Chapter 2

Warm, golden sunlight peeking through the blinds and warming the sheets pulls me out of a deep sleep. With my eyes still not ready to open, I move around and stretch a bit. The heat on my face is the best wake-up call I've had in a while. It's a nice contrast to my freezing apartment and blaring alarm clock, anyway.

My senses start to sharpen. I can hear the early-morning bustle of the city beneath me and smell my roommate, Ash, making what's likely his third or fourth coffee of the day.

I let my eyes slowly peel open, greeted with the sight of my ceiling fan slowly spinning around and around. The popcorn-textured walls and ceiling are bathed in the sun's glow, and despite the wear and tear of the old apartment, it looks strangely beautiful.

I wonder vaguely what time it is because the sun is almost never this vibrant when I wake up in the morning. In fact, it's usually not up at all. That thought worries me, and I reach for my phone to check the time, it's already almost ten. I've slept through my alarm.

Jumping out of bed, I get dressed at record speed, silently cursing because, of course, today would be the day that I sleep through my alarm—not a day when all I have to worry about is getting to one of my shitty jobs on time. No, it's on a day when I have to catch an important flight so I can attend an interview that will let me quit my shitty jobs and start a better, significantly less shitty job.

I mentally chastise myself for putting off packing last night before work. I should've known that I wouldn't wake up on time since I've had to work twice as much the past week to afford the time off to take this trip.

Throwing some necessities into a bag, I tuck my suit carefully into the corner of it, promising myself I'll iron it once I get to my hotel in Providence. The company I'm interviewing with is putting me up in some fancy place downtown—the kind of place I wouldn't usually even look at, let alone step foot in. It feels like everything—my life, my future, my family's livelihood—is riding on me making it to the airport within the hour.

I toss my bag over my shoulder and grab a random pair of shoes, hopping into the hallway and putting them on as I walk. Ash curiously watches me stumble into the room, sipping coffee from his favorite "Cat Dad" mug. His big blue eyes follow me as I hobble along, narrowly missing running into the wall. Both shoes are firmly on as I reach the counter where my roommate sits. I snatch up his coffee and drink what's left of it before slamming it back down and waving goodbye as I start to walk away. "See you in two days, Ash. Try not to burn down the place while I'm gone, huh?" I call out.

I don't wait for a response before leaving the apartment, pulling the door shut behind me. It slams, rattling the whole hallway, and I wince when the neighbor's dog begins to bark maniacally. Brilliant, I'm sure we'll now be receiving another note from his psychotic owner about "noise control" and a "peaceful environment" for his beloved pup—who's about the size of a shed and barks throughout the entire night—but that's a problem for another time.

I'm taking the stairs two at a time because, naturally, the elevator is broken, and nearly take a fatal fall when I try to multitask and order a car at the same time. I steady myself against the rusted railing but don't slow down for even a second. Selecting the most expensive express option for a ride to the airport stings, but I don't have a choice right now. Again, a problem for another time.

The black SUV pulls up just as I'm struggling to lug my bag through the sliding entry door that doesn't quite function anymore, my face turns bright red because I know the driver in his big, fancy car is probably judging my crappy apartment building. Trust me dude, I know this isn't great. I make a solemn oath to myself that if I ever manage to be successful enough to drive a car that shines like diamonds, I'll take pity on the poor, debt-ridden twenty-somethings living in shitholes downtown by avoiding them. Taunting is cruel, after all.

Making it into the backseat of the car feels like reaching the top of the first mountain of the day, which only leaves about ten odd mountains to go, the next one is getting through airport check-in, which I'm sure will be its own sort of chaos. I haven't flown anywhere since middle school, and all I can remember from the experience was being pulled away from my family and pat down right there in the security lane for the whole world to see. I'm sure my angsty, self-conscious teenage brain exaggerated the experience, but I'm not exactly overjoyed at the prospect of enduring that trauma again.

