Page 32 of Holiday Romance
I reach his side in record time as we round the corner, my heart pounding with each step.
This is it. We just need to get through security. We just need to get through security and…
Shit.
Andrew and I come to an abrupt stop as we almost run into the wall of people waiting for passport control. A screen overhead says the wait to get through is forty-five minutes and even the preclearance line is jammed. Despite our rush, for a few seconds the two of us simply stare at the orderly, tired lines in front of us, and I feel my last bit of hope slip away. The gate is supposed to close in another few minutes and I doubt they’ll keep it open for much longer.
Andrew exhales sharply, his body tense as he scans each column as though looking for the shortest one.
“I’m going to ask them to let us through,” he mutters, and I follow numbly as he approaches a TSA agent standing to one side and starts to plead our case. I don’t have the heart to tell him that there’s no point. I’m sure they get asked the same thing by a dozen people every minute.
I swallow thickly, adrenaline warring with fresh disappointment as more and more travelers keep joining the lines. There’s a burning in my chest that moves to my throat and my breathing grows shallow as each second passes. We’re going to miss the flight. We made it to the airport and now we’re going to miss the flight.
“Andrew,” I mumble, but he’s not listening. To be honest, I’m not even sure if I spoke out loud or in my head.
God, it’s warm in here.
“You’re going to need to wait just like everyone else,” the agent says, sounding like he’s reading from a script.
“They’re keeping the gate open for us,” Andrew says. “If you could just—”
“Andrew,” I say.
“Sir, everyone’s in the same—”
I burst into tears.
I’ve always been a bit of a crier. Sad tears, happy tears, angry tears. It’s my body’s go-to reaction no matter the situation or the time of the month. And usually, it’s not so bad. A couple seconds’ pause, a tissue under the eyes. I get it out, I fix my makeup, and I move on.
These tears are not those tears.
These are loud, sloppy, sobbing tears that make everyone in our immediate circle stare at us. Atme.
“We’re going… to miss… ourflight,” I wail as the security agent rears back in horror. Even Andrew looks alarmed, and he’s definitely seen me cry before.
The agent shifts uncomfortably, one hand raised between us as though he doesn’t know whether to comfort or corral me into the corner. “Ma’am—”
“My sister’s… having… a baby,” I gasp, almost choking myself as I force the words out.
“Just let her through,” someone calls from up ahead, and they’re immediately backed up by others.
“It’s Christmas!”
“She’s pregnant!”
“She’s not…” The agent’s face tightens. “It’s her sister who’s—”
But he’s drowned out by even more voices supporting little old highly hysterical me. A particularly violent hiccup has him wincing as Andrew rubs slow circles into my back.
“Alright, alright,” the man mutters, hurrying us to the front of the line. “Just make it quick.”
It’s like he doesn’t even know who he’s talking to. We rush through passport control and practically fling our stuff through the scanners. By some miracle our bags aren’t picked up for extra checks and then we’re off, sprinting through the terminal as fast as we can and garnering several annoyed protests in our wake as we dodge wheeled suitcases and roaming shoppers.
“Run,” Andrew says, sounding only a little panicked as we careen around a corner. “Run, run, run.”
Somewhere above me I hear what sounds like my name being called over the announcement system, and I pick up the pace, my laptop bag banging uncomfortable against my hip as it slides down my shoulder with each step. They made this lookmucheasier inHome Alone.
“We’re here,” I yell as we approach our gate. There’s no one else waiting but the doors are open, the desk still manned. “We’re here!”
