Nothing good ever comes from a call three minutes before the end of the day on December 23, yet I answered the fucking phone, which is why I'm rushing to Gate 17 in an airport packed with holiday travelers. I'm convinced that most passengers in the airport today travel once a year for Christmas. From not knowing how to proceed through the security check line to parking double-wide strollers in the entryway of the women's restroom, the atmosphere is chaotic.

"Excuse me…sorry." I weave my way through the throngs of people, headed to announce my presence to the gate agent since I'm incredibly late. "Sorry, excuse me." When I notice the plane is still at the gate, I breathe a sigh of relief.

"There's a line," a woman with long, black hair states as I try to breeze past her. "It starts back there."

"Oh." I twist my neck around to see seven or eight people in the queue behind her. "It's just that I'm late for the flight and I don't want them to give away my seat."

"So you're going to cut in line," she states rather than asks.

"All I need to do is give them my name." I tug my suitcase out of the aisle. "It'll take 30 seconds. Would you mind?"

"Yes, I mind." She gives me an audacious look. "Everyone in this line has something to ask the gate agent. Your situation doesn't trump mine or hers or his." She gestures to the other people in line.

I let out a frustrated sigh. "Fine."

Before I walk away, the dark haired woman speaks again. "Besides, the flight's delayed."

I glance at my watch. "It wasn't delayed ten minutes ago."

She points to the screen behind the podium that reflects the hour-long delay.

"Fuck," I mumble.

She takes a step forward as a man finishes up with the agent. "I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to chat with them about your seat."

"I don't have a problem with my seat assignment," I reply. "I just want them to know I made it so they don't give my seat away since technically I wasn't at the gate ten minutes before scheduled takeoff."

"If they were trying to give your seat away, they would've called your name." She takes off her black blazer, folding it over her arm.

My eyes are drawn to her crisp white blouse and the way it dips low on her chest. "Since I just arrived, I don't know if they've called my name."

"What is it?"

"What's what?"

She blinks at me, a hint of amusement on her face. "Your name."

"Oh, it's Piper. Piper Chapman."

A man's suitcase bumps into my leg, causing me to lose my balance and reach for the woman's arm while dropping the handle on my rolling bag. "Sorry."

Now that we're inches apart, I can see her green eyes more clearly under black-rimmed glasses.

"Hello, Piper." She bends down to retrieve my fallen suitcase. "I'm Alex."

"Hi." I grab the handle, eyes still latched onto hers.

"They haven't called your name," she says, looking at the flight board. "I would've remembered a name like Piper."

"Maybe they called my last name?" I offer.

"They wouldn't do that."

I move slightly in front of her to get out of the aisle. "How do you know?"

"Because there might be two or three people with the same last name and they wouldn't want all of you to go up to the podium at the same time," she states through a chuckle. "Have you flown before?"

"Of course I have," I reply, shifting my weight. "I fly frequently."

She tilts her head. "Could've fooled me."

As if on cue, the flight attendant picks up the microphone. "Looking for passenger Chapman—Piper Chapman."

My eyebrows shoot up. "That's me!"

Alex looks exasperated.

"Maybe they're putting me in first class. If you'll excuse me." I gloat, stepping up to the desk. "Hi, you just called my name?"

"Ms. Chapman, do you have your ID?"

Of course I have my ID—how else would I have gotten through security? I don't say as much; instead, I present my driver's license to the agent.

"Thank you." She slides it back across the counter. "I see you purchased a G Class ticket."

"I'm not sure what that means." I crease my eyebrows and present my phone to her with the digital boarding pass. "But I have my boarding pass right here."

"G Class is our Saver Fare, the cheapest ticket you can buy online," she states, typing something into the computer. "Unfortunately, we're in an oversold situation, and we're going to have to use your seat for another passenger."

I lean forward. "I'm sorry, what?"

"If you read the fine print when you purchased the ticket, you would've seen that G Class tickets are subject to availability. We've already called for volunteers and haven't had any takers, so like I said, unfortunately, we're going to have to assign your seat to someone else."

"That's unacceptable." I glance back at Alex who seems amused. "I bought a ticket for this flight, and I intend to get on this plane."

"I do wish we could accommodate you, Ms. Chapman, but…"

"There's no but," I interject. "You will accommodate me. I have a reservation for this flight."

