11 I try not to make eye contact with her, but it’s hard. Exposed beneath tented brows, her eyes glaze with longing. “Fine. You get nothing. You sassed me, that’s it.” “But Mom. MOM.” Dad’s voice brings me back. He’s not just talking anymore. He’s asking me a question. “Does that sound good?” “Uhh. Yes. Should I talk to the gate agent now?” “I’d wait until they’re not too busy.” “Okay, cool. Sounds good.” I glance over at the gate agents. A man and a woman. They’re busy alright. Their red-and-blue Delta vests pop, elegant against the pajama-gym-clothed travelers. What appears to be my plane is only now rolling towards the jet way. My dad and I exchange a few more words. “See ya, girl,” he says, and I’m grateful that the conversation is ending because I’m almost at the front of the line. “See ya.” We hang up. “What can I get for you today?” The girl behind the counter speaks before I’m ready. Her dull-buckeye eyes and toned, sweat-damp cheeks expose the exhaustion behind her smile. I’m suddenly glad I’m not a barista.
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