Page 47 of Maybe Some Other Time

Chapter nineteen

Brighter Than the Stars

“Sorry I haven’t been around lately,” she apologized. “Work convention out of state. I forgot I was going until my boss reminded me that I said I would. Wish me luck. It’s so boring.”

It took Thelma about two minutes to compose a simple reply. “Sounds fun! I am in Vegas this weekend for Megan’s birthday. Let’s make a date when we both get back. You are coming to Thanksgiving, right?”

She wouldn’t talk about how many mistakes her fat thumbs made before it was acceptable to send.

“Oh, my God,” Megan said. “You stick your tongue out when you’re texting?”

“I suppose so. Do I?”

“Yes. Like this.” Megan demonstrated by tucking her tongue out of the corner of her mouth. “You must be concentrating super hard.”

Thelma sat up straight, hands in her lap. “I concentrate on the average amount.” Shit. She hated admitting it, but texting was difficult. It required way too much finesse. Whatever happened to typing?

They were staying on the north end of the Strip, which was already a completely different landscape from what Thelma remembered on her two previous trips to Vegas.

From the moment she stepped out of the stranger’s car, she was inundated with terrifying explosions that made her leap out of her skin and clamp her hands over her ears.

Meanwhile, her granddaughter exclaimed that this was already the best weekend ever because check it out, it’s the Bellagio fountains!

Thelma slowly straightened herself out and realized that what she heard was several thousand tons of water being spewed up into the air.

Emma handled their check-in process. Originally, it was going to be a couple’s weekend, but Megan insisted on inviting Thelma once she implied she might be open to a “girl’s weekend,” as it was pitched.

Naturally, I’d like to celebrate my girlfriend’s milestone birthday.

Because “twenty-one” was a big deal in the future.

I was drinking at sixteen. What do I know?

Apparently, sometime between 1958 and 2018, twenty-one became the magic age for drinking alcohol and going into clubs.

Rather glad I was born before that, honestly.

How would Thelma have enjoyed college so much without a dip into the nightclub with Sandy?

“How you holding up?” Megan joined her grandmother off to the side, guarding their bags as Emma checked in. “First flight in the modern era, now Vegas. It’s a lot, huh?”

Thelma nodded. “Luckily, I told my therapist in advance, and she gave me a few tricks to recall when I’m overwhelmed. Such as telling someone like you the magic pass phrase for when I need to go to our room and not be… in this.”

“Oh? What’s the magic phrase?”

“ I’m overwhelmed. ”

Megan laughed. “That will do it. So, overwhelmed?”

“Quite.”

“Don’t worry. We’re going to the room right after this. Then some dinner, but lowkey.”

That was one of many words Thelma had shoved into her mental dictionary those past few months, but right now, she could not remember what it meant for the life of her.

I get the gist. “Dinner will be lovely. By the way, happy birthday.” Technically, it was Megan’s birthday already…

but they were saving the partying for Saturday.

Megan claimed it wasn’t a big deal to go to class, have a big test, then board a plane with her grandmother to arrive in Vegas late in the evening.

You’d never guess it was almost nine. All around them were people eating, gambling, and talking.

“Time to make sure those inoculations they gave you a while back hold up, huh?” Megan collected their bags when Emma returned with their room keys. “Heading up, Em?”

“Yup! Seventh floor! We are really high rolling around here.”

Thelma knew she was staying in the same room as Megan and Emma, but for some reason, she thought the room would be a little more spacious than two queen-sized beds.

But she said nothing as she put her bags next to the bed closest to the bathroom and began unpacking.

There were empty drawers and a closet handily available. Thank God it’s quiet in here.

“What are you doing?” Megan asked as Emma popped into the bathroom.

Thelma almost forgot what she was doing as she went to hang up her robe in the closet. “I’m unpacking. Don’t worry. I will make sure there’s plenty of room and hangers left for everyone’s things. I’d just really like to have my robe up.”

“Whoa.” Megan watched her grandmother hang up her robe in the closet. “Unpacking. That’s wild.”

“What?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone unpack in a hotel room before.”

With a huff, Thelma closed the closet door. “Guess I’m just old-fashioned, yet again!”

She was almost too tired to head down to dinner with the girls and almost insisted that they go alone so they could have some time together.

