Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92062 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92062 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
I finally step off the escalator and walk over to the baggage carousel, waiting for my bags. I look around as my phone switches from airplane mode to get service. I wait until I see a couple of bars for signal before dialing my mother and putting the phone to my ear. I look around for her to see if maybe I can spot her in the crowd when she answers after two rings. “Seriously,” I goad when I hear she’s not in the car, nor the same noise I’m hearing around the airport, “you can book my ticket, but then you forget to come and pick me up?”
“Oh my goodness, have you landed already?” I hear her rushing on her end and then I hear voices over an intercom.
“Yes, I’m here and you’re not. Tell me I’m the middle child without telling me I’m the middle child.”
“One, you aren’t the middle child.”
“I’ve been awake for eighty-four years, Mom. I’m delirious. This feels like a middle child thing.” I correct myself, “It’s actually even worse, I’m the baby of the family and you forgot me.”
She cries out, “There was a pipe that busted at the hotel, and your brother slipped. They think his foot might be broken.” Her voice goes higher and higher.
“Oh damn, that’s going to suck in pictures if he’s going to have to get a boot,” I mention as a buzzer rings and the belt starts to move. “I guess I’ll get a cab there,” I tell her. “Don’t come down for me. I’ll be fine.”
“Of course you will,” my mother confirms. “I never have to worry about you.”
“You literally tell me the opposite every single chance you get.” I shake my head. “I’m waiting for my luggage. I’ll see you soon.”
“Okay,” she replies, disconnecting her phone, and I look down to see a picture of the five of us taken two years ago on my screen saver.
“I guess it is beginning to look a lot like Christmas.” I chuckle and shake my head.
CHAPTER 3
Elizabeth
ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS
December 14th
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.