11. Taormina, Sicily
11
TAORMINA, SICILY
Now
T he sun was barely rising over Taormina as Alex rounded her fifth mile. The boat had docked unusually early to restock the kitchen, and she used the opportunity to take off before anyone got out of bed. She wouldn’t have to cross paths with them at breakfast, wouldn’t have to awkwardly laugh off last night’s chaos, wouldn’t have to say anything at all. Instead, she drowned out the sounds of her own mind with the music blasting through her headphones, throwing her full weight into each stride until her body was fully exhausted.
She had been looking forward to seeing this city. From the time she’d spent in Athens after college, most of the Greek portion of their itinerary wasn’t new to her, but Taormina was a revelation. She’d read all about the winding streets of the old city, the breathtaking views of the sea, the elegant five-star hotels and their sprawling terraces, tinkling with grand piano music. This was once a destination for the most elite international jet setters, and every part of it screamed vintage glamor. She felt she could properly appreciate it alone, absent the constant drip of disaffected commentary.
Running had been Elena’s prescription for her daughter’s anxiety: she often referred to it as “Nature’s Xanax,” a phrase that usually made Alex scoff. But sometimes, like today, she had to grudgingly admit that it helped. The rhythm of her legs carrying her around the winding streets felt meditative, moving her as if they belonged to someone else, giving her a sense of total freedom. The pace was perfect for appreciating the city, too, slow enough that she could peek into windows but fast enough that she could cover the better part of it in a single go. She passed the shops, the bakeries, the restaurants with vines growing over the arches of their doorways.
As she rounded the corner to the piazza—a sprawling checkerboard floor, surrounded by a white stone church and charming little cafés, just like she had seen online—her legs slowed to a stop, almost involuntarily. It was one thing to see the world through travel porn Instagram accounts, whose abundance of impossibly beautiful images had an almost flattening effect. It was quite another to actually be there, experiencing it in three dimensions.
She walked over to the railing that overlooked the sea far below, taking her phone from her armband and leaning over to check out the view. The Verseau was just visible in the distance, eclipsing the other boats in size and elegance, its dark blue hull seeming to disappear into the water beneath it. After pausing her music, she removed her headphones and let them dangle around her neck as she cleaned the lens of her phone’s camera with the edge of her shirt. This was one of the many places her parents wanted photos of, and she swept the camera over the piazza to get a panoramic shot. She took a video, too, for good measure, knowing that it would never fully capture what she was currently experiencing.
Without her music, though, her thoughts began to wander to forbidden places—places she had been trying desperately to avoid.
There it was: the muffled sound of Danial’s voice, and the feeling of her hand on his arm, and the breathless orgasms she had brought herself to the night before. She imagined what he must have looked like on the other side of that wall: the exquisite movements of his face, his long, lean, deeply tanned body against his crisp white sheets. Even the way he looked on top of Enzo—sweating, angry, without any of his usual poise—was strangely beautiful. His behavior was wrong, yes, and it had embarrassed her, but the sheer physicality of it still drew her in.
She fumbled to put her headphones back in, to replace her racing thoughts with the pulsing sound of house music. As she scrolled through her playlists, a voice called out from behind her, bright and crisp as the sunrise itself. The shock of hearing her own name nearly made her drop her phone into the sea.
“Miss Onassis, hi!”
“Oh, hi,” she said, turning around to see Melanie standing just behind her. It was the first time Alex had seen her without her polo shirt, but her blonde hair was still neatly slicked back into a tight knot at the base of her neck. “I didn’t expect to see anyone up here.” She pulled out her sport earbuds again, this time holding them in her hand along with her phone.
“I have a little time to myself, so I wanted to take in the city while I can. Are you enjoying the view?”
The question almost felt like a joke: they were standing in front of an old church on a magnificent stone piazza overlooking the Mediterranean. Of course it was gorgeous.
“It’s incredible, I can’t believe this place is real.”
