On closing his eyes again, the engines accelerated and his felt his back pressed against his seat. He held the arm rest, waiting for it to be over. He hardly noticed the chatter that had started in the cabin, especially screaming kids.
“It’s like a roller coaster, right?” The man next to him said. Galen didn’t have the stomach to reply. Once they were done climbing and his ears were finished popping and the kids were done screaming, he dug out his little white headphones and stretched out the best he could, his feet under the seat in front of him beside his small carry on bag. His sister had been right. Bring a small carry on, she had told him because he wouldn’t use most of what he had considered bringing anyway. The attendant gave him three pillows, two blankets and he tried to sleep.
His phone blew up when they landed, as soon as he turned off that all too important Airplane Mode. Text messages from his uncle Frank, waiting at a cell lot to pick him up. He felt like he had made a mistake, but his uncle assured him there was no problem. They had good company, he had said. He landed just after nine at night, the skyline looked like the pictures he’d seen online as they came in for landing, which felt rushed. The world was dark and well lit, as the plane depended into darkness, until the wheels hit and all those runway lights came into view. Galen discovered that he loved and hated equally that thing they called reverse thrust.
He hadn’t flown since the family trip to DC, which of course was for his mother’s art obsession. There was a collection she had to visit and museum stops to make because they just had to see them all and savor them while visiting the capitol. She had called the trip a great family vacation. It was an art fest for their mother, husband and kids holding up the rear. Galen’s mother had tried to get Addison passionate about art while on that trip; she was young and impressionable, their mother had said over and over to their father, as though that were an excuse to constantly pepper the girl with searching comments directed at artwork no one could ever stand close to, behind glass and security devices.
Andrew, Kim’s younger brother, was all too happy to see him. “Galen. Long time no see.” He hugged him and Galen didn’t quite know how to handle that.
His uncle Frank took Galen’s luggage from him, fist pump for a time efficient greeting, as cars were backing up in the adjacent lane, the struggle to find an open spot alongside the curb was very real. His uncle Frank wheeled it around and stowed it in the back like he’d done this dozens of times, making Galen wonder if they traveled considerably and what places they had been. Galen remembered having to maneuver the big bag, which felt like all he owned in the world, in his trunk’s small opening. His car, which was his, was about the only thing of value he left behind in Florida. Why did he bring so much stuff for just a weekend? He had wondered, while shoving his luggage into his car, if he were staying long term and this was fate in motion; his destiny forcing itself into motion. His mother had been summoning the universe on his behalf; chakra stones and burning incense. Did she have any idea that her efforts could move him to the opposite coast? Maybe a long distance break from him was what she wanted. Addison said their mother wanted Galen to go find himself. Whatever that meant.
The car was unique, nothing Galen had seen before that he could recall. A silver SUV. Sleek. Old fashioned meets modern. The leather was soft, smooth. He sat in the back, carry on at his feet. Andrew sat beside him, making small talk about Galen’s flight delay. Apparently he spent considerable time reading about record snow in Denver, for this time of year. Apparently Andrew had been waiting impatiently in a hammock for the afternoon and Galen hadn’t realized that would be the case.
Andrew had asked, not to anyone in particular, How could it snow? In May? Who could imagine such things? They had been waiting twenty minutes. No worries, they were listening to a podcast, he said. Preaching, from their church.
“Interesting,” Galen said, because he didn’t know what else people say to learning such things. He hadn’t heard people did those things. Listen to church messages? He hadn’t been to any church since he was seven or eight–it had been his maternal grandmother who took him. Galen didn’t remember much about the experience. Galen’s father only ever listened to political chatter on occasion before he got mad and turned it off, more confused than when he had started. His mother was into elevator music or 80s hit songs she insisted on singing along with, as though reliving some long past event.
His uncle asked how the flight was, assuming he had been happy to get it over with after a delay.
“I made a friend, so the time went fast,” Galen said. Andrew wasn’t about to let a story go by, so he asked and Galen told them about Darcy.
