Chapter 30
When I wake up in the morning, sunbeams are shining on my face and the room is completely empty. Anya and Mari aren’t here, had vanished at some point without me stirring at all.
Gone girls.
An ache blooms. How much longer can we keep this up?
This tiptoeing silence, this total lack of communication.
It is starting to exhaust me. Even so, I force myself up.
I have another staring contest with Anya’s cat, who now has a collar with the name MASSIMO on it—another thing I’ve been completely out of the loop for.
I sling my backpack over a shoulder, inspecting my face in the mirror on my way out for the day.
I pull down on the baggy skin under my eyes—it is all purple and blue, a sight no eye patch has any hope of fixing.
Luckily, tour prep has provided me with a great distraction.
I check my notes app for the itinerary I’ve made for the day.
Some of the stops are of my own design, like purchasing the small trinkets that will comprise a souvenir bag each tour member will get at the conclusion of the trip.
The others are more practical errands from the list Nico gave me, like packing disposable ponchos on the chance we encounter rain, and grabbing a first-aid kit—just in case.
I meander through the town center, stopping by shops that aren’t on the list at all to admire bowls and platters decorated with hand-painted lemons that would be perfect for the giant rice dishes with kebabs of meat that my mom makes for any family occasion, but sadly they are too bulky for my luggage.
Instead, I buy her a catchall, patterned with vibrant floral motifs, that I can wrap in a thin layer of bubble wrap.
I miss her, I find. And my father, too. If I were home, I could talk to them about all of this—the trash fire with Wes, who still hasn’t sent a single text apologizing for how he behaved; the mess with Anya and Mari, who seem likely to ignore me if not for the rest of all time then at least for the remainder of this three-month trip; and these new, uncertain, very likely delusional feelings about Nico, who probably already has a girl he likes.
Instead, they are five thousand miles and a whole ocean away, and even though the circumstances are totally different, I think I understand now why they would always refuse to tell our family back in Sari, Iran, when things weren’t going well with their visas or with the restaurant.
I want them to think that I’m having the time of my life, that they didn’t make a mistake sending me off on my own.
That I can handle being independent. But the truth is I’ve never felt less like a grown-up.
I check the time and do some quick math. It’s an hour before the restaurant opens back home, so I take out my phone to FaceTime my parents. They answer on the first ring.
“Soraya Joon!” my mom sings as her face fills the screen. Upbeat Persian music is blasting in the background, and the phone pans over to my dad, sitting at a table and rolling silverware into napkins. A steaming glass of black tea sits in front of him, lemon wedge hung over the side.
Dad leans in to see me clearer, squinting. Immediately he straightens, like something’s amiss. “Soraya, where is your whistle?”
“Dad, I can’t wear a rape whistle everywhere I go,” I sigh. “People will think I’ve lost my mind.”
“That’s the whole point!” He tosses down a roll of newly rolled silverware to punctuate.
“Ahmad, she’s on vacation.” My mom playfully hits my dad with a dish towel. “Soraya Joon, where are Anya and Mari?” she asks, craning her neck around like a giraffe as she tries to spot them behind me. The innocence of her question hits me like a punch to the jaw.
“Just taking a nap while I’m out.” I swallow quickly and tuck my hair behind my ear, hoping my mom doesn’t catch my eyes getting glossy. I flip the phone camera around to show off the landscape, hoping the awe-inducing beauty will distract her from this line of questioning.
“Oh my gosh, Italia!” Mom clasps her hands to her chest. “The flowers, the colors. I can’t believe it! It’s so beautiful, Sora, even from this far away!”
“I promise it’s even more magical in person.
” I flip the camera back around. My mom’s face is aglow, and I wonder how something can be so far away but feel so close.
“I really miss you guys.” Being here makes me realize how much I’ve taken them for granted.
My newfound freedom can have some definite perks, but fending for myself hasn’t been fun and games all the time.
“We miss you too, Sora Joon,” Mom says, stirring a bubbling pot of gheimeh.
I can almost smell the onions and tomatoes and dried limes simmering through the phone.
“You know, if you want to come back early, we wouldn’t object!
