19. Corfu Town, Greece
19
CORFU TOWN, GREECE
Now
“A -L-E-X O-N-A-S-S-I-S,” she clarified, taking her time with each letter.
“Ah.” The strangely young receptionist smiled, looking up at Alex from her computer screen. “You are Greek.”
“Well, my ancestors were.” She smiled back.
“Okay, Miss Onassis, I have you in a double room, city view, for two nights.”
“That’s right.”
Alex looked around at the hotel lobby, the terra cotta tiles on the floor and the sparse blue-and-white decor on the walls. The hotel was tiny, and reasonably priced, and much more than she needed to be comfortable. She had no right to feel anything but gratitude for her ability to escape a painful situation on a moment’s notice. It was a freedom she’d dreamed of affording her whole life. But her heart still felt so heavy, unassuaged even by the many WhatsApp messages from Paul that assured her he wasn’t angry and would find some kind of reasonable explanation as to why she’d left.
Her anxiety often manifested this way, especially in her younger days when it was completely unmanaged: panic rose up within her to an untenable pitch, and in response she’d make some shoddy, ill-advised decision that she regretted almost as soon as it was too late to take it back. Now that she was in her cooling-off period, it was time to reconsider every other decision that had led her to this point. Even if things with Danial would have been painfully awkward, she objectively could have stayed on the boat. She could have toughed it out, and not put Paul in the position of explaining her sudden absence. If anything, his kindness only made her feel worse, undeserving of him as much as she was of Danial.
And Danial, well, he hadn’t texted her at all—not that she expected him to. Their conversation had left her churning with regret and embarrassment, full of follow-up questions she wouldn’t dare ask. She wanted to know more about his mother, about his own feelings about that night at the party and what came after, about so much else. But it was clear that her petulant need to punish him with that video was enough to finally drive a permanent wedge between them. And she had no one to blame but herself this time, no moral wiggle room that she could occupy for another decade. They’d finally experienced true intimacy together, and it was glorious, but there was simply too much emotional calcification between them to share anything more than a few stolen moments on a boat trip. Even if she wasn’t mature enough to draw that line, he was—and maybe she should be grateful for that.
“We have a card already,” the receptionist continued. She turned around, grabbing an old-fashioned key with a heavy wooden tag from the wall behind her. “I will use that for the incidentals?”
“That’s great.”
“There will be breakfast every morning on the terrace from seven to ten o’clock, and the WiFi password is on the desk in your room. Please let me know if you have any questions.”
Alex nodded a thank you before rolling her suitcase over to the miniscule elevator, taking it up three painfully slow floors to her even more miniscule room. She looked around, taking it in. There was a double bed with extremely starched sheets and a television that couldn’t have been more than fifteen inches across, mounted just above a basic wooden writing desk where she immediately slung down her purse. The paint was scuffed in places, flaking from the baseboards and warping slightly under the window air conditioning unit. She had worried the hotel would feel like an unbearable downgrade from her cabin, but once inside, she found that its simplicity was surprisingly reassuring. She turned the television on to a Greek weather station, the sounds of the language washing over her as she opened her suitcase on the folding stand from the single closet.
It had been in Greece, over ten years ago now, that she had first learned the joy of doing things when no one was looking. Prior to the fourteen months she had spent in the country, her entire life had been a race to a never-ending series of finish lines, all designed to impress someone else. She was the exceptional A student in Rochester, the all-state gymnast and debate team star, the one who had to succeed enough to make up for the other children her parents were unable to have. Then she was the scholarship kid at Columbia, clinging to the bottom rung of the upper echelons, outdoing herself at every turn to prove her worth to them—and then, specifically, to Danial. But then, finally, she found herself in Greece, where no one was watching. She often thought that she grew up more in the solitude of that time than she ever had, before or since.
The quiet buzz of an incoming message vibrated from inside her purse. Without thinking, Alex reached over to the writing desk – nothing was much further than arm’s length in this room – and slipped it out of its dedicated pocket.
Bee: Hey – everything okay? You missed waffles at breakfast again!
Alex only looked at the message for a moment, struck by its simple kindness in light of her childish behavior. She felt her body sink beneath her, settling down on the chair as her eyes moved over the words a second time. Alex wanted to write back that she was not okay, that she could use some of her grounded energy right now, that she would drain her bank account for an emergency astrological session which could give some explanation for her constant missteps. But instead, she sent back a simple
I’m good, thank you for asking.
She set her phone down, leg bouncing up and down as she considered what she’d written. Her mind went to that person she became in Greece, the one who was full of unapologetic, curious energy, the one who never felt the need to be someone else. That person felt so different from the one she’d been the past few months, in anticipation of the trip and even more so on the Verseau .
Before she had a chance to think better of it, she picked her phone back up, typing a follow-up question that better self would have no problem asking:
Alex: Btw, what was that astrology app you were talking about?
Bee: MOONBEAM.