I'll do whatever I have to for this job to work out. Getting it would be life changing. I'd never have to flip another burger for the rest of my life. I'd make enough money to support myself, my family back home, and pay off my debt, all while only working forty hours a week. Forty hours seem like a vacation in comparison to the near seventy-hour work weeks I've been pulling for the past several months.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and a smile immediately spreads across my face when I see my youngest sister, Betty, has texted me. She's eleven and feels the need to remind me every day of her existence because she's convinced I'll forget about her now that I don't live at home anymore. That's why I coughed up the money to buy her an iPhone. It took me four months to save up enough to be able to afford the newest model like all of her friends have (in purple, of course, because "pink is out and blue hasn't been relevant for a decade"), but it was worth it. She'd probably have lost her mind if I hadn't. She likes being able to talk to me anytime she wants—and trust me, she does not hesitate to abuse that power. I don't mind it, not really.

She's sent something along the lines of "Good morning. Please buy me a souvenir in Maryland." I can't fathom what she could possibly want from Maryland, but I reply and promise to bring back the best gift in the whole world, just for her.

My family isn"t perfect by any means. We have our issues, and maybe my life would be easier if I wasn"t so close with them, but I wouldn"t trade it for anything. My parents, high school sweethearts, had me—their best accident, they like to say—when they were seventeen. Too young to be parents, I was shuffled between grandparents until I was three, when my dad and his parents moved away, leaving me in the sole care of my twenty-year-old mom. She dropped out of college to be a full-time parent, somehow getting us by until my dad found his way back to us when I was eight. They fell back in love, and we became a happy family again, complete with a white picket fence.

Our family grew even more perfect when my sister, Iris, was born when I was ten, followed by Lila two years later, and Betty a few years after that. Outnumbered by sisters, I naturally fell into the role of a third parent until I moved out last year. Even now, living across town, my priority is still helping out at home any way I can.

We"ve faced our share of financial struggles. Dad was laid off, and at the same time, Mom got sick and couldn"t work. I was away at college, unaware of how much they were struggling. They"re getting back on their feet now, with Mom"s health improving and Dad finding part-time work, but being able to help out more would make a huge difference to them.

Dad always says that having each other is all that matters in the end. Sometimes I wonder if he truly believes that, but I don"t dwell on it for long. I have to believe that everything will work out in time, and the first step is securing this job. Moving further away from my family than I ever intended will be challenging, but it would be worth it if I could make a bigger difference covering costs at home.

My driver drops me off much further from check-in than I"d like, forcing me to sprint down the interminable, echoing corridor. Each squeak from my shoes against the tile floor reverberates endlessly, threatening to shatter my already frayed nerves. I"m painfully aware of the sweat trickling down my back, my shirt clinging to my chest like a second skin, and my hair plastered against my forehead. There"s no time to fix any of it. My lungs burn, and my lips are cracked from the sharp breaths I"m greedily gulping, but I can"t afford to slow down.

I finally reach the check-in desk, gasping for air. Judgmental eyes bore into me from all directions, but I"m too focused on my goal to care. I snatch the boarding pass from the apprehensive attendant and race towards the security checkpoint. A flicker of hope sparks within me, praying for a bit of luck, but it"s extinguished the moment I see the serpentine, seemingly endless line.

Fuck.

The flight information board is warning that my flight is already boarding at gate 36. Every fibre of my being screams at me to give up, but I refuse to succumb. I take several deep breaths, willing my racing heart to slow, silently repeating my internal mantra: There is nothing I can do but try my best. With renewed determination, I join the line behind a mother and her young daughter. As the mom rummages through her bag, the girl seizes the opportunity to sneak her hand into her mother"s pocket, swiping a bag of cookies and tucking them away in her pink backpack. Catching me watching, she flashes a grin, a giant gap where her two front teeth should be. She holds a finger to her mouth, a silent plea for secrecy, and I give her a firm nod, allowing myself a soft chuckle only when she turns away. The moment reminds me of why I"m doing this—to give my own mischievous sisters the chance to revel in such childish antics.

