“Gail, this is not about you. This is about Montana. Can you for once think about someone other than yourself? My God!”

“Guys, it’s okay. I’ve still got one more to go, right? All’s not lost. Look on the bright side, right, Gail?”

“Yeah, I guess,” she mumbled.

“The glass is half full. That’s what you told me to remind myself of, right, Sam?”

“Right. And speaking of glasses and bottles, Gail, what’s taking your brown paper bag hook up so long to come up with contestant number five? This is all your fault. If I had chosen who I wanted her to be with, she would have not only been married by now, but honeymooning on some exotic beach sipping on a piña colada while two bronzed and buttery servants in loincloths named Carlos and Miguel feed her freshly picked pomegranates.”

“The ones you wanted her to choose were all gay, Sam.”

“And? What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing if you’re trapped in an episode of Queer as Folk but she ain’t. Montana is strictly dickly, okay, gay cupid?”

“Gail, I swear I will scratch that one long painted-on eyebrow clean off your face if you open your mouth one more time.”

“And I’ll snatch that rat-infested ponytail clip-on from the back of your neck.”

“Who’s ponytail you calling rat-infested?”

“Yours, Ben!” She immediately started singing “Ben…the two of us need look no more—”

“Guys. Guys. Guys! It’s nobody’s fault,” I interrupted. “It’s the holiday season and Gail’s hook up probably just got real busy, especially since these days people are flying more and planning less. No one’s to blame. You guys didn’t get me into this, and it’s not your responsibility to get me out. I’m a big girl.”

“Wait, Montana, I have an idea. Why don’t you stay here in San Francisco for a couple days?” Gail said.

“San Francisco?”

“Yeah. That way, when my hook up calls me with the flight information, since number five lives in L.A., you’ll save yourself the time it would take to fly all the way from Baltimore back out here to the west coast.”

“That’s if your hook up calls,” Sam said, rolling his eyes.

“No, that’s when my hook up calls.”

“I can’t stay here in San Francisco. I’m supposed to be working the flight back east.”

“Girl, please, all the flying you do, you’ve got more than enough miles logged to take a whole month off, let alone a week.”

“Yeah, Montana, Comet has a point.”

“Call me Comet again, Sam—”

“Gail, this is bigger than you. Let it go!” Sam said, cutting Gail off mid-sentence then turning back to me. “Montana, we will totally cover for you. I wish they would try to say something about you missing a couple days. You know, I got Al Sharpton’s pager number.”