“Right? It’s always one of my favorite ports to stop in.”
“I bet!” Alex didn’t quite know how to speak to her as a peer, outside of the context of the boat. The rest of them might have been intrinsically comfortable being on the receiving end of 24/7 service, but she was decidedly not.
“I must recommend that you visit the Greek Theater while you’re here, I’d be happy to schedule you for a visit later this afternoon or tomorrow.”
“Oh, I already got my tour reserved for tomorrow morning.” She smiled. “I promised my parents I would FaceTime them from the ruins.”
“I love that.” Melanie checked her watch. “I’ve got some personal errands to get to, but I’m happy to pick up anything you might need while I’m out?”
“Thank you! No, that’s fine, I’m all set.”
“Glad to hear it.” She paused, looking over her shoulder briefly before continuing. “Also, I hope this isn’t strange, but I wanted to tell you something—something not strictly Verseau -related.”
“Yes?”
“Well, I saw your video on my feed the other day, the one about affordable housing? And it was really good!”
“My video? Oh, gosh—” the version of herself who’d recorded it, the person she was in that office, felt worlds away. She had almost forgotten she had a job, if she were being honest. “Thank you, I didn’t realize it had been published.”
“I follow the Worker’s Horizon Party on Instagram.”
“What are the chances?”
“It’s cool that you work for them! I’m registered to vote in Massachusetts.”
Alex smiled, going into professional muscle memory: “Please let me know if you’d like me to send along any more information on Sacha Turner, I probably have some literature in my suitcase.”
She laughed, tilting her head in her typically perky way. “Why would you bring that here?”
“Oh,” Alex corrected herself, “I have general party literature that includes a brief on all the major candidates. I don’t go anywhere without it.”
This wasn’t true, but the real answer—that she brought it in case someone was actually interested in her work on this trip—felt mildly embarrassing now that someone was .
“Well, don’t worry, I’m voting for her. I have to vote early, anyway, since I’m here.” She gestured toward the harbor.
Alex smiled, shifting slightly on her feet. In any normal circumstance, this would be a perfect opportunity to follow the voter flow chart always ready in her mind. Melanie knew about the WHP, and followed them on social media. She knew who she was voting for, and had her voting plan in place. This was ideal. The next step would normally be to ask her if she could bring three friends to the polls, or if she’d be interested in volunteering or donating. Normally, Alex was a magician at walking even the most disconnected potential voter through the entire funnel—but their current dynamic made the prospect seem ridiculous. Here she was, on a yacht that cost a quarter million dollars to charter, taking a morning run through one of the most glamorous towns in Europe, speaking to the woman who was paid to wait on her hand and foot about class consciousness.
Alex felt a sharp wave of anxiety begin to rise within her, blurting out her response before she could stop herself: “You know, I’m not rich like them.”
“I’m sorry?”
“On the boat. That whole group. I’m not rich like they are.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean—” Melanie flustered, clearly not expecting any kind of justification. “I didn’t mean to imply anything. I just liked the video.”
Alex could feel the awkwardness mount in real time, so far in the social hole that her only choice was to keep digging.
“I’m just here because Paul is my best friend. I never go on vacations like this.”
“I understand,” Melanie answered, pivoting back to a more formal tone and checking her watch again. “I should probably get going.”
“Okay.”
“Have a great day, Miss Onassis, and keep up the good work!” Her professional smile never faltered. “I’ll see you back on board.”
“Sure, see you there.”
With that, Melanie hustled away, the invisible walls of class and service once again separating them.
What a mess . Alex had spent so many years working on the reflexes of anxiety, the impulse to over-explain or justify herself that only served to make a situation more complicated. And she knew through her work that feeling guilty about privilege or wealth was ultimately an exercise in self-indulgence. If you want to change things, you take action, and if you’re that concerned with your advantages, there are plenty of ways to offset them. She herself had written many such lines into videos and mailers for Congressman Stephens, things like, “ I don’t care if a billionaire is a good person or not. I just care that we are taxing him.”
