Chapter Eleven ~ Fiona
“Fi? Fiooona.”
Mila’s voice jolts me into the present. I nearly fumble my phone as I raise it back to my ear. I’ve been zoning out more and more lately, getting lost in my own thoughts even when I’m in the middle of a conversation. “Yeah, sorry, Mila.”
After a few days of playing phone tag and leaving each other rambling messages, usually followed by texts, I’ve finally got my best friend on the phone.
“That’s okay, my lovely. Do you want to talk some other time?”
“No,” I say quickly. “Unless you need to get going.”
“I have another twenty minutes or so before my cab arrives.”
It’s the middle of the night in Prague. Mila’s tour ended the day before yesterday, and after spending some time with her family, she’s heading back to London.
Part of me wishes I were hopping on a plane to London too.
Or that London was only a stopover for Mila, with her final destination being Toronto.
We’re used to going long stretches of time without seeing each other, but the distance has been especially difficult for me since Dad died.
I’ve told Mila repeatedly that I’m fine and she shouldn’t change her plans to come here, but a secret part of me wants her to insist on coming.
She’s a thread keeping me anchored to a life that feels like it’s slowly unravelling.
“Tell me more about your exciting day,” Mila says. “Do you think you’ll get a credit in Joss’s film?”
Before I zoned out, I filled Mila in on my adventure as an extra in the movie Joss is co-starring in.
I’d tagged along with Mum when she went to Sweet Escapes to handle some business, and Joss found me almost immediately and asked if I’d take the place of the extra who’d run off the set in a panic just moments before.
“You’ll be perfect,” she told me in a hurried whisper as she guided me toward the storage room, which had been turned into a makeshift dressing room for the cast. “You’re photogenic, confident, and you have serving experience, so we won’t have to worry about nerves taking over and you dumping coffee on us. ”
And so instead of helping Mum with the books as I’d intended, I’d stepped into a background acting role. After that, I spent the rest of the day helping the crew with various odd jobs, both around the café and in the downtown area where they’re filming.
“If anything, it’ll be something like ‘woman serving coffee’,” I say.
Mila laughs. “Thrilling nonetheless. Any credit would be a step up from the other work we’ve done as extras over the years.”
Mila and I have developed a knack for stumbling across film sets, both in London and while travelling. Our claim to fame is making it into the background of two episodes of BBC’s Sherlock. There are usually Sherlock fans on our London tours, so that little tidbit is always fun to pull out.
“Anything else interesting happening in Honeywell?” Mila asks. “Have you spent any more time with that hunky ex of yours?”
I laugh under my breath. Mila has known about Nathan since the week we met during training in London.
We went out for drinks one night, and once I had a bit of liquor in me, the stories about my childhood and teen years with Nathan came pouring out—complete with the pictures I couldn’t bring myself to delete from my phone—until Mila knew pretty much our entire history.
In one of my recent messages during our two days of phone tag, I told her in great detail about my conversation with Nathan, and how he’d offered a truce.
“We’re just friends, Mila,” I remind her. “And even that’s…new.”
“New-slash-old friends, yes, I’m aware. But friends spend time together, do they not? You and I are inseparable when we’re together.”
I smile slightly at this. I can picture her stretched out in a chair in her hotel room, her long legs thrown over the arm of the chair while her dark blonde hair cascades down the other side.
Now I wish we were video chatting, even though it’d probably make me miss her even more. “It’s not the same, and you know it.”
“And why is that? Because you don’t fantasize about seeing me naked?”
An indignant squawk escapes my lips. “I don’t fantasize about seeing Nathan naked, thank you very much.” Not anymore, anyway. Or at least not often.
“I do,” she says dreamily.
“Mila.”
She cackles. “Joking, joking. Sort of. Why is it different, though?”
“Because we’ve only recently called a truce. He could barely stand to be in the same room with me for years. It’s going to take time for us to really be friends again.”
I don’t add that I’m worried we’ll never be true friends again, not with so much history between us.
We may have started as friends, but we ended as so much more.
