Work Wife

Xanax

I stride toward security the next morning, checklist in hand, already with a satisfying checkmark next to check-in. I verified that I was seated in first class when I dropped off my bags and discovered it comes with the perk of a fast pass through the endless security line. 

Arriving two hours early, I stick to my pre-flight ritual even with the fast pass. I have a necessary routine to calm my flight anxiety before I pop a Xanax to truly relax. I love traveling, but stepping onto a plane? Pure dread.

With security behind me, I hop onto the terminal train and make my way to the nearest bookstore. I comb through at least a dozen book jackets before settling on a thriller intriguing enough to keep my mind busy until we board. The next stop is the snack shop, where I carefully select the blandest snacks- nothing that will upset my stomach or stink up the aisle. A bottle of water and a gossipy magazine join my haul, just in case the book doesn't live up to its promise.

At my gate, I scan the board ten times over to confirm I'm in the right place and then pick a seat near the gate agent. No way am I missing any announcements. I glance around at the waiting area, where straw hats, flowy maxi dresses, and tank tops signal that everyone here is heading somewhere warm. It's a relief to know I'm exactly where I need to be.

Settling into my chair, I realize I still have about an hour before it's time for the Xanax. Plenty of time to ease into the start of this journey.

I text my sister and the bridesmaid chat that I have arrived at my gate and am waiting to board, and within seconds I am bombarded with plane emojis and status updates of the rest of the bridal party who are also about to arrive at the airport. I tuck my phone away and then slide my new psychological thriller from the paper bag as I settle into the seat. 

I am about ten chapters in when I feel someone looming over me, I flit my eyes up and see Logan with a backpack slung over his shoulder eyeing me like he wasn't sure if he should interrupt.

"I wasn't sure if it was you," he says sheepishly when our eyes meet and I give him a quick smile. 

"It's me." 

"Can I join you?" He asks while glancing at the open seat next to me. I want to tell him that I am invested in my book and would prefer silence, but I shrug and scoot my tote bag toward me. Emma told me I needed to try to blend in with the bridal party as well as keep my resting bitch face in check. I promised her I would do my best. "Have you been here long?" 

I shake my head, "Not too long. We should be boarding in about forty-five minutes." I notice he's in shorts, but thankfully not the cutoff jean shorts he lived in last year, and a nice linen button-up that matches his knit bottoms. He looks like he's traveling to a bougie resort in Cabo with his sandy blonde hair looking freshly cut. I also notice his beard is gone and say, "I see you cleaned up for the wedding." 

He rubs his hand down his smooth skin with a grimace as he says, "Chase asked us all to be clean-shaven. I figured it would be easier to maintain this than shave it all off the day before." 

"You don't like it?" I ask, realizing I actually enjoy seeing what's beneath the unruly beard. 

"I feel like I look like I am nineteen years old," he says with a frown and I am surprised when a laugh bursts out of me. He does look younger without all the hair hiding half of his face and I notice his light green eyes stand out a bit more. "But I am sure Ainslee is having you all do crazy shit too, so...I'm going to do my best not to complain." He adjusts his backpack in front of him and I watch as he unzips the main compartment and slides out large, over-the-ear headphones still in the box. He's fiddling with the plastic when I reply, "We are having to wear a lot of matching outfits."