Page 7 of Wish Lists and Road Trips

Still, to say she was a mess would be remembering a time when things were manageable. I hadn’t seen her fully sober since the funeral.

I tossed the nuts aside, suddenly sick to my stomach, and kicked off my sneakers. The decor might leave something to be desired, but the bed was a cloud. My eyes crashed shut as soon as my head hit the pillow. I should shower. I should brush my teeth. I should get some fucking rest.

It was barely seven, though, and I had a hard enough time with sleep on a regular night, let alone with the stress of this weighing on me. Tomorrow would be a shit-show—no doubt about it. I could already feel the muscles in my neck tightening—the fender bender probably didn’t help—and my brain didn’t want to settle no matter how hard I tried to force it.

I lifted the silver Saint Christopher medallion around my neck and flipped it between my thumb and forefinger. I was a terrible Catholic, to my mother’s endless disappointment, but there were certain things I still carried from my childhood. Things I did because they were so ingrained in me, they were like breathing.

Please let my mom sleep tonight, I thought dutifully.I’m sorry for how much this change in plans is going to make her worry. Another fucking thing Alex could have taken into consideration.I sighed out loud.I’m sorry for that too. I’m sorry, Alex. For everything. I know I owe you and I’m not going to let you down.

I crossed myself and flipped to my side, wishing I’d drawn the curtains, but too beat to do it now. It didn’t matter anyway; I’d probably still be staring at this window when the sun came back around.

I woke up to a flurry of frantic texts from Meri, all time-stamped the night before. After saying goodnight to Nick, I’d finally taken a minute to fill her voicemail in on the fact that I was stuck in Costa Rica with exactly one dress, my wallet, a forty-percent charge on my phone, and a cute guy who I really hoped was as confident in navigating international travel as I was pretending to be. Then I shut my phone off, hit up the gift shop at the hotel, and crashed for the night.

She wasn’t pleased.

Meri: BRIT!!! Do I need to call the consulate??

I laughed into my pillow. She’d probably saved the number in her phone as soon as I booked the trip.

Sometimes I wondered if Meri and I were switched at birth. It would have made a lot more sense if I were the one who was spawned by hippy parents who gave me a name that belonged on a Christmas card. Instead, Will and Lyric Marcum ended up with a successful, happily married dental hygienist for a daughter, while stuck-up, country-club-going Marcia and Kevin Donovan got me—a college drop-out whose only real relationship ended with me running away from my wedding.

I skipped the texting back and forth and decided to call Meri back. The concierge had rung my room at six a.m. with an update from the cruise line. They’d fly us to Houston, the woman had said. She also said plane ride, not flight, and that little detail had stuck in my brain as potentially concerning. Maybe it was just a language difference, but I didn’t think so. It sounded more like a propeller plane than a commercial jet.

Meri answered on the first ring. “Oh my God, Brit. Don’t ever do that to me again. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine . . . I think.”

“Tell me you’re not sleeping on the dock.”

I groaned. “Of course not.”Thanks to Nick.“I’m at a gorgeous hotel. You should see this place. The bed has a fairy net, and the minibar is, like, full bottles of booze and exotic mixers. There’s fresh pineapple juice in here!”

“It’s called amosquitonet, and are you sampling the minibar for breakfast? What is wrong with you?”

Um. Rude.“I’m just enjoying the adventure.”

Her sigh was so loud, I winced. “How did you manage to miss the reboarding time, Brit?”

“It’s a super-long story.” One that didn’t make me look all that competent, so I was going to dance around it. “Look, everything is going to be fine. I’m flying into Houston this afternoon and then I’ll get a flight back to New York. No biggie.”

I’d never been to Texas. At least this detour would be interesting. Wasn’t that what I’d wanted? Something more interesting?

A “plane ride” from Costa Rica to Houston sounded interesting.

“Nobiggie?” Meri repeated. “No biggie is packing the wrong jacket for the weather, not getting left behind in a foreign country alone.”

“Actually, I’m not alone. I met a guy.”

“Brit!” Meri shrieked. In the background, I heard her husband, Justin, startle over her outburst. I pictured him spilling coffee on his Armani tie and Meri jumping up to blot at it with a paper towel, her hair in a perfect blonde bun. They’d smile at each other and a pre-recorded studio audience track wouldawww.

“Not like that.” I rolled my eyes, though she couldn’t see me. “He missed the boat too.”

“Oh, excellent. The two of you should be brilliant travel partners.”

I could tell this was wearing on her. Meri and I met freshman year at Northeastern at the coffee shop she worked at, like every other first-year besides me. The tone of our relationship was set early: Meri was all checklists and responsibilities, and I . . . Well, I waited for her to be done with those things and provided the fun. Which I did! Until I dropped out senior year, leaving my parents grieving the loss of my degree as if it were another child. One I think they preferred over me.

I met Sean a year later, though, and all was forgiven.

In my previous life, when I used to wake up in an ivy-covered loft in Back Bay, Sean and I shoved to opposite corners of a California King, someone else’s perfume wafting between us, Meri was the first one to notice when I started to lose myself. The only one, really.

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