The 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 dread stepping onto a plane.

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 flick 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 usually try to stroll up right when boarding starts, but I thought it would be good to get here early," he says. The standard for an international flight is to arrive three hours early, and here he is still strolling up with less than an hour until boarding. 

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.

"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. I am surprised when a laugh escapes 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."