Chapter 3
T he summer weeks dragged until the morning of the trip arrived.
Dad and Elizabeth piled a mountain of suitcases in the front hallway and harped endlessly about logistics.
We’d have four planes on our five-thousand-mile journey, not to mention layovers, delays, and taxi rides.
Once there, we’d spend three weeks in Europe, most of it stuck with Will and a host of step-in-laws I dreaded meeting.
I’d hoped some unforeseen crisis would cancel the trip, but nothing came about.
Where’s a good tsunami or earthquake when you need it?
I told Dad about my plan to meet Karen in Croatia.
He frowned but agreed on the condition that I stay in Malegonia until the end of the wedding.
He also insisted I act pleasant and outgoing with our hosts.
I could still hear his crotchety voice. These people will be our family.
You need to lose the attitude and be kind for once.
His comments were deeply offensive. Me? Attitude?
Unkind? I was nothing but sunshine and butterflies, thank you.
Elizabeth weighed and then reweighed every suitcase to ensure nothing was over the airline’s fifty-pound limit.
One bag barely came in heavy—mine, of course.
I was forced to wear two layers of blue jeans and my light jacket to avoid leaving them at home, a harrowing development in late July.
The solution felt absurd, as if pants didn’t weigh anything if they were glued to your butt.
My overdressed status was further aggravated by an envelope holding fifty one-hundred dollars bills shoved into my bra—everything I’d saved from a summer at the pool.
Apparently banks were unreliable in Malegonia, and my deepest fear was getting stranded there without the money to escape.
Besides, it never hurt to have five grand in your unmentionables.
By noon we were on the road. Our flight didn’t leave until eight that evening, and the airport was less than an hour away, but Elizabeth was certain we would miss the plane if we didn’t leave ridiculously early.
Fortunately, I’d anticipated lots of boring downtime and preloaded my Kindle with the entire Love Bites vampire series .
When we arrived at O’Hare airport, we had a forty-five-minute walk to the security line. A wheel on my suitcase busted off, and TSA did its best to feel me up before spitting us onto passport control. A wonderful start. If by wonderful you mean terrible.
We finally arrived in the terminal with five hours to kill.
I hid my annoyance with Elizabeth for leaving so early and bought an eleven-dollar Starbucks coffee to remind myself of the exploitative nature of Western society.
I was ready to bury myself in a world of heartbroken bloodsuckers when Dad decided it would be a good time to talk.
“Will’s looking forward to seeing you,” he said.
“Oh, that’s nice,” I said with a plastic smile. I doubted Will even mentioned me, but I figured my old man was as bored as I was and needed to hear his own voice.
“He said Lake Achris is the region’s hidden gem, and you’re going to love it.”
“I’m really looking forward to Croatia.” I picked up my Kindle to give him the hint to stop talking.
Dad eyed me for a long second. “Listen, I think your stepbrother wants to be friends. You two were like fire and gasoline as teens, but you’re adults now. It’s time to act like a grown-up. ”
Nothing says your parent thinks of you as a child more than the words act like a grown-up. I gave him an annoyed smile and shoved my earbuds in. I wasn’t listening to music—I just wanted him to shut up. He got the message, finally, and I sank into a sordid tale of undead lovers.
For the next few hours, I wandered the terminal for three miles, read a hundred pages of vampire smut, and watched cable news dissect a five-second sound bite a hundred times over. Needless to say, I was bored, grumpy, and wanted to get on the plane.
To make it worse, Elizabeth spent most of the afternoon spewing random facts from her Malegonia travel guide.
I learned the country had the planet’s highest ratio of coffee shops to people, the worst roads in Europe, and a shadowy underworld that would make Al Capone blush.
What more could a girl ask for? Oh, and sheep.
The country had lots of sheep. Paradise.
At long last the overhead speaker announced it was time to board. We filed into line as the airline employees scanned tickets, each dressed in a cheesy blue uniform that looked half military, half Halloween costume. We showed them our documents, and they waved us onto the plane .
I plopped onto a window seat near the rear.
Dad wanted legroom, so he sat by the aisle.
