1
“I don’t care how grown you think you are. You’re half a million miles from home—”
Not even close, but sure, let’s go with dramatic. “It’s like five thousand miles, Mom,” I said, adjusting my headphones. “Greece is less than five thousand miles from the United States. It’s not like I took a shuttle to Mars.”
I heard my mother make a small sound as she dismissed my correction of her dramatic overestimate. She was given to hyperbole,and we both knew it.
“And FYI,” I added, because I couldn’t help myself, “I’m twenty-two, Mom. Got a degree, a passport and a plane ticket. I think that counts as grown.”
Not even being in my twenties and earning a degree in architecture could convince my mother, Deanna, I could look after myself. My childhood illness and constant hospital stays had branded her with a permanent fear I couldn’t shake.
When I’d chosen to attend college in New York, she’d packed up and followed me there, finding an apartment fifteen minutes from campus “just in case.” Four years of higher education and thirteen years without a relapse hadn’t granted me independence. Just a longer leash.
She kept going. “It’s not like you’re on vacation in Florida, sweetheart. This is a foreign country with an entirely different culture, language, food…”
Mom was still processing the fact I’d applied for my passport and booked this entire trip without telling her until a week before departure. The look on her face when I’d casually mentioned over dinner I was heading to Greece with my college roommate had been a mix of shock and horror.
I shifted my weight, the dusty gravel crunching beneath my sandals as I tried not to roll my eyes. A gentle breeze carried the distinct scent of sun-baked earth.
I decided not to tell her I was at the moment walking alone along a road just outside of Athens, where ancient olive trees twisted toward the sky. In the distance, the Acropolis rose in a postcard-perfect view, which was all mine for the moment.
After last night’s party, I needed this fresh air.
Kat and I had gone out with her old friends, and she’d drunk way too much when she realized her ex wouldn’t attend the party. This morning, she begged me to stay in, whining about her headache, hangover, and how the sun waspersonally attacking her.
But the idea of wasting a whole day in bed—especially in Greece—felt wasteful. I wanted to experience the landscape on my own.
“I’ve got Kat and Google to help me translate, her family’s driver to take me around, and the food is absolutely delicious.” I should have grabbed my sunglasses before leaving the villa because the sun was blinding. “And lots of Greeks speak English,” I added. “Besides, Katalina’s family has been amazing.”
I didn’t mention how strange it felt being here without Tammy, who should have been with us. The three of us had planned this trip together—me, Kat, and Tammy—our post-graduation adventure.
Six months ago, that dream had shattered with a 3 AM phone call and funeral arrangements. Being here now felt like keeping a promise, even if Tammy couldn’t see me fulfill it.
“Stick to crowded places and you’ll be okay. Don’t accept anything to eat or drink from strangers, don’t get into cars with men or women you don’t know. Don’t trust anyone…”
“Mommm…” I groaned, dragging out the ‘o’ like a whiny kid, but honestly, could you blame me? She meant well, but her attention was suffocating with her constant hovering.
What she said next was straight out of left field. “Your father called.”
Mom waited for a reaction. I had none. She kept talking. “Ashley left him. He’s moving back to town with your two siblings.” Pause. “He wants to reconnect.”
Nope. Not today, Satan.
The sun was brutal, and I was already sweating through my shirt. I did not want to think of my father or have this conversation.
Mom pressed me further. “Baby? Did you hear what I said?”
My grip tightened on the phone. Mom meant well—she always did. Still, yelling at her was not worth it.
Okay, Tia, just breathe. Count backward from ten.
Ten, nine, eight… please don’t let her keep pushing.
I had no interest in rekindling any “relationship” such as it was with the man who’d abandoned me and never looked back.
I saw my twelve-year-old self fighting back the tears … and failing to do so … as my father explained to me, almost matter-of-factly, that his priority was his new wife, and new family.
“Your siblings are younger and need me more than you do,” he said. “I need to make them my priority right now.”
