through my belly. I didn't have time to not have the time. Not today. Not after sealing a new deal that would either bring my father around to my vision for our accounting partnership or kill that partnership altogether.
"Again," I started, glancing around the terminal for a clock, "I'm sorry." This fiasco had me four minutes behind schedule and that schedule was already compressed due to the other failings of this day. I bent down to collect my suit coat and laptop bag. Later, I'd thank my good sense for investing in a satchel meant for war zones because I couldn't survive losing my laptop and my smartwatch in one shot. "I hope you have a good flight."
I didn't wait for a response, instead marching toward the security checkpoint. All I had to do was disembowel my carry-on, walk barefoot and unbelted through a body scanner, and reassemble myself well enough to order some liquor.
It didn't matter that it was seven thirty in the morning, right?
No, that didn't matter. For as horrible as this day was turning out to be, the week ahead would be worse. I was flat-out slammed, completely overcommitted right now. I still hadn't found a decent auditing assistant to replace the one I'd lost to KMPG. My father and I were long overdue for a serious conversation about the future of our firm. Add to that my broken watch and certainly bruised body, and my plate was overflowing.
But that wasn't all of it.
My sister was getting married next weekend.
But my sister, the one born three and a half minutes after me, wasn't just exchanging vows and then eating some cake. No, that would be asking far too much. My sister and her fiancé were having a wedding rehearsal and a party to welcome their out-of-town guests. All of that was before the actual wedding ceremony and reception but it didn't end there. No, the marital mania extended into brunch the next morning.
Motherfucking brunch.
For reasons I could not comprehend, I was obligated to attend all of these events. I wasn't an out-of-town guest but my mother had verbally backhanded me when I'd questioned whether I could pass on that shindig. And I loved an omelet as much as the next guy but I preferred them without the associated marshmallow fluff of weddings.
That was my plate. Work and work and disapproving dad drama and work with a side of three-day wedding weekend.
Not on my plate was Millie, my on-again, off-again (mostly off) girlfriend. She wasn't on the plate because she woke me up with a text announcing her desire to skip the wedding…and while she was at it, she wanted to explain she was skipping me too.
If I believed in signs, I would've seen that message as a big one. I would've yanked the blankets over my head, changed my flight, and spent the morning eating an omelet unaffiliated with nuptial events. Not because I loved Millie or felt the sting of her rejection but because now I had to explain this shit to my mother, the self-appointed ruler of the seating chart.
But I didn't believe in signs unless they were in a mathematical equation.
Getting drunk first thing in the morning wasn't part of my standard air travel procedure.
It wasn't part of any procedure of mine. I didn't get drunk. On occasion, I enjoyed a beer or two, a glass of wine if it was offered, maybe a cocktail, but I rarely drank to the point of feeling it the next day. There was no space in my life for hauntings by ghosts of decisions past.
But I was well on my way to drunk this morning.
I had coffee topped with a hearty dose of whiskey and the ache in my shoulder had quieted to a low throb. While I waited for the rest of the passengers to board, I amused myself by scrolling through résumés. I'd never screened applicants while under the influence but I was enjoying it. There was no reason to stress over the complete shortage of qualified candidates. Not when I had a whiskey latte to dull it down to a mild irritation.
That was all it was to everyone else. An irritation. My father couldn't find it in him to get worked up over our glaring need for more support staff, better systems, new revenue sources. He didn't get worked up over anything, not even fiscal year-ends or tax season. I was busy pulling late nights and weekends while he shrugged off the mountains of