PIT STOP TIME OUT
Our last day in Bali passes by as quickly as a fickle tropical storm.
Zoë and I made tentative too polite to say no even though I've already cancelled in my head plans to visit Li Li and Courtney's star-infested yoga lab in LA. I think maybe we even consented to visiting Colorado.
After a quick dinner in the main restaurant, we head for the airport. It's 9 PM but still so humid I can barely breathe when we exit the air-conditioned taxicab.
The driver helps unload our luggage from the trunk. He doesn't even judge us for standing by and sipping to-go coffees. Freshly brewed in island time. I yank on the strap of my new Breezy Ease Retreat tote and loop my arm through it.
"Ready? Got your phone ticket saved?" I ask over my shoulder.
"Unfortunately," Zoë grumbles.
She follows me from the curb as we bid farewell to our driver, Benji, and enter the Denpasar Airport.
We head through security and Zoë is already scoping out the juice bar by the time I get to the other side. There's a deli-café selling breakfast burritos and açaí bowls; we get a quick bite to eat as we wait at our gate for boarding.
I sit with my spoon between my lips, the remnants of my bowl beside me. I have both my tablet and phone out, living on dual screens. Zoë rolling her eyes as she turns over her citrine crystal.
Let the record show I'm not eye rolling her.
"It's a good thing we thought ahead and took the next 3 days off. I'm abso jet-lagged already." Zoë says sleepily, yawning nonstop.
Abso is her new abbreviation for absolutely. I hate how much it's creeped its way into my own vocab. Abso hate.
"Right?" I agree.
"FLIGHT 913, STANDBY." The intercom announces boarding for our flight.
"Sleeping for every second of it." She yawns.
I don't say anything. Instead, I drop my tablet beside me and grab my water bottle from between my knees. I tag a deep gulp.
"What? Hot plans with Joshy?" Zoë teases. She loathes that I call him Joshi. I mean, what kind of person loathes Mario Bros. quasi-word play?
"No. I was actually just thinking, and don't get mad–" I start before she laughs.
"Says people about to piss someone off," Zoë adds.
"Not at all. I was texting Trix and I was thinking maybe I'd drive from JFK to Cape May? Kind of a pit stop time out thing?" I wince at Zoë, ready for her comments.
"Oo, yes!" She says, surprisingly. "East Coast Livin'! Can I come?"
"You want to come?" I ask.
"FLIGHT 913, ZONE 1 BOARDING."
"Duh. You only talk about your home all the time and I've never been and want to meet all your back bay buds or whatever your group chat is named." Zoë talks a mile a minute. My eyes fall to the smooth pebble of moonstone wedged between her fingers.
"Ok. I give in. Deal. Let's reschedule our connecting flights for two days." I open my airline app.
"Quickie pit stop time out in Jersey," she says happily.
I abso hate the way she says Jersey, like she's only ever heard it said in the movies or with a New York accent.
"Gotta work on that impression, babe, or my friends'll roast you to death," I laugh.
"ZONES 3 AND 4."
We load up our rolly bags with totes, shoes, hoodies, my oversized hat, and Zoë's lavender-infused pillow, and board the plane.
We aren't first-class because I'm not Fergie, but we also aren't steerage because this is not a doomed ocean liner from 1912. Nah, we are business. All business. All leg-room and complimentary movie catalogue business.
"Yes, I know!! Ah, me too!" I say into my phone as the elderly man scolds at me from his spit in Seat 1A.
"Ok. Almost sitting down. Yes, like 4 PM your time, I think? Ride share, duh."
"Wrap it up. I hate the stares," Zoë says close to my ear.
"Gotta go, honey! Text ya."
I hang up on Trix and slide my phone into my legging's pocket.
"Did you tell your friends you're bringing a straggler?" Zoë asks.
"Yes and they accept my poor decisions." I joke, sipping the last ..001% of my coffee.
"Ha." She laughs.
"No, actually my parents can't wait to meet you finally. Trix too and I'm sure she told Meg."
"Ok, Ok, familiar names. This is good. Feel like I need a book about your friends to keep all their names and stories straight." Zoë says, opening her phone.
"Oh, just go mope around on my socials. You'll see everyone's name and face," I tease.
"I don't mope," she says, defensive.
"Ditto, bitch."
Elderly man shoots us daggers javelin style.
"Can't wait to sleep this whole flight," Zoë says, yawning again.
I scroll through my own phone and spot a picture of Lauren and Brody at a cake tasting. Next one I see is a selfie of Meg and her Aunt Kim. In a few short (16 is short) hours I'll be back stateside, Jersey side, and get to see my girlies again.
The attendant greets the last passenger and latches the door closed. I let my head sink into the cushioned seat and am already thinking about being home again.
Being home for the first time in over a year.
I stifle a yawn, still hoping to keep Bali alive for a few more minutes. I look over at Zoë, who's already asleep on her lavender neck pillow.
My eyes don't have much left in them.
"GOOD EVENING, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. CURRENT FLIGHT TIME TO HONG KONG: 7 HOURS, 27 MINUTES."
YOU ARE READING
Never Really Over (Bremmy 3)
ChickLit*THREEQUEL* Even when they're done, all things are never really over. It's been one year since Emmy left for the airport, two tickets in hand. A long, eventful year. Brooks has successfully launched the flagship Edge and snagged a model girlfriend...
