Like a Best Friend | ✓

epilogue

"What time is it?" Her voice is croaky.

"Seven."

"Ugh. It's Sunday, Fliss. Seven o'clock on a Sunday morning is not a time I am designed to ever know."

"I know. But we've got a big day ahead of us."

Kitty holds the coffee in both hands and doesn't say anything until she's finished half of it. It's more French vanilla creamer than it is coffee, just enough caffeine in it to give her a boost. "What time do we have to leave?"

"The flight's at ten, so we want to have our backs to this place by seven forty-five," I say. We're already packed – I learned from last year's errors – so all we have to do is shower and put on the clothes we laid out last night. We'll grab breakfast in the airport, something to do with all the time we'll inevitably be left with when security takes a fraction of the time it could.

"So I can sleep for another twenty minutes," Kitty says with a grunt. She is not a morning person.

"Absolutely not, unless you want me to drag your ass to the airport."

She yawns and rests her head against the headboard, eyes closed, and says, "You can drag my ass wherever you want if it means I can sleep."

"I will get on the plane without you."

"Relax, it leaves in three hours, Fliss. We have loads of time."

*

We leave late, because of course we do. There's traffic. Of course there is. The line for security is longer than I've ever seen it, and we have bags to check.

"It'll be fine," Kitty says as we stand behind about fifty other people waiting to check their bags. "They're not going to let us miss the plane when we're in the airport."

"While I admire your confidence, I don't share it," I say, shifting from foot to foot to try to alleviate the anxiety building with every minute that we don't move. It's eight fifteen. Eight twenty. Eight thirty before we hand over our bags at the check-in desk and join the back of the crowd heading towards security. We have TSA PreCheck but it doesn't help when so does seemingly everyone in Boston. Where the hell is everyone going at nine o'clock on a Sunday morning?

"Relax," Kitty whispers. "It's against the law to look so tense in an airport. You're definitely gonna get frisked if you don't unclench your asshole."

I can't help but laugh, and some of my nerves dissipate as we shuffle forward agonizingly slowly.

Boarding opens at nine thirty. It's nine fifteen before we are spat out the other end of security, hurrying to pull on our shoes and find our bags so we can grab something to eat before we get on the plane. My stomach's been rumbling since I woke up nearly three hours ago, my coffee barely filling the hole. The post-security Dunkin' calls my name, my feet carrying me there before my brain kicks into gear, and I am happy once I have a sausage egg and cheese sandwich in one hand and an iced coffee in the other. Kitty ambles by my side with her plant-based sausage sandwich, not a hint of stress in her aura.

"Just because boarding starts in ten minutes doesn't mean we have to be there in ten minutes," she says. "We've got ages, Fliss, you don't have to eat so fast. You're gonna get indigestion, take a minute."

I do as I'm told. She's right. Intellectually, I know she's right, and if we get to our gate now, we'll be standing around for the next half an hour, but I'd still rather be hanging around with my plane in sight. Kitty stands in front of me, lifting up on her tiptoes so we're the same height, and she does her hypnotizing face, when she looks deep into my eyes until all I can think about is the swirl of her irises.