[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]
"Okay," I said, standing in the hallway and staring down at the two massive suitcases resting on the hardwood floor. "I am looking at the physics of this situation and the math is not mathing. Are you smuggling gold bullion, Wanda? Or did you pack actual bricks?"
Wanda was standing on the bottom step of the staircase, adjusting the strap of a leather carry on bag over her shoulder.
She was wearing comfortable leggings and an oversized cream sweater.
"I packed only the essentials," she defended, walking down the last step and coming to stand beside me.
She nudged the larger of the two suitcases with the toe of her white sneaker. "There are just... layers. Europe requires layers, Aryan."
"This weighs more than my car," I said, grabbing the extendable handle of the larger suitcase and attempting to heft it. My shoulder gave a distinct pop. "I'm pretty sure you packed the entire winter collection of the boutique."
"Do you want me to lift it?" she asked, a playful glint sparkling in her green eyes.
She raised her hand, her fingers twitching slightly as if preparing to summon a wave of red energy right here in the foyer.
"Absolutely not," I said quickly, throwing my body weight backward to yank the wheels onto the floor. "I am the man of the house. Open the front door, please."
Wanda laughed, a bright sound that made the back breaking labor entirely worth it. She pushed the heavy oak door open, holding it wide as I awkwardly navigated the luggage onto the porch.
The afternoon air was carrying the earthy scent of impending autumn. I rolled the suitcases down the driveway toward the detached garage, the small plastic wheels rattling loudly against the concrete.
"Pirate!" Wanda called out, stepping off the porch.
I paused at the trunk of the car, watching as the one eyed cat emerged from beneath a hydrangea bush.
He stretched lazily, eyeing us with his usual look of intense judgment.
"Be good," Wanda knelt down, scratching the cat behind his one good ear. "Mrs. Higgins next door has the key. She will feed you the salmon. Do not scratch her azaleas."
"And no parties while we're gone," I added, popping the trunk of the sedan. "If I come back and find a bunch of alley cats drinking my milk, you're out on the street, fuzzball."
The cat blinked slowly, turning his back on me to rub his head against Wanda's knee.
"He understands," Wanda smiled, standing up and walking toward the passenger side of the car. "He is the guardian of the property now."
"Right. The guardian who sleeps twenty hours a day," I grunted, hoisting the incredibly dense suitcase into the trunk. I shoved it to the back, making room for the second one.
I slammed the trunk shut, dusting off my palms.
"Alright," I announced, walking around to the driver's side and pulling the door open. "Newark Liberty International Airport. The gateway to romance, overpriced bottled water and intense security screenings."
I slid into the driver's seat. Wanda was already buckled in, her hands resting in her lap.
"Are you ready?" I asked, turning the key in the ignition. The engine hummed to life.
"I am ready," she breathed, looking at me. "I have never flown just to... see a place."
"Then we have a lot of making up to do," I said, shifting the car into reverse and backing out of the driveway.
The drive to the airport took just over an hour.
The New Jersey Turnpike was its usual self, a sprawling ribbon of concrete filled with aggressive drivers and semi trucks.
I kept the radio volume low, letting the soft acoustic melodies fill the space between us.
Every few minutes, I would reach across the center console, finding her hand resting on her knee.
She would turn her palm upward, lacing her fingers through mine, squeezing gently before I had to put my hand back on the steering wheel.
We finally spotted the towering signs for Newark Liberty.
"Okay," I said, following the curving concrete ramps toward the long term parking structures. "We are going to abandon the vehicle for a month. It feels like leaving a pet at a kennel, but significantly more expensive."
I pulled up to the booth of the premier long term parking lot.
A bored looking attendant in a high visibility vest slid the glass window open.
"How long?" the attendant grunted, barely looking up from a small portable television playing a sports game inside the booth.
"Thirty days," I said, leaning out the window. "I need the covered lot. The one where birds can't establish a targeting vector on my windshield."
The attendant finally looked up. "Thirty days in the covered VIP? That's gonna run you a massive premium, buddy. You sure?"
"I'm positive," I said, reaching into my inner jacket pocket.
I pulled out a thick stack of crisp hundred dollar bills. I handed the entire stack through the window.
The attendant took the money, his thumb flipping over the edge of the bills. "Uh... sir, this is... this is way over the rate."
"Keep it," I said smoothly. "Consider the excess a retainer. Keep an eye on the sedan. If it has a single scratch on it when I get back from Venice, I will be profoundly disappointed."
"Yes, sir!" the attendant stammered, frantically pushing a button on his console. The heavy red and white striped barrier arm swung upward. "Lot B. Third floor. Right by the elevators. Have a safe flight, sir!"
I rolled the window up, pulling smoothly into the dim cavern of the parking garage.
Wanda was staring at me from the passenger seat.
"Aryan," she whispered, her brow furrowing. "That was... a very thick stack of paper."
"It's just paper," I shrugged, navigating the ramps until we reached the third floor. "And we are on vacation. Stressing over parking fees is entirely forbidden by the European Vacation Guidelines."
I found a spot right next to the glass elevator doors, parked the car and killed the engine.
I also adjusted the localized perception filter. It's a minor tweak to the Hume field. I'm dialing down our 'importance' aura to absolute zero.
To anyone walking past us, our faces will slide right off their brains like water off a duck's back. We are just... background characters.
We got out of the car. I hauled the two massive suitcases out of the trunk, extending the handles.
We walked to the elevators, the glass doors sliding open with a soft ping. We rode down to the departure level.
The moment the elevator doors opened into the main terminal, a wall of sound hit us. Thousands of people rushing, pulling luggage, staring at massive digital flight boards and shouting into cell phones.
Wanda instinctively stepped closer to me, her hand gripping the sleeve of my jacket. She braced herself, her eyes darting around, waiting for the first person to point, for the first camera to flash.
A family of five rushed right past us. They didn't even blink. A businessman staring at his phone walked within two feet of Wanda. He didn't look up.
We walked straight through the center of the concourse, dragging our heavy luggage.
Nobody stopped.
Nobody stared.
Nobody whispered.
Wanda looked up at me, her eyes wide with absolute astonishment.
"Aryan," she whispered, looking around at the oblivious crowds. "No one is looking at us."
"The secret is looking incredibly boring," I grinned, squeezing her elbow. "I am currently thinking very hard about tax brackets. It makes me invisible."