"You'll get a full refund and a meal voucher," she continues.

Alex clears her throat and it appears that she's trying to hide a smirk.

"I apologize for the inconvenience." She hands what looks like a certificate to me. "This voucher is good at any of the restaurants in Terminal A."

"I don't want a fucking voucher. I want to get on this plane!"

"Ma'am, if you'll please move aside, I have other passengers to assist."

I stand planted to the spot. "I'm not going anywhere until I'm confident I'll be on this flight. I have a very important matter to take care of in Vermont."

"I'm sure all of the people in the boarding area have important matters to get to." She looks me in the eye. "If you don't step aside, Ms. Chapman, I'll have to call security."

With my mouth hanging open, I step aside, wondering what my next statement should be. The gate agent picks up the mic again. "Alex Vause if you're in the gate area, please approach the podium. Alex Vause."

Alex's mouth twists as she adjusts her glasses and stands in the spot I just occupied. "Hi, I'm Alex Vause." She presents her photo ID to the agent.

"We have a seat assignment for you, Ms. Vause. You'll be in 10C. Sorry for the inconvenience."

I didn't think my mouth could hang open any wider. "That's my seat," I announce.

"It was your seat," the gate agent replies. "Again, I'm sorry about the situation. When you book your ticket in the future, please be sure to read the fine print."

"Read the fine print?" I repeat, eyebrows high. "You've given this woman my seat and you tell me to read the fucking fine print? It's two pages long in a font so small you need a magnifying glass to read it!"

"You should probably lower your voice," Alex chimes in.

I shoot daggers in her direction.

The gate agent turns her back, picks up the phone, and 30 seconds later, a man in a red jacket greets me at the desk. "Ms. Chapman, you're going to need to come with me."

I point to Alex. "She took my seat." Then I nod towards the agent. "This woman gave it to her!"

"Ma'am, if you don't come with me, there's a good chance you'll never fly the friendly skies again."

I jut my chin back. "You're threatening me?"

The rotund black man stares at me expectantly.

I hold my hands up in surrender and turn back to the gate agent who is assisting someone else. "Can you put me on the next flight? That's all I ask. Please."

"This is the last flight to Burlington tonight," she states. "Ms. Chapman, that's the last question I'm going to answer. I really hope you have Merry Christmas."

I lick my lips before standing tall and saying in a loud, stern voice. "I will never, ever fly this shitty airline again." Before walking away, I turn to Alex. "I hope you enjoy your stolen seat."

"I'm sorry about all this," she replies.

I walk away with the security guard and mumble, "Go fuck yourself."

He chuckles. "Bad blood?"

I shoot him a look.

"Sucks to get in a fight with your girlfriend in public," he explains. "Last time that happened to me, she dumped me on the spot. Wasn't pretty."

My face knots up. "My girlfriend?" I twist my head over my shoulder and watch Alex make a call on her cell phone. "I don't even know her."

He waves a hand in the air. "None of my business anyway."

I double my strides to keep up with him. "What kind of trouble am I in?"

"None, really. I just needed to extract you from a potentially volatile situation." He turns the corner.

I follow. "So I'm not going to be banned from the airport or anything?"

"Long as you stay away from that gate, you'll be fine," he replies. "I suggest talking to a customer service agent to figure out your next move."

I see a sign for the airline's customer service center. "Thank you."

He walks in the opposite direction and nods. "Stay out of trouble, Ms. Chapman."

The line for customer service snakes around a roped off area and flows into the narrow hallway. There must be 40 people in line ahead of me, so I try a different approach. I pull out my phone and head to baggage claim.

"I thought you'd be in the air by now," Larry answers on the first ring. "Everything alright?"

"No, not really." I huff. "They gave my seat to another person."

"What?"

I repeat myself. "I'm not going to get into specifics right now."

"You know how much this means to me."

"If I could be there, Larry, I would. It's out of my hands." I ride the escalator to the ground level. "I'm going to see if I can get on the first flight tomorrow."

"One fucking thing I asked you to do before we go our separate ways, and you couldn't even follow through," he says through a loud whisper as if he's in the presence of others. "Just…" he sighs. "Get here by tomorrow evening."

"I'll do my best."

I don't even want to be with Larry at all, but I promised I'd celebrate one last Christmas with his parents after his father received the diagnosis. I don't intend to break that promise.