“Wild,” Frank said, staring ahead at the road. “Total blessing, if you ask me. Funny how God does things like that. Brings people together like that? Am I right?”
Andrew promptly agreed, saying his dad was ‘right on’.
“So how is the bride?” Galen asked, hoping to learn more about his cousin. He suspected this overly happy and cheery demeanor he got from Andrew and Frank was ingrained and somehow their religion tied it all together like a thick rope with a sailor’s knot. Galen was both worried and curious. He hadn’t known people who were anything more than casually religious, like being from New York. It was just a part of you that you referenced when you had to, played the card when seldom appropriate, but hardly a major life choice.
“She’s a basket case,” Andrew said, sounding flippant, perhaps annoyed. He quickly turned it around. “But she’s excited. Stoked.”
“She’s just nervous son,” Frank said. “Brandon is a solid dude. I’ve vetted him myself.”
Andrew made jokes about his father’s lengthy fishing expeditions as testing grounds. If a guy could make it through those and still smile at the end, he must be a keeper.
Andrew cajoled his father over his rigorous testing of any guy Kim ever brought around, like a spiritual waterboarding, as Andrew phrased it.
“I baptize by fire,” Frank said. “I must look out for my girl.”
Frank glowed most of the drive, speaking about his future son in law; less than twenty four hours until Kim’s world changed and a new family tree planted its roots, ripe with opportunity and uncertainty. Frank spoke about providence. Provision. He had a unique way of seeing the world, of seeing life and every day with purpose that struck Galen as very likable and unique.
His mother called during the drive and Galen let the call go to voicemail. Strangely, he cared less and less about his mother discovering what he was doing for the weekend.
Galen had two messages from Kim, reiterating how excited she was that he could make it. First time in California? One of them asked. He replied, asking her about where she was holding up at. What did someone do the day before such an event? Galen had no idea. Having a party of sorts made sense, but so close to the wedding?
Galen learned he had been invited to the rehearsal that night and the dinner that followed, but his delay cost him that chance. Kim was texting him about the event from the car. They had just left the country club, her message said.
At the house, Andrew rambled on and on about everything he had been doing–which didn’t sound like much more than playing golf seven days per week at one of three courses, often thirty six holes per day, breaking for food, rest at late morning. Andrew was chasing the PGA tour. He spoke about the long road, the sponsors he would need, which were hard to earn the attention of. Those guys on TV took years to get to any PGA tournament, let alone the major ones–you had to win several times over just to qualify for a major tournament, like the US Open or The Masters.
“You must be very good,” Galen said. He’d attempted golf several times in high school.
Andrew was much younger than Galen. Sixteen? His license looked mint. One very expensive and involved traffic ticket in his mother’s Porsche, all of two blocks from the house, a story he told with omissions.
“I didn’t see any harm,” Andrew said, and though he probably tried not to be defensiv
e, his tone wore his feelings like a hat. He had been with his mother when she had got the car flying, right after driving it off the showroom floor, and she’d been pulled over and set loose. Why? Had the cop not minding she were driving so fast? Andrew wasn’t shown such special consideration, a fact he belabored.
“Needless to say, we don’t have Andrew in his mom’s car anymore,” Frank had said. His look toward his son wasn’t condemning, but was a suggestion to let the topic stay in the past. Galen got the impression that his uncle Frank sought a balance with his kids–he wanted to be on their side but at the same time, fulfill the job description of responsible parent. Addison had spoken about responsible parenting, after a book she had read. Galen figured his uncle must be a reader. Not the fluffy stuff on Walmart’s shelves, but the books with substance. World changing topics. Thinking topics.
Andrew let the topic go and resumed an open discussion about Golf, particularly about his new fitted irons he was adjusting to. Blades, he called them. Galen didn’t know what that meant, but presumed it meant they were expensive and didn’t feel the need to ask a clarifying question.