;)
Hours later, Alex scanned the scenery of Corfu Town from behind her sunglasses, stirring the striped paper straw in her coffee. She had found herself a perfect spot on a bustling corner, a café with an outdoor table where she could enjoy her ice-cold frappe and the novel she’d barely made progress on since boarding the boat. There were a few old Greek men at a table behind her, and she busied herself with sifting through their conversation for the words she understood, unbothered by the occasional drift of their cigarette smoke. Corfu had plenty of tourists—more British than any other, a fact that Sophie had warned them about with much derision—but this place felt perfectly local.
Alex had already visited the remaining stops, Mykonos and Rhodes, on the boat’s itinerary, but it was her first time in Corfu, and she almost felt lucky to have left the boat when she did. In truth, she’d hated Mykonos, though it was possibly due to the fact that she’d been a broke twenty-three-year-old who burned through a week of tips on her first night. She’d half-overheard the group’s plans for Mykonos: they would start at an exclusive rooftop restaurant and then migrate to the kind of nightclub where you don’t even sit for less than five thousand euros, and laughed at the memory of having been there when she could barely afford a sandwich.
Even without the spectacular fallout with Danial, though, she had no desire to join them. Extravagant dining experiences and shopping were simply not aligned with what she wanted to get out of travel. She loved food, of course, but she also loved discovering places. It was easy for her to bank tens of thousands of steps in a single day, wandering tiny city streets or going for a long, relaxing run. She liked to eavesdrop, to haggle, to spend indulgent hours at a café, watching the world go by. And upscale travel often meant removing yourself from a place, despite having come to see it. The guests at the resort where she’d once worked would frequently spend their entire stay within the grounds, totally disinterested in what the actual city of Athens had to offer.
Alex opened her book to where she’d left off, doing her best to reorient herself and train her eyes on the words. But the novel might as well have been written in hieroglyphics, for all her distraction: her interest kept flitting over to the crossbody bag resting on the bistro chair next to her, where her phone was waiting inside. The video on Horace was quickly going viral, bombarding her with so many notifications that she had to delete a few work-related apps. Normally, when a work assignment achieved escape velocity, she refreshed it obsessively with a thrilling pride. She loved to see the numbers tick upward, the inevitable debates forming in the comments from people well outside of their core audience. But this time, the thought of it just made her sick to her stomach—every milestone meant a compounding problem for Danial come Monday morning.
What she’d told Danial during that last argument was true: it was her job to take on firms like Horace. But she had to admit, at least to herself, that the blinding righteousness she felt when she’d commissioned the video was more than a little personal. She wished with a wincing clarity that she had given him the heads up. She wished that their history—however imperfect—had pushed her toward empathy and not malice.
From inside her bag, her phone began to buzz. She set down her book and slowly began to fish it out, terrified and hopeful about what might be waiting on the screen.
ELENA ONASSIS hit her like a pie in the face.
“Hi, Mom,” she deadpanned, swiping open the call to audio only.
“Hi, baby,” Elena replied, sounding unusually gentle. Something was up. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, just reading my book. What’s up?”
“I just wanted to check up on you, see how you were doing. Dad says ‘hi.’”
From somewhere in the room, Alex heard her father’s voice rise up with a half-shouted “Hey, kiddo.”
“Hi, Dad,” she replied, keeping her answers short. “I’m doing fine, thanks.”
“How’s life on the boat?”
That was the thing about Alex’s mother: she knew that getting a straight answer out of her daughter on sensitive issues was nearly impossible, so she would walk around her evasiveness instead, erecting blockades at every exit until Alex was forced to tell the truth.
“It’s great.” This wasn’t entirely a lie: life was great on the boat—she just wasn’t on it at the moment.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Elena replied, choosing her words carefully. “What’s the plan for today?”
“Just exploring the town, grabbing some food, you know.”
“With Danial?”
Alex’s heart dropped into her stomach, her tone dipping into an icy self-preservation: “Why would you ask that?”
“Because you were with him all day yesterday.”
Right. She’d FaceTimed them from the Greek Theater, back before she managed to uncannily sabotage her own happiness yet again.
“Sure, yeah. Umm, no, I’m taking a day to myself right now.”
“Going for a long walk?”
Alex could feel her mother putting up those blockades, trying to kettle her into vulnerability, and a white-hot flash of resentment rose up from deep within her.
“Yes, Mom,” she hissed, “I’m going for a long walk. I’m eating a third of my bodyweight in protein, I’m sleeping eight hours, and I’m doing strength training exercises whenever I pass a heavy object. Are you happy?”
“Don’t talk to me that way.” Elena tapped into the inherent wellspring of maternal authority, something she rarely did.
“Sorry, you’re right,” Alex conceded. “I’m just a little tired.”
There was a pause, and Alex heard the familiar popping sound of her mother opening the top of her smoothie bottle. She took a sip before continuing.
“You know, I saw the video this morning,” she said, tentatively. “That’s Danial’s company, isn’t it?”