My next call is to the airline's national number. After I give them a piece of my mind, I learn that due to the Nor'easter that's supposed to roll through tonight, the first flight out tomorrow has been pre-emptively cancelled. The agent asked if I wanted to be on a standby list for the 12:30 flight tomorrow, but he said it would be unlikely that I'll make it off the list due to the number of holiday travelers "with status." The only good thing that came out of the conversation was him rewarding me with a full refund plus an additional $200 voucher for my inconvenience.

I make my way to the rental car counter and choose the company with the shortest line. If I can't fly to Burlington, perhaps I can drive. It should come as no surprise to me that the shortest line is least 20 people deep, but I have no other options. I scroll through my phone to see if there are any rental car coupons, and upon finding none, I open the Google map app and plot my six-hour drive. If I can get on the road by eight o'clock tonight, I'll be there before anyone wakes up on Christmas Eve.

After about 15 minutes of the line barely moving, a rush of people flood through the automatic doors, and I wonder what caused such a crowd.

The guy in line behind me lowers his cell phone. "They've cancelled all the flights to Upstate New York, Montreal and Ottawa."

"What?"

"I knew this was going to happen." He shakes his head. "I'm just hoping they have enough cars on the lot so I can make it home tonight."

I quickly pull up the National Rental Car website to see if I can reserve a car online. "Shit."

"Let me guess: they're not taking reservations?" the John Candy look alike asks. "I could've saved you the trouble."

I exhale a long, irritated breath. This day has quickly deteriorated.

"Hi."

And it just got worse, though damn if she's not striking.

"I thought by now you'd be reclining in seat 10C."

Alex fiddles with her eyeglasses. "They cancelled our flight."

"You mean your flight." I fold my arms, still unwilling to let it go.

"Ours, yours, theirs, whatever." She shrugs. "I'm getting a car."

"The line's back there." I point to the back of the room. "You're the one who's so fond of lines, right?"

Her lips tug upwards, and I wonder what she finds so amusing. "I don't have to stand in line, actually." She wiggles her phone. "I'm an Emerald Club member. I reserved a car two days ago when I saw the weather report."

I tilt my head and listen to her brag about her foresight. To be fair, she's not really bragging, but that's what it feels like as everything seems to fall into place for Alex.

"I was hoping it wouldn't come to this," she says. "But not much the airlines can do about weather."

I shake my head and stare at the throngs of people hoping to secure a rental car. No one in this god forsaken airport looks like they're in the Christmas spirit. One man is yelling at the Enterprise Rental Car clerk, countless babies are crying and the heat in the relatively small space is making people shed their coats and roll up their sleeves.

"You were headed to Burlington, right?"

"Technically, I'm going to Shelburne," I reply, eyes focused on anything but the woman next to me.

"I'm headed to St. George." She types something into her phone. "Looks like it's a 15-minute drive from where you're going."

I refrain from rolling my eyes at her discovery.

"Tell you what." She adjusts her purse strap, which is slung across her body, framing her breasts and pulling her blouse tightly against them. "Since you claim I stole your seat, I'll give you a ride to Vermont."

"Really?" My eyebrows shoot up. "You'd do that?"

"Yeah." She shrugs. "Why not?"

"You're one lucky woman," the man behind me comments.

"Maybe I am," I mumble, ducking under the black rope and walk with Alex to the rental car lot.

"You don't mind splitting the driving?" she asks, flashing the rental car confirmation to a uniformed woman in the hut.

"I don't mind."

"We only have four cars left," the clerk says. "Pick any one in spaces six through nine. Keys are in the ignition."

I wheel my suitcase behind me. "I'll pay for gas."

She approaches a silver, compact SUV. "This one has all-wheel drive." She pops the hatchback. "Have you driven in snow?"

"I've driven short distances, yeah, but not on the highway or in terrible conditions."

Alex lifts her suitcase into the SUV and places mine next to it. "If you want to navigate through the city, I'll take over when we get to the areas where there might be some snow on the road." She shuts the hatchback. "If you have a phone charger, pull it out." She climbs into the passenger seat. "You might want to grab some snacks, too. I want to power through this drive as fast as we can."

"I'm not comfortable speeding," I comment.

