Argentina, May 25, 2017
Robin tips the bellhop and closes the door on her second hotel room of the night and tosses her carry-on bag onto the white duvet that covers the single queen-sized bed. Two flight delays, one missed connection, one suitcase that carried on to Chile without her, one hotel room with plumbing issues, one conversation with the concierge, conducted through WWN's interpreter, and it all dumps her exhausted self in the same hotel room where she'd asked Barney for a divorce. There are no other rooms, because an insurance sales convention has had them all booked for months, so it's this, or tromp halfway across Buenos Aires to try her luck elsewhere, and still get some shuteye and a shower before her appearance on the top rated morning show in the country. Clearly, the universe hates her, or maybe it' s just Argentina that does.
Whatever. She's too tired to think about any of that right now. She kicks off her backless sneakers and toes off her socks. She'll put them in the dirty clothes bag later, except she can't, because that bag is in the suitcase that is on its way to Santiago. According to the interpreter, the bag should be waiting for her when she returns from the studio, which is not going to be a lot of help, because the whole point was to have clothes she hadn't slept in and sweated through for the length of two continents, but that's why studios have wardrobe departments. The attention of a few highly paid professionals, some ingenuity and some intern who looks to be about her size, and the viewers will never know the difference.
She cracks open the mini fridge and surveys the contents; overpriced bottled water, overpriced booze, overpriced snacks. No, thanks. The welcome basket from WWN Argentina stares her down from its table near the window. Bad memories with the champagne in that basket. Well, not that basket. That basket's, what, dad? Grandfather? It's been a long night, and she's not looking forward to the day to come, except for the morning show. That, she can do. Wardrobe, hair, makeup, double-check how to pronounce the hosts' names, and let the magic happen. She'll go over the questions one more time, to be sure.
Her phone buzzes to life as she takes it out of her bag. Who the hell would be calling her at this hour? One glance at the caller ID tells her. Barney. She stares at the screen. Well, damn. The phone buzzes again, the same sound, but more insistent, as though he knows she's standing there, knowing it's him, but not jumping on it at the first ring. She punches the dancing phone icon to accept the call. "Hey."
"Happy Anniversary!" He sounds far too chipper. There's something behind that.
"It's not our anniversary."
Traffic sounds fill the silence before he answers, "It is, in America."
She slides a glance to the digital clock embedded in the entertainment center. Eleven-oh-three; with the time difference, he's not wrong. "Are you drunk?"
In New York, a siren wails past. "Pfft, no. I am offended you would even say that." There's a huff of righteous indignation, then, "It's really not today there?"
"Not for one more hour." Fifty-seven minutes, actually, but she's not going to nitpick. "I put a note with the time difference on the refrigerator door."
"You know I never read the notes on the refrigerator. Four years in, and you don't know that about me by now?"
Robin flops onto her back on the bed, next to her carry-on. He's right. He doesn't read the notes. He scans them for important words like sex, beer, or all-access pass. "I know I should have read the fine print on the back of the marriage license."
He laughs. "Hah, too late. We've been married four years. The warranty expired. Now you have to keep me." In the background, a bus lurches to a stop.
"Yeah, I'll keep you. Your mom won't take you back without a receipt, anyway. "Are you sure you're not drunk? Where are you?" He's in New York. She can tell that for sure. Buenos Aires streets sound different.
"Headed home. I just left Duane Reed." He makes a low hum. She imagines him tipping his head back, eyes half-closed, trying to figure out some number he should know. "Maybe three blocks ago. I got the good stuff. This sinus infection is so going dow-" he breaks off there, then bites off a curse.
She sits up at that. Adrenaline spikes through her veins. "What?"
"I just now remembered I didn't walk; I took a car. Heading back toward Duane Reed. Did you find anything interesting in your suitcase?" There would be, without a doubt, a particularly lascivious eyebrow waggle along with that question.
"Don't know. My suitcase went to Chile. I think it's having a better trip than I am. Does this surprise need air holes or refrigeration?"
He doesn't answer right away. "No, but there may or many not be items of a personal nature. If the customs agents have any questions, tell them you have a husband who loves you very, very much, even though his sinus infection wouldn't allow him to fly."
"I'm sure that will clear up any questions they might have. How are the kids?"
Barney answers with a grunt. "Ironically, over it. As of six p.m. today, there is not a single Mosby or Ericksen among the infected."
Her ears pricked. She sat up against the headboard. "Interesting. I notice that the name, Stinson, is not included on that list. Elaborate."
"Eli and Sadie are totally over it, and James seems to be immune. Tom's still a little sniffly, but James thinks that's probably regular allergies. The pollen today was insane, which reminds me, if you get an alert on the credit card, about a five thousand dollar air purifier from Flayton's, the charge is legit. The air in our bedroom is so pure, we could do open heart surgery in there. Not taking any chances for next year. That's the big oh-five. The wooden anniversary. "
The big oh-five. She likes the sound of that. They'd come that close to losing it all, only a year before. She doesn't want to think how badly things could have gone. If she gave him an out, would he take it? His no, quiet, sure, steady, still echoed within these walls. She pulls one of the overstuffed pillows into her lap. "Next year, I won't be in Argentina."
"Next year," he waits for the blare of a taxi's horn to finish, "you won't be with WWN. This really is the last one, isn't it?"
It's not quite the last trip. She still has Rotterdam in July, and then Copenhagen, Luxembourg, and there's most of September blocked out for Los Angeles, but after that, she goes home every night, and onto the set of her own daytime talk show five mornings a week. If she leaves the country on her anniversary after that, he'll be with her. If he's a pathetic lump of Kleenex and sweatpants, on the end of the couch, well, that's probably a great time to drop in on Ted and Tracy or Marshall and Lily. Depends on if she's in a Westchester or Queens mood. She'll cross that bridge when she comes to it. "Yeah. How's the book?"
"Books are stupid." A wash of chatter in a language Robin doesn't understand drowns out whatever it is Barney says next, but she does catch his laugh.
"Hah. Some Korean dude just got shut down, hard. I don't blame the girl. His line was lame."
"Not as lame as some of yours."
He mutters under his breath, the words for himself, not for her. "Actually, I think it was one of mine. No, seriously, it's from The Playbook. The line's great. He said it wrong; doesn't translate well."
"You're thinking about running after him, to correct him, aren't you?"
"Pffft, no. " He drags the no out far too long for her to believe him. "Anyway, I see the car now. I should go home."
She presses her mouth into a tight line. He should. Twenty minutes from now, those meds are going to hit him like an avalanche, and he'll have to put himself to bed. She has a fleeting image of the housekeeper letting herself in tomorrow morning, and finding Mr. Barney passed out face down on the couch, Duane Reed bag still clutched in his hand. "Make Ranjit go upstairs with you."
Barney lets out a long breath. "I can make it upstairs by myself." The car door opens and closes. "Stay on the phone until Argentina midnight, though?." There's an unspoken please on the end of that.
Even the idea of the puppy dog eyes that go with it are more than she can resist. She wiggles out of the yoga pants that have gone from comfy to itchy and takes the elastic from her hair. They might not be in the same time zone, but they're together. That's enough. "You get three guesses what room I am in, right now."