But there she was, desperate to prove that despite her presence on the yacht, she was not of the yacht—not like the others were. She still needed to be perceived a certain way, even if it served no purpose other than to reassure herself. At the thought of the group back on board, she swiped open her phone to turn off airplane mode, forfeiting a day’s worth of roaming charges to see what was happening in the group chat. To her surprise, there was only one new message, in a separate WhatsApp conversation from the rest of the boat.
Dev: Are you okay?
She sighed at the sight of the question, typing out a few answers before settling on:
Alex: I’m fine, thanks
As soon as she sent her answer, his status changed to “online.”
Dev: Are you coming back to the boat?
Alex: Of course lol
Dev: Well, I don’t know, I didn’t want to assume. There are waffles!
She always liked the way Dev texted—so formal, almost professional. Just like Danial, now that she thought of it.
Alex: I’m more of a savory breakfast gal
Anyway, if everyone is worried about me you can tell them I’m fine. I just went for a run
Dev: Okay.
His status changed from “typing” to “online” three separate times before his next messages appeared.
Dev: I also just wanted to say that if you’re feeling weird about last night, please don’t. Everything is fine.
Alex: I mean, I feel a little weird. We did get kicked out of a karaoke bar
Dev: Well, it’s not your fault. And it’s really not the end of the world.
It only occurred to her now that getting kicked out of an establishment for fighting really wasn’t a big deal to them. Just like it was no big deal to talk openly about their drug use back at school, or to show up an hour late to a dinner reservation, as they had last night. There was no existential risk, no lingering sense of humiliation, no reason for it to be anything more than a funny story to talk about over breakfast. It was a relief, yes, but it was also infuriating—just another way in which they lived in a different universe than her. A twinge of pettiness worked its way into her reply:
Alex: Didn’t you guys say you didn’t want any more drama? Lol
Dev: Well, first of all, Guy said that. And second of all, you aren’t the drama.
Dan got way too drunk, but that Enzo guy really was being a creep.
Her heart jumped at the gossip.
Alex: What did he do?
Dev: He was saying all kinds of stuff
Typing again, then stopping. Twice this time.
Dev: I didn’t catch all of it, but he was kind of… bragging about you. Mostly to Dan.
Alex: Bragging about me?
Dev: You know
Bragging about how much you liked him, kind of. It was gross.
Even by text, he sounded embarrassed to describe the lack of gallantry, and she smiled at his essential politeness.
Alex: Ugh, I’m sorry he was like that.
Dev: Not your fault.
Anyway, if you want to come with us, we’re about to head up to town after breakfast. The ladies want to do a little shopping.
Alex: No thanks
I’ve just run around the whole town, I’d rather chill for a little bit. And eat some waffles
Dev: :)
She clicked her phone’s screen off, slipping it back in her armband. A creeping regret worked its way through her body as she replayed her conversation on the street. Laughing off Danial’s defense of her was probably a little cruel—even in his drunken state, he was trying to do the right thing. In his mind, it probably felt like a gesture of friendship, and she didn’t need to berate him like she had.
But she couldn’t help herself. When it came to him, she only had two possible modes: infuriated, and some other nameless feeling she did everything to avoid. As often happened, she thought back to that afternoon before the grad party, the very moment she’d set her letter on his desk without even the foresight to put it in a sealed envelope. Thinking of it always made her wince.
If she could reverse that one action, everything would be different. She wouldn’t feel trapped in this social group, forced into proximity with the one person she most wanted to avoid. The stress of self-doubt wouldn’t plague her the same way, wouldn’t leave her constantly reconsidering her words or terrified of getting truly close to people. That letter was the first and last time she had said I love you to a man, and deep down, she knew that wasn’t really his fault. When it came to how spectacularly that night exploded in her face, she only had herself to blame.