It was only last month that Rae’s boyfriend, Max, asked our family to secretly fly to Maine to watch him propose. He wanted to ask on Clifton College’s campus, where they first met, in front of both their families. (He’s a sap like that.) But his choice of today means half my day will be spent traveling. I doubt he realized his proposal would overlap with the biggest day of my life, and I didn’t want to put a damper on his plans, especially given how long they’d been in motion—he and my twin sister have been together for eleven years, after all. And anyway, fate doesn’t care if I’m in an airport or 30,000 feet up: it’ll find me no matter what.

After I run my baggage through the scanners and slip my purple, block-heeled sandals back on, I take a long, slow stroll toward Gate 53, stopping every chance I get. I dip into Starbucks to order a cappuccino, buy Vogue and New York magazine at Hudson News, browse the racks of “I ♥ NY” T-shirts at a gift shop. I scan for eligible bachelors, but each store is frustratingly empty. It turns out, 9 a.m. on a weekday isn’t a popular time to travel. I briefly consider sitting down at the darkened bar to order a drink. Don’t people always hit on each other at airport bars? But I’d hope my destined date doesn’t imbibe before noon.

I futz with my cuticles—a nervous habit I have no right to indulge in, considering what portion of my income I spend on maintaining a flawless red manicure. I need to relax. But I can’t.

I duck into a restroom to touch up my hair and face. The heat has made my hot roller curls fall flat. I revive them with a mini comb and a travel-sized bottle of hairspray I keep tucked in my purse. It’s moments like these that make me grateful to be a stylist who’s picked up a few tips and tricks from hair gurus and makeup artists on photoshoots over the years.

I swipe on a heavy coat of lip balm and reapply red lipstick on top of it. (All you need to know about MAC’s Ruby Woo red is that Rihanna swears by it, and I hope that explains why I’ve worn it every day for the past ten years.) I dab a rollerball of Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille on my inner wrists. Gloria would approve. She’s always reminiscing about the days when air travel was considered the height of glamour.