I frown. That doesn’t sound normal either. Mother usually starts decorating right after Thanksgiving. She’ll hire out a professional to come into the house and decorate with a theme in mind. It looks like something straight out of a magazine layout. Almost too beautiful to touch.
I’ve always sort of hated it.
“I’d love to help her,” I say, meaning every word. I can’t remember the last time we decorated for Christmas on our own. Do we actually even own any Christmas decorations anymore? Normally Mother pays for the decorating service, has the house featured in some sort of online publication for publicity, and then gives the decorations back when the holidays are over.
“Good. I’ll let her know. I’ll tell her about your trip too,” he says. “Have fun, Pumpkin. Be safe.”
The guilt is real. “I will. Thank you.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
He ends the call, and I immediately text Crew.
Me: I can go.
My phone starts ringing and I answer quickly.
“Pack your bags fast, Birdy. We need to be at the airport by five-fifteen,” Crew explains.
Panic floods my veins. That means I don’t have a lot of time. “I can be ready by then, but I need to go so I can pack.”
“I’ll pick you up at your building in a half hour, okay?”
“Okay. Sounds good.”
* * *
We arrive at the airport,with the plane scheduled to take off by five-forty-five. The flight to Vermont is only about thirty minutes. From there, we have a twenty-five-minute drive to our hotel, which fills me with both excitement and dread.
Will we have separate beds? Knowing Crew, I think that’s doubtful.
Pretty sure I’m in over my head.
I enter the Gulfstream jet first, Crew right behind me, and we’re greeted by a male flight attendant who’s dressed in a black suit.
“Mr. Lancaster, good evening. Welcome. My name is Thomas and I’ll be serving you and your guest during your flight.” Thomas glances over at me, his gaze friendly. “Would you care for anything to drink?”
“I’d like a glass of champagne,” Crew answers Thomas.
“And you, Miss?” Thomas’s gaze meets mine.
“She’ll have the same,” Crew answers for me.
“Will do.” Thomas offers a little bow and leaves to go fix our drinks.
I turn to Crew. “Champagne?”
“Let’s celebrate.”
“We’re underage.”
“They’re not going to check our IDs. My family owns the plane. We can do whatever we want,” Crew says before he starts checking out the plane. “This is nice. I haven’t been on this one.”
“Do you fly private often?” He’s right. This plane is very nice. The leather seats are a rich cream, clustered in pairs facing each other with a small table in between them. The windows are oval shaped and large, and there’s a cabinet with a TV.
“Most of the time,” Crew answers, and I marvel at the casualness of his answer. What it must be like, to come from such wealth. My family has plenty of money, but nothing like this.