Young lovers deserve time to themselves.

Thelma already felt bad about imposing on their weekend in Vegas together, but both Megan and Emma insisted that it was “cool,” but this meaning of “cool” was different than the “cool” that meant something was neat or awesome.

But they convinced her, promising they knew an out-of-the-way restaurant that was fairly quiet at this time of night.

An Italian place behind the casino that was mostly frequented by locals visiting the Strip and intrepid tourists who didn’t mind walking where some light didn’t shine at night.

Thelma took their words for it as they headed down, passed through the cigarette cloud of the casino floor, and emerged on a busy sidewalk full of barkers and gorgeous women dressed in colorful sequins and feathers.

The Italian restaurant instantly hit her in the familiar nostalgia of the old days when she and Bill came to Vegas for two separate vacations.

Back then, we drove. That had been half the fun as they traversed the desert and saw the bright, blinking lights of Vegas in the distance.

Now a lot of people simply fly, it seems. How decadent!

They even let Thelma have the window seat!

“Oh, cannoli!” Thelma squeaked to say it, momentarily embarrassing herself as she sat with her back to a wall covered in mid-century crooners. Some of them sported signatures, although she wasn’t so sure that it was actually Judy Garland’s autograph. “I haven’t had that in so long.”

“Then get one!” Megan slapped her menu down onto the checkered tablecloth. “It’s my birthday. Indulge a bit, Thel.”

“You’re right. I should.” Yet between the number of combination possibilities and the sheer amount of food piled onto plates, Thelma kept looking at the salads as if that were the better option.

Modern food wants me to gain weight like crazy.

Maintaining some semblance of her usual figure had helped Thelma feel more like herself, but… it was inevitable, wasn’t it?

Eventually, the knowledge that Thanksgiving was the following week made her decide on eggplant lasagna with a salad on the side instead of bread.

She agreed to help the girls drink a bottle of wine, and Megan proudly ordered it through the waitress, who congratulated her on her birthday before taking their orders to a computer on the side of the room.

“This reminds me a lot of the old Vegas I remember,” Thelma said, while Emma and Megan exchanged a giggly look.

They do that every time I reminisce. Robbie pretended not to hear her half the time, and Megan still treated her like a novelty that had yet to wear off.

Group had informed Thelma that this was normal for living relatives.

The younger they are, the more infatuated they are once they learn you’re a time traveler.

It was better than being treated poorly, Thelma decided, so she indulged it whenever the girls fawned over her and called her cool more than they ever cared to explain what it actually meant.

“Was it really run by the mob?” Emma asked. “That’s what my dad and uncles always said. My grandpa worked in Vegas in the ‘70s and used to say that everything was the mob.”

“Suppose that was possible, but when we visited, it really was just like this. You arrived, you got the service you paid for, you had some fun, and you went home. I never knew anyone who got caught up in any mob shenanigans.”

“Did you see Frank Sinatra perform?” Megan asked.

“No. I was more of a fan of Dean Martin, so we saw him and Jerry Lewis at the Sands both times we came.”

The girls clapped their hands over their mouths and giggled some more. The waitress, who had returned with their wine bottle and three glasses, looked at Thelma as if she were losing her marbles in public, but went on her way.

“You have to understand,” Thelma continued after they were alone again, “that Vegas was a brand-new distraction back then. I mean, it had been around for ages, of course, but as a destination? That was new. Boys were always coming for the gambling and rabble rousing, but once you added the crooners and other shows? Suddenly, every housewife on my street wanted to go for a weekend. It was the place for young honeymoons and rekindling romances when you were sick of the kids.”

“I bet Dad was a real…” Megan’s mouth curled. “Kid.”

Emma poured the wine into the three glasses.

As Thelma took hers, she said, “Robbie was a good boy. Could get a little excited during his baseball matches, but for the most part, did what he was told. Granted, I only got to see one baseball season of his…” Before she fell into the pit of her feelings, Thelma held up her wineglass.

“Enough about that. It’s your birthday, Meg. Happy birthday!”

They toasted to that, Megan smiling wider than she had all day—and she had been smiling since they all met up at LAX, and Thelma swallowed her fears of the TSA she had heard so much about. Very rude. Very unhelpful. We got through it, though.