I take a moment to process this.“Changes like…?”
“Well, one of the first things he did was fuck with my schedule and take me off Central European tours for the summer.”
“But those are your specialty!”I cry, as if she’s not already well aware.
Mila is known for those tours, the way I’m known for tours of the UK, France, and Italy.When guides start out with On the Go, they have to take whatever tours they’re offered, but eventually, they get to make their preferences known.Those of us who have worked for the company for a long time get first dibs, and Mila’s top choice is Central Europe since her family lives in Czechia and Poland, and those tours are some of her only opportunities to see them.
She shoots me a sardonic look.“He also cut back my tours for the summer, which will have a huge impact on my income.”
“How can he do that?”I ask.
She gives a helpless shrug.“One of the new rules he instated was that they can change a guide’s scheduled tours at any time, as long as it’s thirty days before the start date.He changed all of my summer tours, Fi.Allof them.He made changes to a few other guides’ schedules, but nothing like mine, so it was obviously personal.”
“Unbelievable,” I mutter, unable to think of anything else to say past the anger and disgust surging in my chest.
“It was too much fuckery for me,” Mila says.“Your suspension, management’s avoidance, Sanjay’s bullshit decision to rearrange my entire schedule.I couldn’t take it.I got Carlotta to cover my next tour, and I immediately booked a flight to Toronto without giving myself a chance to think too much.I wanted to get away from anything having to do with On the Go, plus I’ve been feeling so guilty for not being here for you since your dad died—”
“Hey,” I say, cutting her off.“You have nothing to feel guilty about.You’re an amazing friend, and I’ve known all along that you’d be here if you could.That’s the nature of the job.I know that better than anyone.”
“Still…” She sighs again.“As messed up as it is, I’m glad to have a reason to be here now.My thoughts have been so muddled these last few weeks, but as soon as I arrived in Honeywell, it was like the voices in my head went from a cacophony to a dull roar.I just keep thinking that if this is how things are going to be at On the Go from now on—if we have to answer to a slimy, power-hungry asshole like Sanjay—I’m not sure I want to work for them anymore.”
Her admission stirs a secret part of me that’s been feeling the same way ever since my grossly unfair suspension.Despite agreeing this isn’t aneasyjob, it’s always been afunjob, and having someone in charge who’s ruled by personal vendettas isn’t something I want any part of.
“You know what this means, right?”Mila asks.When I give her a quizzical look, she bumps her shoulder against mine, a tiny smile twitching at the corners of her mouth before growing into a wide grin.“It’s time for us to finally start our own travel business.”
Butterflies take flight in my stomach.I tamp them down, along with the small sound of excitement that tries to escape past my lips.Despite what I’d call a full-body ‘yes!’, my brain takes over with caution and logic.“Is that realistic, though?Really?There are so many well-established tour companies out there.”
“True, but you and I are well-established tourguides.We’re well-known and respected in the business.People are always coming to us for travel advice and tips, plus we get asked to plan trips all the time.This would obviously be on a much larger scale, but we have a strong foundation to build on.Not to mention we have a combined total of nearly a quarter of a million social media followers.”
She’s right.It’s not like we’d be starting from scratch.Far from it.Mila and I have talked about this on and off for years.We’ve spent countless hours in dark corners of pubs drawing up plans on napkins and scraps of paper, not to mention many late nights curled up in motel beds together, whispering our hopes and dreams into the darkness.
Sharing our ideas always felt exhilarating in the far-off way that ‘maybe someday’ dreams do.I’m feeling that excitement now, but it’s mixed with something akin to fear.Maybe because while my gut and brain go to war, my heart is screaming that ‘someday’ has finally arrived, and the decisions we make going forward could be life-changing.
“The capital,” I blurt.“Businesses require investments.We’d need…” I trail off, stopping myself before I say ‘money’.While that was always a valid argument before, it’s not now, thanks to the money Dad left me.
“Hold that thought,” Mila says.“That’s actually the next thing I want to talk to you about.I’ll be right back.”She wriggles to the edge of the beanbag chair, grunting and cursing under her breath as she attempts to stand.It takes longer than it should because we both dissolve into giggles.She finally makes it to her feet thanks to a gentle shove from me, and hurries out of the treehouse.
In the silence of this space that’s both familiar and foreign, I try not to let my thoughts spiral.As exciting as it’s always been to talk about starting our own business, there’s been no legitimate reason to quit our jobs before now.Despite the usual ups and downs you’d experience at any workplace, I’ve loved my tours, the people I work with, and, yes, the fact I literally get to travel for a living.There are logistical things too, such as the fact my job with On the Go comes with an affordable place to live and a work visa.
Mila is breathless when she returns a few minutes later carrying what appears to be a shoebox.She waves me over to the small table and chairs on the far side of the room.“If I get back in that beanbag chair, I might never get up again.”
I join her at the table, eyeing the box curiously.She lifts the lid, and the unexpected whiff of Dad’s familiar scent—musky cologne, Irish Spring, and a hint of peppermint—nearly takes my breath away.When Mila looks at me with a sad smile, I realize I’ve let out a choked gasp.
“I know,” she says, laying her hand over mine where it rests on the table.“I started crying the minute I opened the box.It was like releasing a floodgate, and I cried so damn hard I couldn’t even look inside for half an hour.”
Knowing this box is somehow connected to Dad, I resist the urge to snatch it and rifle through the contents.“What is it?”
“It was waiting for me at the London flat when I got there last week,” Mila says.“It’s from Seamus’s lawyer.”
“Dad’slawyer?”
She makes a soft humming noise as she pulls out a stack of photos and hands them to me.They’re pictures from our trips to visit Dad in Ireland.There’s a mix of candid and posed shots; some of Mila and me, others of the three of us, and a few of Dad and Mila.There are photos in here I’ve never seen before.Dad wrote the date and place on the back of each one.I linger over one of the unfamiliar pictures, a candid shot of Mila and me in Dad’s garden, surrounded by colourful flowers, our heads thrown back in laughter.On the back, Dad wrote ‘Fiona Mae and Mila.June 2018, Ardmore.One of my favourite pictures.’
“Can I get a copy of this?”I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Of course,” Mila says.“I’ll get it done this week if there’s a place in town.You can have the original since he wrote on it.”
I smile my thanks, not trusting myself to speak.Mila nods in understanding.
