Through my contact with Aaron from Crete last year, I was connected with Atlas Luxury Resort & Spa. After submitting recreational photos I took around the resort, including the one of Joey jumping off the chartered boat, I accepted a seasonal photographer position.
I busted my ass in local workshops to hone my skill, but freelance photography is competitive. It’s exhausting combating impostor syndrome and not selling myself short.
Fake it till you make it.
With the last year of hustling to build my online portfolio, this job is just what I need. I get to live on Crete for a month with guaranteed income. The fifty percent discount for staff accommodations is a perk, too, and exactly what I used to convince Ezra to join me for a week. While I’m there, I’ll spend a handful of hours each day taking engagement and family photos as well as photos the resort will use for marketing. That will leave me with ample time to relax and explore the island. And in a couple of days, I’ll be on my way.
One Month Later
“Damn. This has been your home for the last month? Smells so much better than the city,” Ezra laughs.
“Just wait until we drive through the villages,” I say as I pull out of the airport. “You’ll be missing the smells of the subway in no time.”
Beside me in my little island rental, Ezra’s hair is losing its battle with the wind, so he ties it back in his infamous man bun. “I’m stoked to be here.” He rests his tan arm halfway out the window. “Enjoying hotel life again?”
To be honest, there’s no comparison. This place is nothing like Hotel Connelly. “It’s like I’m on an extended vacation.”
Most days it doesn’t feel real. While I’ve had plenty of ridiculous encounters with clients (a puking mother-in-law, a blowout diaper incident, a very touchy-feely bachelorette party), this job is cush. I’ve only had to capture one surprise engagement, and rather than triggering, it was confirmation that Hayden and I were not meant to be.
Eating my weight in souvlaki, bureki,olives, and fresh seafood is my new religion, as is spending my free time exploring the island and staying up way too late to drink with the locals. Life is good.
“Have you talked to your parents lately?”
Gripping the steering wheel a little tighter, I force my shoulders to relax and let out a breath. “My mom, yeah.”
“Your dad still not speaking to you?”
Behind me, a car inches closer, so I drive on the shoulder lane to let them pass. Driving on the island is intuitive. Slower drivers use the shoulder to allow faster cars to pass, and no one is upset over the encounter. People only honk to say hello. That would never happen in the States—especially New York City.
“He’s speaking to me—kinda.” I check twice for motorcyclists before catching up with traffic. “If you count a few sentences every time my mom forces him to get on the phone.”
My dad is still bitter. He doesn’t think I can make a living “taking pictures.” In his eyes, I swear my only purpose in life is to take over the family business. He doesn’t hold Claire to the same standard. Though she chose medicine. Of course he’d be supportive of such a respectable career.
“Anyway.” I give my head a shake. “How are you?” Fathers are a sore subject for both of us, so he doesn’t call me out when I redirect the conversation. “Are you still seeing that chick from work?” I ask. “What was her name? Lemon?”
“Lennon.” Ezra rolls his eyes.
“Are you sayingLennonorLemon?” I tease.
“Are you sayingPanorPam?” He quips. This routine is one of our favorites. We’ve probably watchedStepbrothersmore than a hundred times together throughout the years.
I laugh. “Crete sort of reminds me of Catalina Island.” Years ago, he and I took a trip to the small island off the coast of Southern California when we found out it wasn’t just a fictional one mentioned in a movie.
“I can see that,” he replies, scanning the scenery.
Out here, we’re surrounded by mountains peppered with Venetian-style architecture. Brick castles carved into mountains can be seen in the distance, as well as unfinished concrete rooftops with laundry hung on clotheslines.
“So, Lennon,” I try again.
“Oh, yeah. No, that’s not going to happen.”
“Why not?”
Ezra doesn’t look away from the scenery for another moment, but when he does, he huffs. “She told me she was separated from her husband. Turns out she lied, and I didn’t catch on until he walked into their apartment looking as clueless as ever.”
I gasp. “No way.”
“Yup.” He covers his face and mumbles into his hands. “I never want to be caught with my pants around my ankles again.”
