Chapter 19
Sasha
My parents worry for me. At first, they were both so excited to see me, chatting away in Greek. Kissing my cheeks, stroking my hair.
Then they got a good look at my face.
They sit in the living room beside me, wringing their hands. Staring at me. Worried expressions etched on their faces.
They don’t know what to do with me.
I don’t know what to do with myself.
I just sit in the familiar leather armchair in the living room and stare out the window.
All I can see is his face.
The words of my letter run through my mind, haunting me. I made it short, brutal. So he won’t want to find me. I’ve no doubt that I’ve done the right thing. But it hurts all the same.
Carter,
I’m leaving.
Don’t come after me.
It’s over.
I’ll never be Bachman.
Sasha
I haven’t slept. I haven’t showered. My mother constantly brings me foods: baklava, tzatziki, salads, stuffed olives—all my favorites.
I haven’t taken a single bite.
I’ve heard their whispered words. They are considering calling Carter. Their English is very limited. They have trouble communicating with him. But they don’t know what else to do.
The morning the day after my arrival, I’m in my chair. I’m still wearing the same black workout outfit I’d changed into before I’d snuck to the airport. My hair is matted. My face streaked with tears.
My mother sits beside me. Holding my hand. Worrying over me. They’ve never seen me like this. I’ve never been like this before—I’m a complete and total wreck. I know I’ve made the right choice, but it hurts so badly inside I almost wish I were dead.
I look to my father. His gaze meets mine, heavy, sad.
He has no comforting words for me, he’s run out of them.
But we both know that I’ll be alright. That I’ll adjust to life back in Greece, here with my parents.
That I’ll rekindle friendships from my past, and though none will be as strong as the ones in New York, I’ll move on.
Here, where I can no longer hurt Carter.
There’s a knock at the door.
I knew the nosy neighbors would eventually get word I was here. That’s the way of the village. But I thought I’d have a bit more time. That my parents would hold them off for a few days at least.
My father opens the door. I don’t even bother looking to see who it is. I continue to stare out the window. A breeze blows, rustling the leaves of my parents’ olive tree. I ignore my parents’ hushed whispers.
Then I hear another voice.
I must be delirious. It’s been days since I’ve slept more than a few hours.
I turn to look over my shoulder.
Carter stands in the entryway of the room. His eyes are soft. Kind. Smiling. Full of joy and of love.
He’s dressed in a tux.
I must be dreaming.
Since it’s not real, I allow myself to smile despite my sadness.
He speaks softly. The joy turns to pain as he looks me over. “Hey there, baby girl.”
He moves toward me, as one would a wounded animal.
He kneels before me.
I can smell his familiar scent: cologne and Carter.
I reach out. I put my hand on his shoulder. My brow creases. I feel flesh and muscle and warmth.
He’s real.
“Carter?”
“Baby.” His arms are around me. I don’t know how it happens, but suddenly, he’s the one in the chair and I’m in his lap.
My face is buried in his chest.
I’m clutching his collar. I’m sobbing.
He’s shushing me. Stroking my hair, my back. Whispering, “Baby girl, I love you so much.”
I melt into him. He wraps his arms tighter around me.
My eyes close.
I cry myself to sleep in his arms.