Violet.
This is the worst idea Daisy has ever had. And trust me iver the years she's had some bad ideas. When we were five she insisted we were allowed to paint our own nails, ending in our parents replacing the carpet in our bedroom. When we were ten she told me she didn't need to study for a math test because our brains were linked and since I knew the answers she would too. When we were thirteen she convinced me to switch clothes with her in the bathroom during lunch before afternoon classes—and take her science exam for her. We pulled it off but I was a nervous wreck, sure we'd be caught and tossed into kid jail. When we were sixteen she impersonated me and flirted with a guy I was too shy to flirt with myself. She got him to ask her, pretending to be me, on a date. So technically he was asking me. I think. Anyway, I was the one who went on the actual date—and I had my first kiss with that guy, so I guess the plan wasn't a total fail.
Following rules is my jam. Breaking them is Daisy's.
So why did I go along with this?
This is sheer lunacy.
I'm twenty-six years old. Way too old to be doing what is essentially a twin switcheroo. I pull out my phone and call Daisy while eyeing the Sutton Travel tour bus sitting in front of the Sheraton.
"I can't do this," I tell her as soon as she picks up.
She sighs into my ear. "I'm so tired of your bullshit, Violet. Pull on your big-girl panties and just do it." That's my sister for you.
"Thanks, Daisy. That's a very nice thing to say."
"You're welcome. Look, no one is forcing you to do this. If you want to go back to my place and sulk on the couch for another six months you're welcome to it. In fact, take my room. I'm not home anyway."
I sigh into the phone.
"Exactly, Vi. What you need is a kick in the ass. An adventure!" Her voice lifts on 'adventure' and I know she's about to ramp up her sales pitch. "Aren't you bored, Violet? You should live a little. Throw caution to the wind. Grab life by the balls!" She's likely waving her arms around as she says this, knowing my sister. "You're always the responsible one and really, where has it gotten you? Nowhere," she adds unnecessarily. Because it's true. I've always been the planner and yet here I am, jobless and living on her sofa.
I take a moment to feel smug about the secret one-night stand I had last night. Daisy doesn't know about that, does she? Nope. And that was super-unplanned. It was a spontaneous home run, if I do say so myself, and I know I'm smiling like an idiot as I recall last night. I don't have another one-night stand to compare it to, but I'm fairly certain it was exceptional. I still can't believe I went through with it, it's so not my thing to hook up with a stranger. I've never even come close to hooking up with a stranger before. I totally nailed the one-night stand thing. Pun intended.
I wonder if I might find him again tonight in the hotel bar or if he's already checked out? Of course, if I sleep with him again it wouldn't technically be a one-night stand anymore, would it?
"Hello, Violet? Are you listening to me?" Daisy interrupts my smutty reminiscing and I snap to attention.
"Yes, I'm listening." I've really turned into a liar in the last twenty-four hours, haven't I?
"So it's no biggie, Vi. Do it or don't. Stay or go."
"It's no biggie? You'll get fired if I go home, Daisy. Because this tour starts in five minutes and you're not here. Where are you anyway? Are you in an airport? It sounds like you're in an airport. And how can you be so blasé about getting fired? Getting fired is a really big deal, Daisy." I would know.
"Getting fired is not that big a deal. I keep telling you that. Perspective, Vi. You're not homeless or hungry, and getting fired is not an ending, it's a beginning. A beginning to something bigger and better," she says in that dreamy way that only my sister can. "Life changes every single day. You never know what tomorrow is going to bring, believe me. Seize the fucking day."
"What is so urgent that you're willing to jeopardize this job anyway? It's a pretty sweet gig for you." Daisy's main focus is travel blogging, but these tours essentially allow her to double-dip. She gets paid for doing the tours and during her downtime takes photographs and searches out hidden gems a large tour group couldn't do, but which are perfect material for her blog. She's built her blog from nothing to making a good income from ads and affiliate links and she works for herself so it's easy to manage around her schedule with Sutton Travel. It's ideal and she'd be crazy to give it up.
"I've got a thing to do," she says breezily.
A thing. I'm not sure I even want to know.
"I'm hanging up now," she says. "Just get on the bus, Violet. You can fake your way through this tour. You've seen me do it, it's not that complicated. And I gave you step-by-step notes."
"I'm gonna mess it up." I swallow in dread. "How can I possibly give a tour I've only been on once?" I did tag along on this same tour last month when it was undersold and she had a few empty seats on the bus. I wasn't really paying attention though. I spent most of that trip spying on Mark's Facebook page, which is idiotic. But at the time it felt so necessary.
