“The Moore family curse,” I replied as I snatched back the mic. “Our flight time is one hour and fifteen minutes. Thank you for flying Transcontinental Airlines, where we promise to get you there safely or the next flight’s on us.”

“What the hell is a Moore family curse?” Gail asked as we began serving coffee in the first class cabin.

“Here you go, Mr. Ashley, would you like sugar and cream?” I didn’t want my emotional state to interfere with my job.

“What curse?”

“The curse of the Moore family rules.”

“What rules?”

“According to my mother, you’re not a lady unless you’re married on or before your twenty-fifth birthday. And you’re not a woman unless you’ve had at least two kids. And if you’re not a lady, and you’re not a woman, then you’re like Gail, a whore. Mrs. McPherson, would you like cream or sugar with that?”

“Your momma called me a ho? Hold up, hold up,hold up! Montana, I know your momma did not call me a ho?”

“No, Gail, she did not call you a ho. She called you a whore.”

“What’s the difference?”

“The word ‘whore’ is in the Bible, the word ‘ho’ is not.”

“Thanks,” Gail sarcastically replied. “Now I feel a whole lot better.” She stood there, face twisted and arms crossed.

“Gail, this is not about you. This is about my stupid family and their stupid rules. Hello, Dr. Julion. Cream or sugar today?”

“I can’t believe your mother called me a ho.”

“Whore.”

“It’s the same thing!” she shouted, startling the first class passengers.

“Gail, let it go,” I whispered, attempting to calm her down. “You know how crazy my mother is. And besides, she’s called you a lot worse.”

“Than a whore?!”

“Gail, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that in less than a month my sister is having an engagement party where the whole family shows up and showers the bride-to-be with gifts and well wishes. It’s a pre-reception party so just in case you don’t make it to the final wedding date, you know, like if the groom-to-be pulls out, then you will have at least gained points toward being exempt from the curse. There’s an addendum to the rules. Three engagement parties equal one wedding.”

“I have never ever been called a whore. I’ve been called a slut, tramp, even a trollop. But a whore? A whore?”

“Gail, what am I gonna do?” I said, ignoring her rant. “If I show up at that party without a man I’ll be the laughingstock of the entire family. Professor Previtt, would you like one sugar or two with your coffee today?”

“Two, please.”

“Just get you a fiancé to bring to the party.”

“What?”