Chapter Two
The ride to the hotel is about a half an hour, and my mom spends it on the phone. I stare out the window trying to capture every flicker of beauty I can. I can’t believe I’m here in Europe, in Spain, on the beautiful island of Mallorca. It’s surreal. It’s so different from what I’m used to in Texas, and nothing like what I imagined it to be. All of the Google Maps Street View searching, Instagram reels, and TikToks didn’t prepare me for the real thing. The air inside the car is cool, and yet I can smell the sea. When we arrive at the hotel, it’s also more beautiful than the internet prepared me for. It looks like a castle, completely made of stone, and rests on the edge of the sea, and the crashing waves can be heard from the valet circle. Luxurious cars are lined around the curve of the cobblestone driveway, and the valets are so quick to open our doors, grab our bags and haul them onto a rolling cart, escorting us to the lobby before I can catch a breath. Once inside the lobby, a handsome man dressed in a white shirt and khaki linen pants offers us a welcome drink. It’s dark red with a lot of ice and a giant orange slice on the edge.
“Calimandria for you; it’s our delicious and refreshing specialty here. Welcome to Mallorca.” His smile is so welcoming and warm as I reach for the drink.
My mother’s hand gently pushes at my wrist, pulling the drink toward her.
“You shouldn’t—” she begins.
I yank the glass back rebelliously. “It’s also my summer, remember? And it’s one drink.” I pretend to plea, but either way I’m having this damn drink.
With a heavy sigh she grabs the other one and raises her glass to clink it to mine. I realize, with a bit of sadness weighing on my chest, we’ve never cheersed before, and this would likely be the last time. Stop being so ominous , I tell myself, plastering on a smile.
“Cheers to your summer, our summer, in my favorite place on earth. I do hope you make lasting lifetime memories. Let’s enjoy our time here together?”
I nod, smiling and taking a sip of the ice-cold cocktail. It’s slightly bitter but in an addicting way. It tastes so fresh and exotic. I’m already beginning to feel like I’m morphing into a different woman here on this island, and we just arrived. I’m easily influenced by the small things in life, which I hope will make every moment here even more life-changing.
“This way, Senora Pera.” The man who gave us our drinks waves the hand that isn’t holding the empty tray.
I follow his eyeline to the reception desk as my mom corrects him to say “Miss.” There’s no one behind it as we approach. My mom’s phone rings in her bag, and she digs in it while we wait, downing the rest of her drink. I try to keep up and decide to just chug it. It’s refreshing and warms my stomach. I hand the glass back to the man and my mom does the same. Leaning my elbow and forearm onto the empty counter, I try to ignore my growling stomach as the cocktail slowly kicks in.
I jump in surprise when a young woman with bright red curly hair pops up from behind the counter.
“Sorry.” She lets out a loud laugh.
The sound is so unique that I instantly smile.
Her eyes are bright green, so light that I wonder if they’re contacts. One of her eyes has a half-finished black line across the lid and she’s holding an eyeliner pen in one hand. There’s a shiny piece of tape stuck to her eyelid.
“I saw this tutorial on TikTok where you use tape to get the perfect cat eye!” Her voice is as full of energy as her laugh. “But I haven’t mastered it yet… obviously.” She shrugs, beaming from ear to ear.
My mom groans and taps her credit card against the counter. I read the girl’s name tag. Amara. What a pretty name. It matches her perfectly.
“Sorry… Sorry, Mrs.—” she begins, but my mom cuts her off.
“It’s Miss Pera. Not Missus.”
“Sorry, sorry.” Amara’s eyes drop to the graphite counter her computer is resting on.
“It’s okay. Don’t worry, she’s just crabby because she didn’t sleep on our flight.” I try to make the receptionist feel better. “And calling her ‘Missus’ is a sore spot for her.”
My mom isn’t always rude to strangers, but when she is—it’s incredibly embarrassing. For someone who came from nothing, she sure seems to forget that sometimes. Just like she suddenly isn’t speaking her native language, as if to prove a point that she is far removed from this place and her past.
Amara tries not to laugh, or even smile, but she can’t contain it. I grin along with her, at my mother’s expense.
