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She shakes her head. “I guess not. The guys checked and your bag is not there.”
“But you said?—”
“It’s not there,” she tells me with an icy look that says ‘back off, bitch.’ “The only thing you can do now is go to the lost luggage counter and give them the information about where you’re going to be so they can get it to you when it arrives.”
“I don’t—!” I stop myself and lower my voice. “I don’t know where I’m going to be because I haven’t been given an itinerary. I’ll be on a tour but the destinations are going to be a surprise.”
“Well, that’s not going to help you at all,” she says.
Yeah, kind of like you… I swallow my words, then manage to replace them with, “Where’s the lost luggage counter?”
“It’s downstairs, to the left.”
“Thank you.” For exactly nothing.
In Lima. Backpack has been lost. Waiting in line-up at luggage claim counter with crying baby in front of me. I’m completely panicking. I have to be at the meeting point in ten minutes, and according to Google maps, it’s a six-minute walk from here. So far, Peru and I aren’t exactly tight.
Allie
Oh no! That sounds awful.
Can I come home now?
Allie
I wish. Hang in there.
I’m trying.
Oh God, that baby is loud. Poor thing. She’s so tiny. And her parents clearly have no clue what to do for her. Her mom just keeps patting her back and shushing. Totally useless. The mom turns a little and looks back at me. “Sorry. I think she has gas.”
I offer her a smile. “That’s okay.”
“The truth is, I feel like crying. I’m so exhausted. My husband wanted to come on this trip. I knew it would be too hard. And the airline lost our stroller.”
“They lost my backpack too,” I tell her.
She gets back to bouncing and shushing the baby, which I know won’t fix the problem, based on my TikTok-knowledge of how to get babies to stop crying. I should help her. It would actually be doing a favor for everyone in the vicinity. I tap the woman on the shoulder. “Can I try? I have a great hack that ought to do the trick.”
“Really?” she asks.
Nodding, I gently take the baby from her, hold her little bottom with one hand, then wrap her tiny arms together, carefully turn her so she’s leaning forward and start to bounce her gently in midair. The baby stops crying immediately and her mom gasps. “It worked!”
Offering her a knowing smile, I say, “Works every time.” I think. According to that pediatrician on that video anyway. Really, parenting is probably a lot easier than most people make it. You just have to do your research, people.
I turn the baby so she’s facing me and hold her up above me. “See? That’s better, isn’t it?”
The baby looks down at me.
And pukes right in my hair.
The man behind the counter shouts, “Next!”
I arrive at the meeting point ten minutes late, drenched in sweat and reeking of what I’m pretending is spoiled formula, because being covered in spoiled stranger’s breast milk is a little more than I can handle right now. I also feel like I have to pee really, really badly, only I’m sure it’s just nerves on account of the situation. But there’s no time for that. We’re right outside the airport, where the shuttle buses pick people up. I frantically search the sidewalk for my group, then let out a huge sigh of relief when I see a massive sign with a picture of Dr. Napper’s face on it. It reads: The Dick Napper Farewell Tour.
Dammit. I never should’ve let Allie talk me into looking professional. I’m the only one in a stupid skirt suit and heels while everyone else looks like they stepped out of an Eddie Bauer catalog. Except Ty Sterling, who I spot immediately. He looks like he stepped off the cover of GQ, if GQ were featuring asshole billionaires who also look rugged and sporty. He’s surrounded by a group of women, who all seem to be vying for his attention. He’s smiling smugly, of course, and I’m sure he’s just loving the attention as they all stroke his giant ego. The thought of stroking his giant anything makes me feel physically ill. Well, sort of. Not really.
Before I can stop gawking at him, he glances in my direction, his eyes stopping as he stares straight at me for a second. A look of recognition crosses his face but that’s impossible. He doesn’t have the first clue who I am. Now he’s scowling a little, which I assume is what he does whenever he sees someone new, because again, he can’t possibly know who I am. He’s still staring. And I can’t seem to tear my eyes away even though I most definitely should.