Time crawls at a glacial pace as I slowly suffocate on the cheap perfume wafting from the tween three spots ahead. When I finally reach the front of the line, I brace myself for the worst, expecting my bad luck to persist and trigger a pat-down at the metal detector. But by some miracle, I pass through unhindered. As I slip my shoes back on and gather my belongings, I muster the courage to check my watch.

Three minutes until take-off.

I can make it.

I hurtle down the winding row of shops, restaurants, and kiosks. I pass gates twenty-four all the way to thirty-two.

I'm nearly there.

I see numbers ahead of me, bright and shiny in fluorescent lighting like an angel in the sky: Gate 36.

I use the last bit of energy to push ahead and burst into the quiet waiting area but I can see a plane pulling away through the window.

"No," I mutter under my breath along with a few choice words. I want to fall to the floor and break down. I can't tell the people I am supposed to be convincing that I am an organized and reliable employee that I missed my flightbecause I slept through my alarm.

Slumping into the plastic chair, I grab a gum out of my bag and chew while I think. What a sight. A sad guy sitting alone in a sad airport with a group of sad businessmen watching my sad crisis.

This isn't me. I'm not sad or pathetic, I'm not supposed to be the victim of an old businessman's odd stare. I'm supposed to laugh at the businessman who has the guts to judge me while he's dressed like a penguin. I can't become this dickless, defeated man. Not me—I'm Noah fucking Laurier.

"No," I murmur to myself. Giving up is simply not an option. After everything I've been through, I will get to Providence, and I will attend my interview. I don't care what it takes. I'll walk there if I have to.

Approaching the ticket desk I find a young red-haired woman typing away at the computer.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" I ask, leaning over the desk casually.

She looks up, and her eyes widen, a soft blush creeping over her cheeks. "Yes, sir, what can I do for you?"

I point to the plane that's halfway to the runway and give her a sad smile maintaining eye contact. "I was supposed to be on that plane, but I ran into some difficulties this morning and I couldn't make it in time. But, see, I have to get to Providence today for an important business interview. This really is very important; my life may otherwise be ruined. If you can help at all...." My eyes flick down to her nametag. "…Zara, I would be forever in your debt."

The woman raises her eyebrows, and the corner of her lip quirks up in amusement. "Well, we certainly wouldn't want that, would we? Let me see what I can do." She types for a moment, then looks back up at me. "Good news, sir. We have a seat available on our eleven o'clock flight to Providence tonight. Shall I transfer your ticket?"

"Yes! Thank you!" I could kiss her. "Oh, you are the best. Really you're a lifesaver. An angel, even."

She glances away before tucking a hair behind her ear.

"Anything to keep your life from being ruined, sir." She purrs.

"You really are too kind, ma"am. You have a good day now, alright? And, hey, maybe I'll catch you here on my way home." I wink. She blushes harder and bids me a squeaked farewell and good luck.

I go straight to the restaurant nearest to me, figuring I can waste a few hours sipping some soda and scrolling through social media. I do, after all, have half a day to kill. And patience has never been my virtue.

Once I'm sitting at a table tucked away in the back corner of a bustling, dimly lit burger joint, and I've ordered a diet soda, I take out my phone, where I am greeted by another message from Betty.

r u in merry land yet?

I smile at the silly shorthand she definitely picked up from my sixteen-year-old sister, Iris, and quickly type out a reply.

Nope, not yet

I leave tonight

A typing bubble is the only response I receive for a while. By the time another message comes through, I've already gotten my soda and am halfway to needing a refill.

can u come home until then

I wish I could tell her that I want nothing more than to come home and never leave again, but that's not her burden to carry. It's mine. I have to take care of them. If the best way to do that is leaving, then leaving is what I'll do.

Sorry, kid

I'll be home in a couple days will see you then

and I'll have a super awesome gift to give you ;)

The typing bubble returns and then shortly goes away. Nothing else comes through, and I know she's mad at me. She thinks I'm leaving to get away from her. She doesn't understand that I'm leaving to help her, and there's no way for me to explain it to her without making her aware of just how bad things really are. She's too young to remember the misery we all endured eight years ago. I'll do anything to make sure it stays that way—anything.