” I watch her dip a corner of pita in the stew to taste-test before throwing in another dash of salt.
“We’ll see, Mom,” I say, choking back a sob. She doesn’t know how seriously I’m considering it. “Kiss Reza for me.” I blow a kiss into the phone.
“We love you, Soraya Joon. Be careful,” Dad says. “And wear the whistle!”
“Okay, Dad. I’ll try. I love you guys too.
” I end the call with a tight throat, dabbing at the corners of my eyes with the hem of my shirt.
I have to pull myself together. The tour is tomorrow.
I’m short on time and need to get to work.
Slowly, I get to crossing tasks off the list. I pick up everything for the first-aid kit at a local pharmacy.
A gift shop Nico knows has the materials I need for the souvenir bags.
I am mostly done and about to head back when I hear very obvious sniffles coming from a woman sitting on a bench.
I really should return to the B and B, but she sounds so sad.
I would have wanted someone to acknowledge me, I think, when I was crying like this a few days ago.
I approach, juggling my shopping bags so I can tap her on the shoulder.
“Hi, are you okay? Do you need help?”
The woman pulls her blotchy face from her hands. She stares, squinting as she studies my face. “I know you!”
I pull back, confused. She looks familiar too—but there is makeup running down her face and her eyes are puffy, so it takes a minute to connect the dots. “Sailor! We were on the same flight over.” I’m shocked she even remembered.
“That’s right. You’re the funny one. You had that really big backpack.” Sailor looks down, wipes her tears away.
“Is everything okay?”
“Oh, yes.” She tries to put on a happy face, but her lip is wobbling, and she crumbles back into tears.
“Actually, no. My phone died, my friends split up, I lost my purse, I don’t know where I am, and I might be a little or a lot tipsy but that’s only because I found out that my boyfriend and my assistant—well, let’s just say that in my absence, they’ve been keeping each other quite busy. ”
“Bastards,” I say, dropping to the bench to put a comforting arm around her.
From what she posts, I would never guess that Sailor ever had a bad day.
Messy people with messes for lives—like me—need people like her to look up to, but if even the Insta goddesses’ lives aren’t perfect, what hope is there for the rest of us?
Sailor hiccups. “Everyone has cameras these days, you know? How dumb can you be?”
“I’m so sorry. At least you found out now? Before you wasted more time on him?”
“That’s true.” Sailor dabs at her eyes.
“If it makes you feel better, you aren’t alone. I know a little bit about boy trouble if you need someone to unload to.”
“They’re all trash,” Sailor wails.
Nico’s face pops into my mind. I want to say that that there are good and worthwhile people out there, to not give up on love just because one dickhead did you dirty, but this might not be the moment. “Well, my phone is charged. You’re welcome to use it.”
“Thank you.” Sailor straightens her skirt, powdering her face with such expert speed that in moments, it looks like she’d never cried at all.
She inputs her hotel, turning the phone from east to west as she tries to memorize the navigation.
“If it’s not too much to ask, do you mind walking me back? ”
“Not at all. I’m happy to.” We make our way slowly back to Sailor’s hotel. I learn that she has an undergraduate degree in mechanical engineering, but her career as an influencer pays ten times more than she’d ever make with her degree.
“If it takes you to places like this, that’s not half bad,” I say when we stop at a stand for a slice of pizza.
“You have a point,” Sailor agrees. A string of cheese stretches long from her mouth to the pizza, and we both laugh as she shovels it ungracefully down.
She’s a real person, I realize. I’d known that in some abstract sense, maybe, but it had never sunk in before now that she isn’t just a pretty face on a phone screen.
Before long, we arrive. She’s staying at a fancy hotel, one with bellmen waiting outside in little caps and a long, plush red carpet. I bite my lip to hide my smile. I wanted so badly for Nico’s place to be just like this, and now, you couldn’t pay me to stay anywhere else.
Sailor wraps me in a tight hug. “You’re the best. I owe you big-time. Can I Venmo you? For the pizza, and using your phone?”
“No, honestly, it’s totally fine.”
“I insist. You saved me today. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there.”
The wheels in my head start to turn. Well, if she was going to offer… “There is one thing, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Consider it done.”