“We have the suites. Under SetCorp, but my name is Isolde Pera, and both rooms are under my name.” My mom slides the credit card to her.
“Ohhh, SetCorp people in the flesh. You’re technically my boss then. Fancy,” Amara responds with humor and sarcasm.
God, I love this woman’s energy and fire and I’ve only been in her presence for a few minutes. She’s bold; even working in hospitality at a luxurious hotel, she doesn’t seem to water herself down for all the obnoxious wealthy people she must have to deal with daily. I love meeting authentic people, which is sadly rare in my small world, but I can already feel myself being inspired by her and her carefree sense of self.
“Here are your room keys.” Amara hands us small, circular pieces of wood.
“What is this?” My mom turns it in her hand, studying it.
“We’re eco-friendly now, so our keys are made from recycled wood particles. We don’t use any plastic bottles, and we even compost the food that people don’t finish. We’re one of the first hotels on the island to have such extreme eco vibes,” she explains to my mom.
My mom, who tries to keep up with everything new, nods, looking a little confused, but I know for sure that the moment she’s in her room, she will be looking up the environmentally friendly wave coming across Europe. It’s not so big in Dallas but hopefully will be someday, and knowing my mother, she will certainly find a way to help SetCorp capitalize off of it for their future properties.
As we follow the doorman across the lobby, I try to take it all in. There’s just so much to look at. I can’t believe this place will be my home for the summer. The lobby walls are all made of gray stones from floor to high ceiling. Ottomans and couches are arranged throughout the massive space, and huge mirrors and chandeliers wrapped in what looks like moss dangle from above. There are plants everywhere; it’s modern and earthy and perfect. I don’t want to think about how much money SetCorp is losing for us to be here this long, since half the hotel is being occupied by this team, but I know the reason we came will make their money back tenfold, that’s Isolde Pera’s specialty. Plus, since they own this hotel, it’s probably a tax write-off anyway. Another example of the way the rich always get richer.
I wave goodbye to the lively woman behind the desk, and she tells me to come find her if I get bored, as the elevator doors close. We ride to the tenth and highest floor, and the doors open slowly. I follow quietly, reading the lit-up room numbers on the floor in front of the doors. There seem to only be a couple rooms on this floor, but of course my mom’s and mine are right next to each other.
“You can have whichever you like more.” She waves her hand toward the doors.
“1011 has the best view of the water and the garden, and 1012 has the best view of the street and the coast,” the doorman explains.
Our home in Dallas has a beautiful, quiet garden. I want to see people, hear them, and feel like I’m a part of the city.
“I’ll do 1012, please?” I’m positive both rooms are spectacular, but since my mom gave me a choice, I’m going to take it.
“If it gets too noisy, we can switch,” she tells me.
The doorman opens the door with his own wooden chip and rolls my suitcase inside. The first things I notice are how high the ceilings are and how light and bright the room is. The thick forest-green curtains are pulled back, allowing the sun to cast onto the hardwood floors. There’s a sitting room with a couch and two chairs, a coffee table, and a television hanging on the wall. I can’t imagine that I’ll use it while here, but maybe I’ll just turn it on for the hell of it, so as not to waste it. The color pallet of the room—green, beige, cream, and brown—is calming and comforting, washing away the awkwardness of staying in such an expensive room for such a long time. I already feel at home in a way, excitement buzzing under my skin.
“Wow. This is… the room is so beautiful,” I say to my mom, turning around to thank her, but I find my room empty.
No surprise. I shrug, relieved to be alone and able to take in every single detail uninterrupted. I touch nearly every inch of the living room before making it to the bedroom area. The bed has more pillows on it than I can count and looks as soft as a cloud. When I plop onto it, confirming its cloudlike texture, my body melts into the mattress. I spread my arms and legs out and wave them, like I’m making snow angels. Staring up at the ceiling, my chest feels like it may explode with excitement. Have I ever felt this alive, this awake in my life?
I roll over and look out the massive window at the people on the street. “Nope. Absolutely not,” I audibly reply to myself, my voice echoing through the empty rafters, filling the room.