Would Galen play a round with the group at 7? Of course. They had a set of clubs he could use.
Andrew didn’t mind school, but it was easy to tell it wasn’t his focus. According to Galen’s aunt Simone, all five feet of her engulfing Galen as best she could.
Kim and Brandon arrived at the house, happy like they were buzzing and clearly nervous and unsure what to do with themselves.
Galen saw what his uncle Frank admired; a specimen of masculinity and cool, fun. In good humor. He could laugh at himself.
Talking to him, Galen learned he had become a bond trader a year ago and had grand ambition for his upsides. He was positive energy, oozed charisma. Galen was tempted to ask how they met, but thought he might ask Kim about that another time, should he get the opportunity.
The action packed wedding day teed off with golf at seven, Galen had Pings given to him on a cart of his own, a fancy tag with the country club’s monogram attached to them. They were a very forgiving club, his uncle Frank insisted. Galen hadn’t played in years, but by the 10th hole he felt at home, familiar muscle memory returning, at least for the long irons. Not so much for his short game. A beer in the tank and the clubs were feeling better with each hit. The wedding party stunk, all aside from Andrew, shot an impressive 65. Kim wasn’t a bad golfer either, though Galen witnessed little of her play, as she hit in the foursome behind his, paring with Frank, Andrew and Brandon. They had four guys, Brandon’s groomsman, in front of them, which Frank suggested was a mistake on his part. He hadn’t anticipated their slow pace of play and had to suggest they consider a best ball approach, starting with the fifth hole.
He didn’t need to reiterate they had someplace to be and couldn’t dilly on the golf course all day.
Lunch was also at the country club, pre-ordered and served in a private room they filled every seat. They put prime rib in a sandwich? Who knew. The course was beautiful and Galen wished more than once he had worked on his game–at least his woods off the tee and his long irons because those shots were not at all straight–before getting to play such a nice course. He certainly had spare time to brush up on his golf game.
His uncle took the lot of them to the shooting range and apparently he knew the owner, because they had a private setup with an arsenal of size and magnitude. And variety. Galen stuck to the smaller pistols and was challenged by the guys more than once to fire the larger hand cannons and rifles. There was some grunting going on. Galen was told more than once that firing the Desert Eagle actually added hair to your chest, by firing it. Watching the bigger equipped men fire a round each, he declined his chance. The forty caliber was as far as he was going up the hierarchy.
Shooting ended around four thirty, then they went back to his aunt and uncle’s Bel Air home to shower. Having the time to poke around, waiting on a shower, Galen admired the house detail, not overlooking their family photos from landmarks, destinations around the world. His aunt Simone gave him a short tour, telling stories about their family and how his cousins grew up; so different from his own upbringing. Galen felt a pang of envy at Kim and Andrew’s life, but it wasn’t money that made him a little jealous. It was commitment. Love, perhaps. His aunt and uncle loved their kids and gave their time to them. They did as much as they could as a family. They had stuff, but it didn’t make their lives worth living. Family did.
Galen had to admit to himself, he wanted to know several things. How did they have so much money? He was afraid to ask. He knew from his parents that his uncle had been a litigator and his aunt had worked in real estate, but he didn’t want to pry.
The wedding was in a word: enchanting. Black tie, evening, full tails–Galen helped the groomsman and the groom too, with cufflinks, bow ties, jackets, polishing shoes.
His uncle had asked Galen how he had learned such things and Galen brushed it off as no big deal. He didn’t want to confess that he had worked for a local men’s sore when they needed extra hands during prom season and he’d learned the ropes from the owner himself.
Frank had appeared dressed in a tux, in the men’s locker room at the country club, beaming. He latched onto Brandon and shouldered him out the door, presumably for a final rally cry. It was easy to tell the guys held a high regard for Frank.
