Like a Best Friend | ✓

chapter four

I have squashed two weeks' worth of clothes into a carry-on suitcase and a backpack. Kitty has that plus a giant checked bag, rolling her luggage through the departures lounge like she's heading off on a long international trip.

"It's my job to look cute, I need options," she says when I laugh at her.

"It's your side job," I point out, grinning at her, "and you have, like, a whole month's worth of posts already scheduled."

"And with all the photo opportunities we're about to have, I can schedule another whole month," she says, sticking her tongue out at me. I checked in online, ready to head to security already, but she needs to check her bag. I grab a bunch of snacks for the flight while I wait, buzzing with anticipation and a little bit of fear.

It's been a long few weeks waiting for today, the days dragging by since Kitty asked me to join her in Las Vegas. Every minute at work has been torture, wrapping up current projects and adjusting my timelines for new ones and staying ahead of all my deadlines so I can relax in Nevada, but now it's finally here. Fall is in full swing here in Massachusetts, my favorite time of the year, and I'm about to swap it for half a month in a state with no seasons. Two weeks of sun out west and by the time we return, we'll be heading into winter.

But I don't care. Because it's two weeks with my favorite person, two weeks where I get to slip into my old role again and play photographer, camera at the ready as we explore Las Vegas and everything within a few hours' drive. I've never been this far west. My childhood was a careful, conscientious one: most of my summer vacations were spent with my grandparents, if neither of my parents could take time off work – which was often – and it wasn't until I was twelve that we were financially stable enough to spend an entire week out of state. And even then, it was to my aunt's place in Maine or my great uncle's place in upstate New York.

Things are better now. Life is different for my brother and sister. I was the child of teen parents but to Cece and Isaac, our parents are older than their friends' parents: Mom was thirty-six when she had Isaac, thirty-eight with Cece, a geriatric mother according to her hospital records. She and Dad are in their late forties now and things have settled down, the four of them a nuclear family since I moved out a decade ago. At the grand old age of eleven, my little brother has been to ten states. When I was his age, I had never left Massachusetts. Jealous is the wrong word because I'd never want to deny my siblings what they've had just because I didn't, but it has been hard watching them grow up from the sidelines. The brother and sister I always wanted and didn't get until I'd long since given up hope of becoming a sister.

Even now, at twenty-eight, I rarely fly so it's a novelty to be in an airport. To have my bag sail through the scanner because I remembered to take out all my liquids – including a rogue bottle of nail polish – as well as my Kindle, my portable charger, anything that could look remotely suspicious on an X-ray. It's an odd thrill to be in such a liminal space, this strange place where time doesn't exist in the same way. People are dressed for ten different climates inside an airport, some people dressed up in their smartest suits and some lounging in sweatpants.

Kitty and I get to our gate way too early, at least thirty minutes before boarding starts, so we head back to the main concourse to grab a coffee even though we hit up the Dunkin' closest to her apartment before we called an Uber to the airport. I was fully prepared to walk to South Station and take the Silver Line, but I underestimated how much stuff Kitty would have with her, which is totally on me because she hasn't changed a bit in all the time I've known her. Clothes are Kitty's passion, always have been. Of course she needs a million options for a two week trip. I'm starting to think I've underpacked. I might have to hit up the Vegas outlet stores to keep up with her – I have approximately eight outfits, having originally packed six.