“Do something? Here?” “Yeah.” She shrugs. “Where else? There’s gotta be something to entertain us.” “I was thinking of sleeping.” “Pfft.” She waves me off. “Please. How many times in your life are you going to be stuck in an airport overnight?” “Hopefully only once?” “Exactly! This is a core memory. A night we’ll tell our kids about one day.” I wince. Kids. That’s a sore spot tonight, but she doesn’t notice the sobering effect her words have on me. She just carries on, unruffled. “And if the story ends with I lay on a dirty floor unsuccessfully trying to fall asleep for hours, it’s going to be
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