"They don't know that, Violet. We've been over this. No one on that tour is going to know you don't know what you're doing. None of them are even American. You can tell them whatever you want. Just smile and make sure you don't lose anyone during a bathroom stop and you're golden."
"You're making the assumption that only Americans know American history?" I question her, for the tenth time. This idea is lunacy.
"I'm making the assumption that you don't have a job and you could use the paycheck that Sutton Travel is going to give me for this tour. Which I'll transfer to your account."
Touché.
But it's true. And I have zero interviews scheduled for this week. Nada. I've been sending résumés for six months and I've done nothing but go on interviews for positions I don't even want and don't get offered. Which just makes me feel like shit because I can't even turn down something I'm not interested in.
"And I know that you can follow the script I wrote well enough to fake your way past an assortment of tourists from other countries," she adds. "You're not an idiot. It's not like you're going to mistake the White House for the Capitol Building. Just follow the cheat sheet I made for you."
"Just follow the cheat sheet," I repeat. It's ironic, since cheating got Daisy through most of high school.
"The bus driver has the route and all the stops are prearranged. You're handing the group over to local experts in Washington and Gettysburg. You're practically just dropping them off and picking them up. You got this."
"Right." I blow out a breath and eye the bus again. "And you haven't done any tours with this bus driver, right? Tom? He's not going to expect me to know him?"
"Nope. I told you there's at least a couple hundred drivers. I rarely saw the same one twice and I've never met this one. You're good."
"Okay," I mumble. "This is still a terrible idea."
"It's a genius idea," she replies, full of confidence. "Besides, if you don't show up all those tourists are going to be stranded."
"That's not true," I reply slowly, rolling my eyes even though she can't see me.
"It's sort of true. Your first airport pickup is in less than an hour. The company wouldn't be able to get a replacement there that quickly. Just think of all those nice Canadians standing at the airport check-in spot wondering where you are."
"You mean wondering where you are," I reply drily.
"Whatever. They'll be sad, Violet. Sad they came all the way to America and no one greeted them."
"Why are you singling out the Canadians anyway? Wouldn't everyone be sad?"
"I thought I'd pull on your heartstrings a little and everyone knows how nice the Canadians are," she says, unabashed. "I bet one of them offers you a maple candy before the week is up."
"You're ridiculous," I mutter, but I'm smiling.
"Love you, Vi. You're my peanut butter."
"And you're my jelly."
We end the call and I pin the Sutton Travel name badge with "Daisy" stamped on it to my top with renewed confidence. Daisy's right. I can do this. And I really do need the cash.
This is what happens when the company you work for is sold two weeks before you're due to close on a condo and your job is eliminated. It turns out that banks frown on giving thirty-year mortgages to people without jobs. I'd already given notice on my apartment, most of my possessions packed into boxes ready for my move, when my world imploded. The boxes moved into storage and I moved onto Daisy's couch.
I lost my boyfriend at the same time.
When I say I lost him I mean it literally. He's alive—I just don't have him anymore. Because we worked together. In different departments—nothing scandalous. He was the owner's son—everyone knew about us, it wasn't a secret and it didn't get me any special favors, of course not. I'd never have wanted special favors.
Except…
When it happened I was the last to know. The very last. I was running an errand on my lunch break when the email was sent notifying employees that we'd been sold to a larger company. A larger company that only needed half of the current staff. A larger company that was relocating Mark to another city in a high-level executive position—part of the deal when his father sold the company, of course. When I got back to the office a human resources representative from the new company was there to offer me a severance package.
Do you know what severance packages look like when you're twenty-six? A week's pay for every year of service. I'd been there for three and a half years. Three weeks of pay. They didn't even round up for that half-year.
Within two weeks Mark moved to California for a new job and I lost my earnest money on the condo.
He barely bothered to break up with me before he left. As in he barely said the words. Do you know how much it sucks when someone insinuates a break-up but doesn't actually do it? It's complete shit, is what it is. I basically had to break up with myself. Thanks, asshole. He said he was moving to San Francisco and I—stupidly, as it turned out—asked what that meant for us. He frowned at me and said something about it being a bit far, like I was dense for not getting it. "This is a really important time for me, Violet," he said.
Some girl named Lindy has him now.
So I really do need this.
As I approach the bus the doors slide open and the driver bounds down the steps with a huge grin. "Daisy!" he calls out, eyeing my tits.
Fuck. He knows me. I mean her