Over the years, all those platonic and romantic feelings intertwined to create a bond that was life-changing and profound.
Now I feel like we’re standing on unsteady ground, surrounded by the rubble of what was.
“And you have that time now,” Mila says. “You have to actually see him to work on a friendship.”
Once again, I wish we were video chatting so she could see the full extent of my eye roll. “What am I supposed to do? Ask him if he wants to go out for coffee or see a movie?”
“Well, yeah.” Her tone tells me the ‘duh’ is implied, which makes me stifle a laugh.
“He’s still in the habit of checking on Mae even though you’re home now, right?
So ask him to stay for dinner one night.
Or lunch or coffee, whatever. Mae could be the buffer until you’re more comfortable spending time together. ”
“That’s...not a bad idea,” I admit. I haven’t seen Nathan much since we called our truce the other day.
I’ve missed him the few times he’s stopped by, and I haven’t seen him while Mum and I have been out.
Since our friendship is tentative, I haven’t wanted to seek him out and push things.
I thought maybe it was best to let him take the lead and show up in whatever ways he’s comfortable with.
“I’ll try that and let you know how it goes. ”
“Yes, keep me posted. I want to hear every detail.” She draws out the ‘every’, and I can picture her wagging her eyebrows.
After what happened between Nathan and me last Christmas, I’m sure Mila expects a repeat, but I’ll be happy if we can be in a room together and manage to have a normal conversation.
“In the meantime, why don’t you get on social media?” she suggests. “People have been commenting on your last picture, asking where you are. A few people have even asked me where you are.”
“I’ve barely gone online since I arrived in Honeywell,” I say.
“Could be a good distraction.”
We talk for a few more minutes before Mila says she needs to go meet her cab.
After we hang up, I take her advice and open the BeSocial app on my phone.
Mila wasn’t kidding; I have dozens of notifications.
Every On the Go Travels tour manager has a social media account where we post pictures from our trips, talk about specific tours, and give travel tips, along with the occasional personal post. Even though our accounts aren’t ‘officially’ affiliated with On the Go, there are guidelines for what we are and aren’t allowed to post—no promoting other travel companies or doing sponsored posts of any kind, for example.
Those of us with popular accounts get bonuses a few times a year for promoting the company and bringing in new clients.
I’d do it even without the extra incentive since I love connecting with fellow and wannabe travellers alike, plus highlighting the places I love, whether it’s an entire city, a restaurant, a landmark, or one of the local specialty tours we take our clients on.
I scroll through my notifications. Among them are comments from strangers, acquaintances, and friends asking where I’ve been, telling me I’m missed, and wondering when I’ll be posting new content.
ciao_bella_1313: Hoped to see you in Rome last week, bella! Missing your pretty face. Hit me up next time you’re in town.
izadora_bakes: Hello Fiona! Thank you so much for this lovely picture of our treacle tart and house blend. Please let me know next time you’re in the bakery—dessert and coffee are on me!
travelling_canadian90: Just heard about your dad’s passing, Fi. So very sorry for your loss. I’m in Toronto until May, so let me know if there’s anything I can do. Sending lots of love.
wandering_girl876: Are you ever going to start that blog, Fiona?? We want to hear more of your stories and tips! Booking another On the Go tour soon and I hope to see you!
Tears prickle my eyes as I continue to scan the comments and DMs. It would take too long to reply to each one individually, so I like as many as I can, then answer a few messages from friends, co-workers, and long-time followers.
I close the app and scroll through the thousands of pictures on my phone until a favourite jumps out at me: one of Dad and me from the last time we were in Ireland together.
I upload it onto BeSocial, and try not to overthink as I write a caption.
My beloved dad, Seamus Murphy, passed away last month after a lengthy illness.
Some of you knew him as a best-selling author, or you might recognize him from magazines, newspapers, journals, social media, or even TV appearances.
I’ve been asked countless times over the years what he was like.
If he was really as kind as he seemed in interviews and at signings.
If his smile and contagious laugh melted my heart the way it did for others.
If he was as intelligent, curious, and articulate in person as he appeared on paper.