This BoB covers Steven and Chase Janes' quest to find their birth mother Calina Rice, they're the children of Parker Janes, the generation four heir. I'd suggest skimming this chapter and perhaps generation four.
"Dude, the layover's killing me. Three hours? What the hell are we supposed to do for three hours?"
"I dunno. Buy over priced coffee?" I shrugged, as Chase flipped through Instagram profiles that belonged to women named Calina, our mother's name. "Isn't it creepy, looking for her online?"
"A bit..." He sighed, turning off his phone. "How else do we find her? We know nothing about her, she could have changed her last name, gotten married, hell dyed her hair, actually be dead..."
"Why are you so goddam pessimistic?" I bitterly asked. We'd been so optimistic when we flew to Atlanta, a Calina Rice who was in her late thirties was preforming at a night club named Glitz Gallant, however when we arrived there it turned out that the half Cambodian half French Canadian woman's name was Carolina, not Calina, the online advertisement had been mistyped. After that, we had very few leads, so we decided to fly to Chicago, than head overseas to Paris, Rome, Venice, and Berlin. We'd been stuck in Chicago longer than expected, curtsey of the bitter summer storms.
"Sorry Steven, but we have no leads and we're running low on funds, I'm just being realistic. It isn't like dad's gonna fund our search, especially because he thinks we should be content with Holly." Holly Janes, formerly Holly Parlin, had been our mother figure for the majority of our childhood and the mother of our three half brothers, Hunter, Trevor, and Blake. "I mean, this is great, but what happens if we cannot find her? What is she doesn't want to be found? Or she had other kids or something? She left us for a reason and it pisses me off to say this, but maybe we should respect that."
"You weren't saying that when we were trying to convince dad to let us go!" I exclaimed, bolting up from the terminal's uncomfortable black faux leather seats.
"I'm tired, I'm hungry, that brings out the worst in anyone... Just, look, I'm gonna attempt to nap."
"I'm gonna go get food." I grabbed my backpack and walked away, aggravated. Chase was all for finding our mother, until it got complicated, than he was content with resigning himself to the fact that it was unrealistic. A small part of me knew that in a world of billions of people, even with social media and the internet and everything, we may not find her, however I wasn't going to admit that, I had to stay hopeful.
I stood in line for the coffee shop, as a fluorescent light beat down on me. The barista looked tired, overworked, as I ordered a small latte. There was only one other person, besides the barista, in the shop, which was odd for O'Hare; it was supposed to be busy, I'd thought, even though I was here at one am, waiting for my redeye flight.
I grabbed my coffee, glancing to see that it was for a Stephen, not Steven, a small detail that wasn't worth bitching about like a pretentious person who thought they were superior.
The other person here, a raven haired woman whose arms were crossed on the table, her head on them, like she was playing an elementary school game of heads up seven up. She was whimpering, an odd noise for a sleeping person.
"Are you okay?" I asked, not expecting an answer.
"Whaaa?" She looked up, her face red, tears streaking her pasty complexion. "Who the hell are you?"
"Um, Steven Janes." I replied, shuffling awkwardly. "You're crying."
"Way to go, captain obvious." She rolled her eyes, picking at a scone that sat on a brown paper napkin in front of her. "Sorry. I'm upset."
"I can tell." I glanced at the clock on the wall, I had at least two and a half hours before I needed to return to my spot with my brother.
"You can sit." She gestured to the seat across from her. "Isn't like I have anyone else to save the seat for."
"Okay..." I paused, hesitantly, pulling out the chair. I placed my latte on the metal table, as she glanced at it.
"Stephen, you said?"
"It's actually Steven with a V, not a P-H."
"Okay, Steven with a V, not a P-H, I'm Hayleigh, with a H-A-Y-L-E-I-G-H."
"Nice to meet you." I stuck out my hand, as she glanced at it, wiping her eyes.
"How gentlemanly." She shook my hand, firmly, before nibbling part of her scone.
"What's up?"
"I swear to God, if you expect me to say the sky or roof or anything, I'll assault you."
"No- I, Jesus, anger issues much?"
"Sorry, I'm-"
"Upset. Yeah, we established that."
"My boyfriend was supposed to fly here to see me graduate high school yesterday."
"I was supposed to fly to Paris."
"He didn't come. He's in college in Oregon and apparently has met some tramp who is a senior and likes sophomores who are majoring in English Lit. Apparently she buys him beer and is better than a high school senior."
"My flights delayed... I think you win the pity contest."
"If I knew it was a contest I would have told you that we'd been dating since I was a freshman and I was gonna be valedictorian, only he's the principal's cousin's paperboy and he got him to revoke the award at the last minute."
"That sucks." I replied, attempting to empathize with the attractive girl who had just had a mental break down in an airport coffee shop in Chicago. "So why are you here?"
"I was gonna fly back to Oregon with him today. He called me the night before my graduation and told me that we were done, so I couldn't get a refund or anything on the ticket."
"So you're going to Oregon?"
"I don't know. My flight leaves in an hour."
"I hear Oregon's nice."
"You've been?"
"No. Haven't had a need to."
"Huh. Want to?"
"What?"
"I have two tickets. We could B.S. it, pretend you're Sir Goddamn Jack-"
"Do you know how airport security works?"
"You do?"
"Yeah."
"You're what, eighteen? This is like your first flight?"
"Uh huh, and? Also it'll be my third?"
"Third? Gosh golly darn jeepers, you're ready to pilot a plane!"
"I could be. You don't know me."
"Are you?"
"No."
"So I was right." She smiled slightly, a smile that contrasted with her red eyes, the tears that were still lingering on her cheeks.
"You want me to fly to Oregon with you?"
"No. We could trade. You're going to Paris, so I figured you're going with someone, city of love and all that B.S."
"I'm going with my brother."
"What, are you from the south?" She giggled slightly, than paused. "If you are from the south, I didn't mean to insinuate that they;re okay with inscest."
"I'm not." I sipped my latte, burning my tongue slightly, as she stood up, carrying the crumbly remains of a British pastery and a biodegradable napkin.
"I should be going." She threw away her trash, turning to face me. "You're cute."
"You're direct."
"And cute?" She smiled, innocently, fishing for a compliment.
"I guess." I agreed, as she, someone I didn't know how to describe, sauntered away in dirty sneakers, jean cutoffs, and a physcodelic, tie dyed Nirvana muscle croptop.
The barista pointed a finger at me, as I glanced around.
"What?"
"Purse. She left her purse."
"Oh..." I glanced underneath the table to see a leath bag studded with gold spikes. I picked it up, giving it to them.
"Dude, I don't wanna deal with it... Try lost and found or chase after her, it's been like ten seconds since she left."
"Oh. Yeah. Yeah it has." I turned to look at the exit, only to see that she was gone.
Great, I was a black teenager with a white lady's bag in a highly trafficed airport. This wasn't going to look bad at all.
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