes me forever to make it through to everyone and then stop beside Joshua, who has his foot up on the table with a bag of ice draped over it.
“Oh, here we go.” I roll my eyes. “What’s wrong with you? ”
“It’s badly sprained,” he states as I bend to hug him and then ruffle his hair. He tries to get away from me, but given the fact he has one foot, it’s easy for me to fuck with him.
“You better go rub some dirt on that and get your ass up. Lots to do.” I clap my hand sitting next to him. “Chop-chop, groomzilla.”
He laughs at me and I can feel eyes on me.
My head turns to the side and there he is.
My brother’s best friend. My brother’s very hot best friend.
The same best friend who shared one night with me right before I decided to go away on my semester abroad.
The same guy who I had a crush on my whole teenage era.
“Nate.” I nod my head at him, the same guy who ghosted me when I left. “Surprised to see you here.”
“I don’t know why.” He smirks at me, and his chestnut-brown hair is brushed to the side from his fingers, those green eyes of his shine bright.
I could never forget those eyes. They change from green to gray to yellow depending on the moment.
“I’m usually always here.” He is not lying.
He and Joshua are almost joined at the hip.
My whole childhood has stories with him in it.
When someone was teasing me in ninth grade, it was Joshua and Nate who made sure the guy stopped.
When I got drunk at a party and needed a ride home, I would call him before I would call Joshua.
He’s also the only man I think I’ve ever sort of loved.
..until he fucking ghosted me and now shall remain public enemy number one.
“Yeah,” I respond, and then my mother calls my name.
“Elizabeth.” She comes to me, with a plate in her hand. “Here, eat something.”
“Mom,” I say, looking at the plate of pasta, “I would love to, but I’m exhausted. I’ve been up for twenty-eight hours. I just want a shower and a bed.” I get up. “So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to head to my room.”
“Um…” She hesitates, looking at me with wide eyes as she looks over to my father. “About that.” I tilt my head to the side.
“About that what?” I ask, not sure I want to know, but somehow thinking I’m going to be sleeping on the couch tonight.
“You see there was a water pipe valve that exploded at the hotel,” my mother starts.
“Okay,” I say, not sure why this has to be part of the story.
“And, well, the guests have to be—”
I hold up my hand. “Are you saying you gave away my bedroom?” I point to myself. “Like my bedroom with my stuff in it?”
I can hear Nate snickering from beside Joshua. “Snap,” he says under his breath.
“It’s okay. I think you can, maybe, stay with one of your uncles, but with the hotel being shut down, everyone is trying to get situated and accounted for.”
“Did you not think that I needed to be accounted for?” I ask her but she doesn’t say anything, just wrings her hands nervously.
“So I have nowhere to stay?” I look at her, then at my father.
My mother’s mouth hangs open as she tries to find the words and she looks at my father, who looks at her, both of them with eyes that look like they are about to explode from their heads.
“I mean,” Nate now starts, “if you want, you could stay with me.” My eyes look over at him. “I have a spare bedroom, and it’s not claimed, so it’s all yours.”