Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Baggage claim. I need to find the baggage claim.
Then, I need to find Clover.
Easy baby steps.
Well, as easy as MSY gets on a busy morning, anyway.
Outside the terminal, chaos reigns. Families cluster around the baggage carousels, kids squeal as they race around their suitcases, and couples argue in languages I don’t understand. The air smells like jet fuel, too many perfumes mixing, and terrible chain-restaurant hoagie bread.
I’m pretty sure it’s the same hoagie bread I puked all over my friend Estelle’s bedspread the first time I tried vodka. Also, pretty sure I might throw up now if I think about that too much.
Wisely, I turn my thoughts to other things.
“So wise,” I mutter as I maneuver past a little girl having a screaming meltdown in her stroller and head toward the carousel for my flight.
People are already crowded three-deep around the belt, jostling for position, craning to spot their bags. I’m about to join the horde of idiots—when people force their way to the front instead of standing back so we can all see the bags, they force us all to be idiots, which I’m pretty sure is a metaphor for everything that’s wrong with society as a whole—when a voice shouts, “Bea! There you are! Bea!”
I spin to see Clover waving from just inside the sliding glass doors. She’s wearing a yellow crop top and high-waisted red jeans that make her look like a refugee from the happy part of the 80s. Her wild brown curls are pulled up in a high ponytail against the heat, and as usual, there’s a giant smile on her face.
I realize with a pang how much I’ve missed her.
I wave back, and she dashes over, arms outstretched.
But then, she circles the poor kid still screaming in her stroller, gets her first good look at my stomach, and skids to a stop. Her eyes fly wide, and her jaw drops. Literally drops, like a cartoon-character, until I can see all the secrets of her uvula.
I prop a hand on my hip with a laugh. “What? Never seen a terrifyingly pregnant woman before?”
Her hands fly to cover her mouth as she gasps, “Oh my God, I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect…” She flaps a hand toward my midsection. “You look like you’re about to pop, woman. Are you okay?”
I smile. “I’m fine. And Bean is fine. My doctor in Scotland said everything is right on schedule. Pregnancy is sometimes just more obvious on a smaller frame.” I wave her in. “Come give me a hug. It’s not catching, I promise.”
She leans in, pulling me into a careful embrace. “Thank goodness, I can’t afford to catch a pregnancy right now. I still haven’t saved up enough for a new car.”
“Good.” I press a kiss to her cheek before we part. “I’d be sad if I didn’t get a few more rides in Mr. Higgins before he goes to the great junkyard in the sky.”
She rolls her eyes. “Well, never fear. Mr. Higgins is here, moldy seats and all.”
“Yay,” I say as we move toward the baggage carousel.
“Yeah, I still can’t get the back window up all the way,” she adds cheerfully. “The smell is getting really offensive. The guy I’m hooking up with right now has an asthma attack every time it’s my turn to drive.”
“That’ll teach him,” I say. “You should never have to drive. You’re just a baby.”
Clover laughs. “I know, right? But he’s twenty-three, too, so he thinks he’s just a baby. And he gets sleepy after dark and has a stigmatism that makes the streetlights look smeary and has anxiety about city traffic and blah blah blah.”
“Sounds like a live one,” I tease.
She bumps her hip against mine. “You know it, girl. Nothing but the baddest of bad boys for me.” She shrugs and waves a breezy hand. “But it’s fine. I don’t want anything too serious or fun right now, anyway. I’m locked in at work. Reba is considering me for the assistant manager job at the diner. I should know by next week.”
“Congratulations!” I say, squeezing her arm. “That’s amazing, Clover! Look at you, climbing the corporate ladder like a boss.”
She ducks her head, shy about compliments, as always. “Yeah, it’s pretty cool. I’d make twice what I do now and only have to work four shifts instead of five, which would give me way more time to look for music gigs and design work. I’ve barely had my sewing machine out at all this summer. But we’ll see. They’re considering a couple of other people, too.” She shifts her gaze toward the belt. “So what color are your bags? Let me grab them, so you don’t have to stress your preggers body.”
“Thanks. I just have one big suitcase. Teal with a yellow stripe, but I’m not sure it’s out yet.” I push up on tiptoe, but at five foot nothing even in combat boots, I can’t see over a middle school kid, let alone the adults swarming around the belt.