That left Elizabeth next to me for the next twelve hours.
Under normal circumstances, that would have been like a death sentence, but I’d picked up enough cough syrup at the gift shop to sedate a grizzly bear.
I was going to sleep until we got to Europe.
The last of the travelers played overhead storage Tetris with their carry-ons as the flight attendants spieled about emergency exits and oxygen masks—a pleasant reminder we might die in a fiery wreck.
At least we weren’t in the screaming baby section, although the fat guy in front of me had almost reclined onto my lap.
Fortunately, he sat up when the plane started down the runway.
“Can you believe we’re doing this?” Elizabeth said, glassy eyed and overly sentimental.
“Unbelievable.” I tried not to sound too sarcastic.
Elizabeth reached over and grabbed my hand. “I’m glad we’re on this adventure together. It’ll be good for us.”
“Why do you say that?”
“It will teach us to stick together. We need to grow closer as a family. ”
I looked out the window at the flashing airport lights and darkening evening sky. Her sentiment was sweet, but she would never be family.
“Wini, I know I can’t replace your mother, but I’m here for you.”
I turned back and gave her an uncomfortable smile.
“You need someone who loves you like she did,” Elizabeth said. “No one can do that, but I’ll try my best.”
The kindness in her words caught me off guard. She meant it, or at least her menopausal frenzy over her son’s wedding meant it. Either way, it was sweet, and I felt a little touched. “Thanks, Elizabeth,” I said softly.
The plane rattled as we accelerated down the runway.
A moment later the cabin tilted back and gave me elevator stomach.
Elizabeth sat calmly in her seat, paging through the Malegonia travel book, smiling.
She had a pretty smile. I knew why Dad loved her.
She’d never be Mom, of course, but at least she wasn’t a full-blown Cruella de Vil, even if she was super annoying and way too emotional.
I had my doubts, but maybe she was right. Perhaps the trip would be good for us.
The plane reached thirty-five-thousand feet, and the stewardesses carted out trays of rubbery chicken and cardboard rice.
I forced myself to eat and chased it down with a bottle of Nyquil.
Home was far behind us by now, along with any hope of escaping the trip.
I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. We’d be on the other side of the world when I opened them again.
***
The sun woke me a few hours later. My eyes were heavy, and my movements groggy.
I’d also sweat like a marathoner on mile twenty through my double layer of clothes.
The money in my bra itched, and my knees were cinder blocks.
Still, I’d succeeded in snoozing through the worst part of the trip.
I glanced out the window and saw land beneath a thin veil of clouds.
The monitor on the seat showed we were over France.
This would be the closest I’d get to Paris.
I wanted to stretch and desperately needed to pee, but Elizabeth lay across my lap, with a travel pillow curled around her neck. She had enough mascara smeared across her face to pass for a rodeo clown. I nudged her awake as the flight attendants started down the aisle with drinks. I was trapped.
Dad sat raccoon eyed, his thinning hair sticking up like a patch of weeds. He crammed against Elizabeth as the drink cart arrived at his side .
“Coffee?” an annoyingly perky stewardess asked.
We all nodded, and she handed us three cups. I sipped away as my bladder anxiously awaited the seat belt light to turn off. It never did, and I regretted the coffee.
Forty-five minutes later, we touched down in Rome.
The flight attendants watched us like prison guards to ensure no one stood up until the plane came to a “full and complete stop.” When it finally did, I crowded into the aisle like everyone else, waiting impatiently and trying not to make my pee dance too obvious.
A moment later we trickled past the pilot, who repeated the same canned goodbye for every passenger.
I mumbled an insincere thank-you and darted down the corridor in a desperate hunt for the toilet.
It was my first time in Europe, and all I wanted to see was the bathroom.
Elizabeth and Dad picked up a spurt of energy but still looked like roadkill.
Now relieved, I followed them through a maze of corridors and terminals.
The place reminded me of a high-end mall with exotic travelers, foreign signs, and billboards of starved models in sleek, trendy apparel.
The Italians had a machismo about their dress that I liked—a welcoming change from Walmart back home.
I romanticized about sneaking away from the family and seeing Italy without them .