They married outside under a romantic archway and soft light from floating lanterns; a magical picture like the fairy tale scene the idea was borrowed from. Someone had said at the reception that twelve hundred lanterns were used, but even that number felt low to Galen. Those lamps had been the only lights allowed. Everyone had been told to turn off their flashes, if using a phone camera; something about a nighttime exposure her photographer was doing. Galen had seen a man lugging and setting up photography equipment.
The grand room came alive during the procession, a seven piece ensemble. The ceremony was in the gardens, a perfect balance of simple elegance without going over the top. Galen wondered how much it all cost when he briefly met the wedding planner who made all the magic happen–Frank had introduced Galen to the sprightly woman–and decided it didn’t matter. They spared no expense. His first taste from their banquet, seared scallops, beef tournedos, truffle potatoes, and he silently agreed with his sister. He had needed to see another side of the world. He needed motivation. A reboot? That made sense. Had she known this was the lifestyle Kim and her family enjoyed? Perhaps. But far more refreshing than the food, was the company of that side of the family, who had been alienated by his mother.
What if he had brought Kat? What if Darcy were right about her? He took pictures and posted them for Kat to see. She commented on how beautiful everything looked and Galen felt a little badly for leaving her behind, even though he had no real means to bring her.
His mother had messaged him about his flight, hours later and asked about where he was staying. She asked about what he had learned from the conference so far. Had he made contacts? Friends?
Galen told her he had made a contact and had to wait until at least Monday to hear back. That was true. He stayed optimist he would get to connect while still in town.
He got an email from Marcson Tech, late in the day on Friday while he’d been on his flight to San Francisco and hadn’t noticed until after the wedding on Saturday night. Had he been that preoccupied with life that he hadn’t noticed? They weren’t making an offer, but were following up for a callback. The hiring manager gave his cell. Okay to call, anytime.
He knew this was their process. Would they make him an offer? It looked likely. Plausible.
Then there was Kat. She saw his pictures from the wedding and she messaged him during the reception. She had seen a movie early that night and hit a salad bar with her roommates. He felt guilty, knowing she wouldn’t say it, but she would be hurt he didn’t bring her to the wedding.
His mother was much more complicated. He didn’t have proof for a conference, not that he needed it, but he fe
lt like he needed something.
He couldn’t exactly call her from a hotel and his cell number didn’t help make his attending a conference story. He would have to reply another time. He’s busy. He’s at an important conference for his future. He’s supposed to be busy attending break out sessions on new trends, new standards coming out, new hardware changing the game yet again.
This party was too great not to enjoy it. Savor it even. Galen was happy he saved the envelope and the invite. He’d have to frame those together and let his mother be mad if she saw it.
Galen looked around at the world he’d stepped into and asked himself if he could go back home the same––but he didn’t really want to think about home at all. He liked where he was. This place was beautiful and the people he was around were encouraging, enriching. They didn’t speak down to him, but instead showed an interest in his life, no matter how simple it was. No one seemed to mind that he was looking for work; two of the guys had suggestions for companies he could apply to in the area and Galen thought maybe it made sense to stick around after the weekend, on chance there was more in southern California for him than just a wedding.
Maybe. He could hold onto hope.
Nine
Darcy
Darcy told herself not to panic but while her head understood, her heart wasn’t listening at all, smitten by anxiety as though it had perfect muscle tone and piercing blue eyes.
Seated on her flight, looking out the windows, she saw the clear, blacktop of the runway. She never thought she would see blacktop again. The way the snow had been falling, no one did.
Like many, she had been tempted to just give up on flying out while it was still Friday. But she held on. Waited. And now, as the flight slowly filled, she had to wait some more.
That was her life. Hurry up and wait. She had to ask herself why she was in a rush. What was she rushing toward?
Her sister was panicked, of course, and would stir at her house, waiting up all hours until Darcy arrived. Understood. Darcy was running the show in the morning. If she didn’t make it, so much stood in the way of Lila’s peace and traquility, nevermind her happiness.
Your Flight Will Leave Soon Page 11