"You don't have to speed." She closes the door. "I'm just saying I don't want to make a million stops."

I adjust the mirrors before starting the car. "I have a small bladder."

I can see her rolling her eyes out of the corner of mine. "Then control your water intake."

I click my seatbelt and pull out of the parking spot. "Why are you in such a hurry?"

"It's my friend's birthday," she replies. "I was supposed to be in Vermont yesterday, but I couldn't get out of a meeting."

If I'm going to be in the car with Alex for the next six hours, I might as well ask questions. "Where do you work?"

She hands me a document to give to the man at the gate to exit the airport. "I open restaurants."

"You're a chef?"

"No." She points towards the sign for the freeway. "I worked on the line in a few restaurants, but I made the switch to a more corporate role a few years ago."

I glance at her. "What exactly do you do?"

"My company works with restaurant owners and chefs to promote their opening," she states. "It's a lot of logistics."

I turn onto the highway.

"I mostly manage each restaurant's social media campaign leading up to the grand opening," Alex continues. "I work with the chef and a photographer on taking pictures of the food that would make anyone salivate; partner with foodie apps like Belly and Perka; work with a web master to design the restaurant's website…the list goes on."

"We've got a long drive ahead of us," I reply. "Feel free to elaborate."

She smiles, and it's the first time I've witnessed an actual toothy smile. It lights up her otherwise serious face. Alex fills me in on her job for the first half hour, and as we make our way out of the city, she asks about me.

"It's nice to get away from it all for a few days." She leans her head against the headrest and swivels in my direction. What about you—why are you in a rush to get to Vermont?"

"I'm going to my ex-boyfriend's parents' cabin." I keep my eyes trained on the road.

"I'm sorry, you're in a rush to spend time with your ex?"

I nod. "We broke up after Thanksgiving, but I promised I'd spend Christmas with his family."

I consider leaving it at that, but Alex presses on. "Are you going to make me dig for information?"

"About what?"

She shakes her head and glances out the window. So much for me trying to leave well enough alone.

"We were together for two years," I begin. "Engaged, actually."

That gets her attention.

"After the first year, I realized we weren't compatible, but I stayed with him anyway." I pause, remembering the lengths I went through to try to make things work. "We went to Cancun about six months ago, and it was magical. Larry proposed to me on the beach."

"Larry?"

I glance at her. "Yes, Larry."

She makes a face but remains quiet.

I continue. "Everything felt new in Cancun—like it was a fresh start, and I was convinced that trip was what our relationship needed to get us back on track."

"Until it wasn't?"

"We were fine for another month or two, but he got back into his old habits, and I knew this would be a pattern with us—we'd go on a trip, soak up the change of scenery, and not deal with everyday life."

She takes a sip of water. "It took you another four months to break up with him?"

"Breaking up isn't easy," I reply. "I must've tried 20 times, but I chickened out for one reason or another until the day after Thanksgiving."

"What was the tipping point?"

"I don't know." I shake my head. "It wasn't like we had a terrible Thanksgiving or anything. I'd just come inside after a long run, saw him on the sofa eating popcorn and watching football, and something clicked." I feel a pang in my chest.

"So, why are you going to Vermont to be with him?"

"Two days after we broke up, his father was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer." I look at her, then back at the road, which is starting to get a little slippery. "This will likely be his last Christmas, and Larry didn't want to disappoint him with the fact that our engagement is off."

"I'm sorry." She wraps her fingers around my wrist.

"Me, too." I hold my tears in check. "He's upset that I didn't take the earlier flight into Burlington."

"Why didn't you?"

"I had a work thing."

"Sounds familiar." She adjusts in the seat, tucking one leg under her and turning slightly towards me. "So, Piper Chapman, what do you do for a living?"

"I'm a section editor for Newsweek."

"Sounds interesting."

"At times it's fun, but it's also demanding and unpredictable," I reply. "The reason I was late getting to the airport was because my team had to rewrite a story on the Venezuelan coup."

"I guess when news happens, you have to be able to pivot on a dime."

"Exactly." I glance at the digital clock, realizing we'd been driving for nearly three hours. The snow has also started coming down in bigger chunks. "I know you want to power through, but I really have to use the restroom."

She taps on her phone. "Looks like there's an exit in about five miles with some gas stations and restaurants. We can stop there."