It was unlike her to be so direct, but then, this was an unusual situation.
“What do you want ?” Alex whined, feeling the now-familiar tears push up behind her eyes. It was exhaustion as much as it was regret, sadness as much as anger.
“Did he know you were doing that?”
“I don’t want to talk about this, please.”
“We don’t have to talk about it, but—”
“Mom, I just want to be left alone for a bit, okay?” The tears were slipping free now, full of the emotion she’d been repressing all morning.
Elena paused before responding, undoubtedly modulating to something much softer than she would normally say.
“Lex, you know I only care about you.”
It was true, but Alex often feared that the version of herself that her mother cared for was a version that had never actually existed. That the objective of her care was to coerce her into becoming this other, better self. Her definition of success had never quite aligned with Elena’s, turning each of her accomplishments into her mother’s consolation prize. Alex thought, rather bitterly, that she would take infinitely less care from her mother if it meant more genuine support .
“I know you do.” She inhaled sharply, willing herself to calm.
She knew that the Greek men behind her were tuned into the scene—she heard the words woman and call, among others—but she couldn’t find it within herself to care. Keeping control over her voice, she continued, slowly: “But I also know that all you really care about is whether I blew up another potential relationship.”
“That’s not fair.”
“You wish I hadn’t messed things up with Danial.” That familiar, delirious laugh of total regret overtook her, “God, you wish I hadn’t messed things up with Paul , even though he’s literally gay!”
“I love Paul.”
Alex let out a noise of frustration, somewhere between a groan and a yelp. “Mom, that’s not the point. You have never once, not in my entire career, called me because a video was going viral, but now you’re magically interested. And I know it’s because the video means I’m not going to run off into the sunset with some perfect, rich guy. Now my work is worth calling about.”
“Alex,” her mother started, pained, “can we switch to FaceTime? I want to see you.”
“No,” she asserted, rather pathetically, wiping under her eyes. “I’m fine.”
“Baby, I know you’re not fine.” Alex could hear the tears welling up in her mother’s voice, that familiar sympathetic crying. It was part of the reason Alex had worked so hard at becoming the kind of person who didn’t cry: because it always became a family affair. “Where are you right now?”
With every exit point effectively barricaded, Alex finally answered honestly, offering her mother the truth all at once so there was no place left to pry.
“I’m in Corfu. In Greece. I had a horrible fight with Danial last night about the video, okay? So I got a hotel for a few nights to clear my head, and then I’m meeting everyone at the wedding. Now you have the whole story.”
“Lexi, honey,” her mother started, assuming a familiar tone of financial concern, “are you sure paying for a hotel is a good idea right now?”
“ Jesus Christ !” Alex shouted, the Greek men at the table behind her rustling enough for her to instantly drop back into a harsh whisper. “I am thirty-two years old. I do not need to explain my budget to anyone, okay? So stop asking.”
“Well,” her mother volleyed back, “I wouldn’t worry so much if you weren’t determined to push everyone away.” Alex suddenly remembered that her dad was also on the call, a silent observer.
“You mean I push men away.”
“Well that’s part of it, sure.”
There it was. The unacknowledged reality that underpinned nearly every one of their conversations. There was an invisible clock ticking somewhere just out of frame, one labeled marriage and babies, and it grew louder with every passing year.
“I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can,” Elena pushed back, “But marriage—” she corrected herself, “ partnership makes things a little easier. Even just financially!”
Out of rage, out of disappointment in herself, Alex hissed, “Really? How is marriage working out for you, financially?”
“How dare you.” Her mother sounded genuinely shocked at her daughter’s audacity, and mildly disgusted. “Your father is the best thing to ever happen to me.”
Alex could hear him quietly saying his wife’s name in the background, an effort to calm her down.
“And it’s really pretty crazy,” Elena continued, Alex picturing her waving away her husband’s protest, “that this is the first time you’ve even brought him up since you left. You haven’t even asked how he’s doing. Which is actually much better, by the way!”
“Elena,” Alex heard him say from the background, “I don’t need anyone worrying about me.”
“Quiet, Nick,” she shushed him, before turning her attention back to her daughter. “Every time you get around these people, you become so obsessed with what they think of you that you can’t think of anyone else . And I’m sick of it.”
“That’s not true,” Alex rebutted, rather lamely.
“Yes, it is. And you ought to be embarrassed. If you don’t want me to ask about the video, or about Danial, I won’t. I won’t ask about anything. You have my word on that. Goodbye.”
And with that, her mother hung up without waiting for a response—something she hadn’t done in nearly a decade.
Alex looked behind her to find the group of men openly staring at her, then turned back to her table, where her frappe had melted into an unappealing brown liquid. Her stomach churned, embarrassed at having such a public argument, downright ashamed for having spoken to her mother that way. She fished in her bag for a few euros to leave on the table, grabbed her book, and walked briskly away from the scene of the crime.