Annabeth POV
Why do babies cry? The thought kept repeating in my head, over and over like a broken record. The mother was trying to comfort the child, but all the devil responded with was more tears.
I nearly groaned aloud at the ear-piercing scream that followed my thoughts. While on the Southwest airplane, there was no escaping the noise. I tried to turn up the volume on my headphones, but all it did was combine screams with Jack Johnson, and the combination wasn't ideal. I decided to just close my eyes, and think happy thoughts to try and pass the time until landing in Denver. Don't think about Bobby and Matthew, I repeated over and over, until it became a slowly a reality and my thoughts wandered to the tunes of Jingle Bell Rock and shortbread cookies. I tugged my honey blonde curls into a high ponytail, and ignored the fly always little hairs that seem to be inevitable with my curly mane.
"Ma'am, we have your glass of wine," a flight attendant spoke, and interrupted my daydreaming. I glanced up with confusion in my eyes; I didn't order any wine (although that didn't seem like such a bad idea at this point). A middle-aged woman to my left, in the window seat, cast a friendly smile towards the attendant and reached to grab the glass of wine. Just as her hand reached past me, the flight attendant thrust the glass towards the woman. Their hands collided, and time stood still. I nearly screamed. The red wine emptied from the glass, and covered my chest, soaking my white North Face jacket.
The two women both immediately professed their consolations and how sorry they were. I forced the cringe that currently occupied my face to be a half smile, and I merely chocked out, "It's okay." Although, it most definitely was not okay. My expensive jacket was stained with ugly red wine, the baby was still crying, and I was still on a plane headed home to be compared to my two step-brothers, whose lives were on track while I was unemployed and confused.
The flight attendant scuttled away to find a towel, and the lady next to me, who's name I came to find out was Demeter, kept whispering how sorry she was. Although it wasn't either of their faults, that didn't stop the anger that seemed to seethe out of my whole body. I had to take three deep breaths, plaster a smile that only reached half of its potential to my face, and then gratefully take the washcloth that a male flight attendant offered to me. The woman must have been too embarrassed to return to my aisle.
I wanted to roll my eyes, but if I were to be on my best behavior when facing my dad's new family, I had to start practicing now. No more sarcastic remarks or mentions of the latest Kardashion drama or my latest backpacking trip; only talk about politics, the economy and weather. After all, that's what Bobby and Matthew and their trophy fiancés will talk about. It's almost as if they were robots, trained on how to keep a conversation respectful and bland, while still upping their self-reputations.
When my father, Fredrick Chase, remarried, I was nine years old, and the thought of finally having siblings and a mother figure in my life seemed promising. After all, I was a chubby girl, nearing the age of necessity for a bra and "the talk". But soon, I realized that these intruders in my house, were not the picture perfect family I had imagined. My new step-mother was so concerned with the well-being of her two sons, just two years younger than myself, that she seemed to have ignored my presence altogether. My ideas of mother-daughter bonding were halted, and I ended up having to go to the store by myself to purchase my very first bra.
As my dad grew closer to the strangers in my house, I distanced myself from all of them entirely. What used to be camping trips with my dad and I, turned into me sleeping at remote locations for days at a time. When I returned, I often expected my "family" to smother me with hugs and kissed and ask where I ran off to, but instead I was greeted with a mere "sup" head nod from the twins as I would trudge up to my room. The second that I was accepted into Boston College, I packed my bags and headed across the country to avoid the constant comparison to Bobby and Matthew, and the adoration my dad and step-mom had for them.
Now, I was 24 years old, had a degree in architecture, a shady apartment in New York with even sketchier roommates, very little money, and no job, just an internship that doesn't pay. What a life, am I right? Meanwhile Bobby and Matthew sure had all their ducks in a row. Bobby was an electrical engineer, and worked for Microsoft. He had a tall, thin, bombshell of a girlfriend, who recently did some modelling for Cosmopolitan, and they lived happily in the Silicon Valley of California, near to mom and dad, of course. Matthew lived an even more impressive life, if even possible. He was just finishing his residency at St. Jude's Hospital in Oakland. His fiancé was expecting a baby girl, and they couldn't be happier. How stinkin' cute.
My thoughts were snapped back to reality when the pilot came over the speaker, and announced that we were beginning to descent into the Denver Airport. The crying baby was still wailing without a care in the world. I glanced down at my white jacket and let out a sigh. With a frown on my face, I took it off to reveal a tight blue tank top that was meant as a mere under layer, and stuffed the stained jacket into my carry on bag.
As the plane touched down in the snow covered city, my heart began to sink deeper and deeper into my chest. Just one step closer to San Francisco. Just one step closer to the tall, beautiful girls that Bobby and Matthew will flaunt around to all of our family and friends. Just one step closer to my distant father, who won't even look me in the eyes. Just one step closer to a house where I will feel like an outsider for two weeks, where I will looked down upon.
"Merry Christmas," the flight attendants dismissed us as we took turns walking out of the terminal and to the busy airport. Yeah, what a merry merry Christmas it will be, my sarcastic voice spoke in my head.
As I exited the plane, I glanced down at my black Lulu Lemon leggings, thankful for the dark color to mask the red wine that had soaked through. I looked at the flight departure and arrival board, to discover that my final flight to San Francisco, was scheduled to depart in five hours, but with the weather conditions consisting of high winds and snow flurries, I suspected that would be delayed even later. Not that I minded, any excuse to not face the reality of my family was something I would be forever grateful for.
I hoisted my blue backpack over my shoulders, adjusted the beanie on my head, and started to walk. The nearest bar seemed like the perfect place to waste my time away, and my feet seemed to automatically take me there.
