“Fuck. I’m embarrassed for him,” I whispered, incapable of keeping a grimace from spreading. My phone had been pinging nonstop since we left for LAX, and there wasn’t a single enticing message, confirming that my—now past—life wasn’t meant for me.
For a people pleaser, one who struggled to decline the most miniscule of favors, blocking these degenerate, forced acquaintances felt cathartic. It was my eighth severed tie since waking from a troubled in-flight nap; scary Gary was no longer my problem; never would be again. Technically no one in the US was anymore.
The last remaining American in my life was snoring beside me. Dhakirah’s too pretty face had basically fused to the plastic window; her neck would probably creak from its current positioning, but I didn’t have the heart to disturb her. It seemed like a great slumber, something which had been evading me.
As an immigrant eldest daughter, I had been molded into a too responsible worrier. So, the stress from deciding to relocate to Athens, Greece—a city I’d never visited—on extremely short notice, decimated my beauty sleep. There was too much that could go awry. It didn’t matter how impossible it was to think through every potential pitfall, my brain refused to give up trying. The tally was probably close to a thousand horrible scenarios now.
It was comforting to acknowledge that none were enough to deter this move yet.
Although my last few weeks were chaotic, it felt unbelievably amazing to sell off the useless junk I forgot about buying. Freeing to acknowledge that there were only three suitcases and a backpack to my name. I planned on living this lightly from now on, too. No more unnecessary bullshit; physical or metaphorical.
The recruiter for this new position couldn’t have called at a better time. My ex-boss had just shared there’d be another year of pausing on raises, so I was planning to quit anyway. Plus, the leases to both my car and studio apartment wrapped up two days ago. It was difficult to deny fate’s intervention. There wasn’t a single loose end. If anything, every signal since signing the offer letter to become Tha Fame Kala’s newest senior television producer further confirmed how kismet this situation was; and not just because the pay was unheard of for a daytime cooking show in Europe.
This was my factory reset. At the creaky age of thirty-three I was getting a redo on adulthood. The version I had lived for the last decade plus in Los Angeles hadn’t felt like any of it was for me. More like things were just constantly happening to me.
The most exhausting piece of this move thus far was pretending like I was undaunted, just so the naysayers left me the fuck alone. Literally everyone but Dhakirah found my decision unfathomable, with many taking the news as a joke initially. While on the other end of the reaction spectrum, my conservative and strict, Iranian immigrant parents would likely never speak to me again. They barely approved of my career in entertainment before, the fact this new gig was sending their only daughter to another continent, unmarried and childless, was basically a banishment-level offense.
I no longer remembered exactly which brawl kicked off the end of our relationship a few years ago, but I had been numb to their pressure since. I would never fit in my parent’s gilded, perfect Persian princess box. My quarterly visits were out of duty, not love. And as much as I did actually care for my younger brothers, Mo and Hassan, they didn't have the same experiences with Ma… and I couldn't help but resent them for it.
Basically, my family was just as uncomfortable as everything else I decided to abandon; I didn't have any regrets on that front.
Kirah was honestly the only human I ever needed; the only person who had my back no matter what, just as I had hers; it was why I asked her to crash my new adventure. Well, that and my best friend would definitely speed the transition: she was fluent in Greek and her parents owned an empty apartment in the middle of Athens. She had coincidentally been laid off from her PR firm three weeks ago, so the timing aligned perfectly. It was like destiny wanted us to have a hot girl summer in Greece before sorting our lives out.
Dhakirah’s next snore was loud enough to wake her. I chuckled as she cartoonishly startled; jolting before she rubbed her tired, sparkling green eyes with a groan. “Gammoto… Fuck a duck, that was such a dreamy dream.”
“Keanu or Pedro?” I asked.
“Both,” Kirah grumbled before yanking off her magenta bonnet to free her braids. I cackled because of course.
She was half-Greek, half-Ghanian but no one could guess their dad contributed any DNA, she and her older brother were both nearly carbon copies of their gorgeous Black mom. Although Demetrius was more so; my bestie had a very Greek nose and didn’t spend nearly as much time in the sun.
“Bad Bunny Benito was there, too. It was an unbelievable why choose. My consciousness better host an encore. Ten out of ten.” She was now pulling out her glittery landing kit with a frown, unzipping it to reveal an entire store’s worth of travel sized goods. “Ugh, I despise flying deathtrap aircon, my skin feels awful.”
Dhakirah was all about self-care; she was a triple Leo astrologically, so looking and feeling good were her priorities. Meanwhile, it was a troll’s life for me. As someone with six Pisces major placements I delighted going out in clothing that doubled as pajamas; even better if it was one-piece or a set, so it didn’t require any thoughts on styling. I sometimes enjoyed dressing up, but the inkling had become rarer as I aged. It was tough to motivate myself enough to put on the green skin tint that helped diffuse the genetic dark under-eye-bags, let alone wear a wire-bra. My tits were small enough to get away with those soft mesh and lacey ones in public and I obviously took full advantage of fate’s blessing.
We probably remained unnaturally close because of our contrasts, though. Kirah and I kept each other in alignment. Always had.
Before I could respond, the speakers overhead crackled. “We’re about twenty to thirty minutes out from Athens, folks. If you require the loo, now’s the time. Please start making your way back to your seats. There are sunny skies, and the temperature is at forty degrees Celsius, so we should have a fairly smooth descent. Flight attendants, prepare for landing.”
“Shit,” Dhakirah squeaked, emerald gaze darting around the cabin while she chewed into her, now glossy, lower lip. “I probably should’ve told you sooner. I didn’t know we were this close.”
“Told me what?” My eyes narrowed as her significantly brighter pair kept ping-ponging around in avoidance.
As much as I loved Kirah, she tended to make ‘easy’ snap decisions; judgements that didn’t always have either of our best interests in mind. It was usually with silly, low stakes crap. Like agreeing to a dinner spot in a group chat before checking whether her extreme peanut allergy or my pescatarian diet would a problem.
But with this visible discomfort? Dhakirah was literally squirming in her seat, struggling with spitting out whatever it was. Sure, I had plenty of guesses… and none of the options were pleasant. My gut had already hopped out without a parachute; it was plummeting the thousands of miles toward Greek soil. The compounded stress and lacking sleep turned my temples into drums as she gulped.
Calm down. Breathe. She wouldn’t call him. She knows how uncomfortable it is for you. She wouldn’t have. Even if he lives nearby.
He’s engaged. He and Kirah are basically strangers. She said they don’t talk anymore.
That’s your bestie for the restie. You can always trust her… Right?
As my heart thumped around nervously while I spun the gold nazar ring on my pointer finger, Dhakirah nervously rushed out: “The apartment is really old. There’s a lot of quirks. It hasn’t been updated since our parents moved out. We were kids the last time I was here… And you know Etrius has been living in Greece for a while, but he’s an overnight ferry away in Crete. He won’t be around permanently. Just to show us how stuff works… So, anyway, don’t hate me, but he’s picking us up from the airport.”
Wrong. Dead fucking wrong.
