Bowling Dreams & Cheap Wine

Chapter 1

I miss my 20's. 

And my 30's. 

Age is only a number, but who knew turning 40 could be so confusing. This year, when I became 'of age' on a night with freezing rain cancelling my big 4-0 party, I celebrated alone. With  undercooked brownies and wine that tastes like it was still going through fermentation. 

I had a lot of free time on my hands that night.

I saw that my dream of owning a café somewhere sexy and somewhere international probably wasn't in the cards. Or the hope of landing at Heathrow one day and bumping into a handsome Englishman and we're in love at first glance (and suddenly I have a spectacular old estate) isn't going to happen either. 

I exhale a long breath. "...Pregnant at 19. Single mom for the last two decades. Daughter in college at age 20...and that's how I ended up here," I gripe to the guy sitting next to me on the airplane. Oh crap. Has he fallen asleep? A soft snore releases from his mouth.

Resting my head back does little to ease my nerves with the bout of turbulence making me jumpy. The flight from San Francisco back to Baltimore has been long. Too long. I can't think about how Daphne and I had the most amazing mother-daughter visit, but she's sharing an apartment with friends and has a whole life that doesn't include me. She's taken her dreams and is running high and fast with them-so long as she doesn't make me a grandma in the next five years, I won't ever complain that she moved 3,000 miles away.

Deep breaths and armrest clutching gets me through the bumpy ride. 

"Good afternoon," the captain speaks, his voice too low to hear clearly. Why don't they ever speak up? When you're in the very last row in front of the bathroom, everything is noisier. I am pretty sure the couple seated across the aisle just came back from having airplane bathroom sex. They snicker at a private joke. I haven't been part of a private joke in forever and the most action my skirt has seen lately is a tumble in the dryer. "We have started our descent into BWI..." the captain says.

By the time we touch down, I think I've aged five years. That was a long flight. I am literally the last passenger off the plane, wheeling my zebra print luggage in front of me. I went with the animal print because my luggage will be easy to spot. It was either that or leopard print, and I'm not sure when or why or how the cougar print got a bad rap, but I think all the cougar-print-wearing women of the world should take a stand. And the real cougars too, the ones with paws and cute cubs.

My tired breaths get a spark of energy as I make my way through the airport and stop at the bathroom. I nearly jump at my reflection in the mirror. "Gwen Turner," I tell myself, "it's just these awful bathroom lights." Whoever ordered these lights--are you trying to make weary travelers feel worse? But then BWI airport has real flowers in the restroom. Nice touch, Baltimore.

Eight hours ago, my golden hair had been smooth and sophisticated. Now we've got an abundance of frizz and faint wrinkles between my eyes that I wake up every morning still hoping are just a phase. I flatten my hand beneath my chin. I don't have a full-out turkey neck but genetics indicate they're coming for me. "Get on with it Gwen," I mumble and leave.

There's zero chance my growling stomach will make the drive home without me breaking down about leaving Daphne, but a huge percentage of that breakdown will be because I need food. It's a process...getting the baggage, waiting for the bus to take me to the cheapest pay lot...All good reasons to scarf down a burger and fries.

Everyone knows diets don't start at the airport. Not that I'm unaware that stuffing the last of the French fries in my mouth will help the cause of what has become my backside. Starting tomorrow, I WILL get back on my cardio workout kick. But damn, this cheeseburger is good and these fries...Who am I kidding? I shove back a horrible, hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. I miss Daphne. I miss my daughter. How did she suddenly become a grown woman?