rattles off instructions for locating the baggage pick up area. As I haul my carryon through the airport, I’m surprised by how modern it is. I was expecting a tiny, dumpy, outdated airport. You know, rustic. Maybe made out of logs. Nothing like this.
Maybe there are more pleasant surprises in store for me.
I turn onto the main concourse.
Aha! And so there are!
So far, Alaska is surpassing my expectations. By a mile.
I make a beeline for the Starbucks stand. My soon-to-be home is out in the middle of nowhere. It may be months before I’m in civilization again. Of course I’m splurging on a Starbucks Dark Chocolate Melted Truffle Mocha.
Now, slurping happily, I make my way down to the baggage claim. The carousel is already moving. I recognize some faces from my plane. The woman with the little baby that wouldn’t stop crying. The cute guy who was sitting behind me. The family with the two kids who were running up and down the narrow aisle during the last hour of the flight.
I step up to the carousel next to them and watch the suitcases rumble by.
And then I see mine.
Like I said, I haven’t flown anywhere before. And I have no plans to fly anywhere again. So I don’t own luggage. I didn’t need it. Or rather, that’s what I assumed. Not even to travel to Alaska. This was supposed to be a one-way trip. I packed my stuff, what little I own, in cardboard boxes.
Boxes that look like they’d been dragged from Ohio to Alaska, tied to the bumper of a four-wheeler.
I set my empty cup down and grab one of the boxes and the carousel’s momentum tugs it away from me. The battered cardboard tears and my clothes ooze out of it like blood from a wound.
Moving with the carousel, I scramble to gather what I can into my arms.
But then I slam into something. A wall?
No.
I look up.
It’s a man.
He’s hauling my box off the belt.
“Thank you,” I say, flustered and embarrassed.
His smile is friendly. Crinkles crease from the corners of his eyes. He runs a hand over his salt and pepper hair. “You’re welcome. Are you Mila?”
“I am. Yes.” I give him a once over. This man is not my groom. Not unless he hired some young, hot guy to play him during our video chats...which I suppose is entirely possible.
He extends a hand. “I’m Moose.” Not my groom. “Jace sent me here to pick you up. He couldn’t get away.”
He couldn’t get away? Not even to pick up his fiancée from the airport?
To meet her for the first time?
To welcome her to her new home--after she’s left everything and everyone she knows behind to marry a stranger?
I don’t want to be a baby about this, but wouldn’t you think he’d find a way to get here? If for no other reason than to reassure me that I haven’t made a huge mistake?
Okay, so maybe I’m being a little petty. I don’t know what was so important he couldn’t take time away to pick me up. For all I know, it could be a major catastrophe.
I give myself an attitude adjustment. “Well, I appreciate you coming to get me.”
“It’s my pleasure.” Moose motions to the belt, which is still trundling round and round. “Did we get everything?”
“Almost. I have—erm, had --one more cardboard box.” I point at the pile of clothes heaped on the silver metal. “I didn’t realize they would get so beaten up in the luggage compartment.” My cheeks burning, I watch the pile of garments, including bras and panties, chug by. Ohmygod, my underwear is rolling around in front of everyone! I shrug. “Let’s just leave it. I can get new stuff later.”
“In case you didn’t know this, Ma’am, the closest shopping center to where you’re heading is over two hours away…when the weather’s good. Which is only a couple months of the year. So you might want to bring those things along.”
So much for my bruised pride.
Everyone’s seen my underwear. Including this man.
It is what it is.
I avoid looking his way as I wait for my things to chug back around to me.
Maybe there are more pleasant surprises in store for me.
I turn onto the main concourse.
Aha! And so there are!
So far, Alaska is surpassing my expectations. By a mile.
I make a beeline for the Starbucks stand. My soon-to-be home is out in the middle of nowhere. It may be months before I’m in civilization again. Of course I’m splurging on a Starbucks Dark Chocolate Melted Truffle Mocha.
Now, slurping happily, I make my way down to the baggage claim. The carousel is already moving. I recognize some faces from my plane. The woman with the little baby that wouldn’t stop crying. The cute guy who was sitting behind me. The family with the two kids who were running up and down the narrow aisle during the last hour of the flight.
I step up to the carousel next to them and watch the suitcases rumble by.
And then I see mine.
Like I said, I haven’t flown anywhere before. And I have no plans to fly anywhere again. So I don’t own luggage. I didn’t need it. Or rather, that’s what I assumed. Not even to travel to Alaska. This was supposed to be a one-way trip. I packed my stuff, what little I own, in cardboard boxes.
Boxes that look like they’d been dragged from Ohio to Alaska, tied to the bumper of a four-wheeler.
I set my empty cup down and grab one of the boxes and the carousel’s momentum tugs it away from me. The battered cardboard tears and my clothes ooze out of it like blood from a wound.
Moving with the carousel, I scramble to gather what I can into my arms.
But then I slam into something. A wall?
No.
I look up.
It’s a man.
He’s hauling my box off the belt.
“Thank you,” I say, flustered and embarrassed.
His smile is friendly. Crinkles crease from the corners of his eyes. He runs a hand over his salt and pepper hair. “You’re welcome. Are you Mila?”
“I am. Yes.” I give him a once over. This man is not my groom. Not unless he hired some young, hot guy to play him during our video chats...which I suppose is entirely possible.
He extends a hand. “I’m Moose.” Not my groom. “Jace sent me here to pick you up. He couldn’t get away.”
He couldn’t get away? Not even to pick up his fiancée from the airport?
To meet her for the first time?
To welcome her to her new home--after she’s left everything and everyone she knows behind to marry a stranger?
I don’t want to be a baby about this, but wouldn’t you think he’d find a way to get here? If for no other reason than to reassure me that I haven’t made a huge mistake?
Okay, so maybe I’m being a little petty. I don’t know what was so important he couldn’t take time away to pick me up. For all I know, it could be a major catastrophe.
I give myself an attitude adjustment. “Well, I appreciate you coming to get me.”
“It’s my pleasure.” Moose motions to the belt, which is still trundling round and round. “Did we get everything?”
“Almost. I have—erm, had --one more cardboard box.” I point at the pile of clothes heaped on the silver metal. “I didn’t realize they would get so beaten up in the luggage compartment.” My cheeks burning, I watch the pile of garments, including bras and panties, chug by. Ohmygod, my underwear is rolling around in front of everyone! I shrug. “Let’s just leave it. I can get new stuff later.”
“In case you didn’t know this, Ma’am, the closest shopping center to where you’re heading is over two hours away…when the weather’s good. Which is only a couple months of the year. So you might want to bring those things along.”
So much for my bruised pride.
Everyone’s seen my underwear. Including this man.
It is what it is.
I avoid looking his way as I wait for my things to chug back around to me.
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