Page 14 of When We Had Forever
“Really? Why that?”
“Because I’ve never done it before.”
His eyebrows jump. “You’ve never been to Mexico? Spring break in the Bahamas?”
“I’ve never even been to Canada.” I grip the seat as he guides us through another serpentine curve. “Which is crazy, because I’ve dreamed about other countries since I was little. But the closest I could ever get was reading. Then writing my own stories, eventually. In high school, I used to make up these travelogues about all the languages I’d heard, the streets I’d wandered, the new foods I’d discovered. I was obsessed with writing it down, and I’ve always wondered if reality would match up with the dream.”
His long fingers drum against the wheel. “So that’s why you’re moving to Greece? To find out?”
“Yeah. That, and...” I trail off. There’s another reason. A fantasy, more like. One I haven’t even told Kate about. But the confession will only make me sound starry-eyed and naive, so I pretend to find importance in the greenery rushing past the window.
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s...nothing.”
“It doesn’tsoundlike nothing.” Michael’s eyes slit. “Let me guess. You want to be a travel writer? Combine your two passions into a way to make a living?”
The question lands low and solid in my belly, and for a moment, I can’t speak. I can only stare at him while something inside me rearranges itself.
“Am I off base?”
“No.” My voice comes out flimsy, no more than a breath. “But...how’d you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Read my mind.”
The smile that never quite leaves his lips flares again. “I didn’t. I just paid attention while you talked. Put the pieces together.”
I suck in air so hard my bottom lip folds under my teeth. Whatever’s happening right now, I have no idea how to handle it. Kate and my parents listen well enough, but with them, expectation lurks just beneath the surface. I only have to say the wrong thing,wantthe wrong thing, for the skeptical glances to begin.
Meanwhile, Michael’s expression holds such obvious acceptance that something suspiciously close to tears tickles at my eyes.
I clear my throat. Twice. It still doesn’t chase away the burn.
Thankfully, the road claims his attention again. “My only question is...if leaving the country is important enough that you’d spend your last day doing it, why haven’t you already? You said the closest you could get was reading, which makes it sound like something was holding you back.”
I gulp. I almost wish he weren’t so astute. My eyes drop to my lap as memories march past—all those nights when my mother camped out on the living room couch, poring over old photographs and building mountains of tear-stained tissues.
I think of the times she waited outside under the porchlight if I overshot curfew by a single minute. And my sophomore year of college, when I broached the subject of studying abroad in New Zealand.
Not a chance, she’d said, twisting her wedding ring around her finger, the way she always does when she’s anxious.Don’t you remember what happened to your brother? And to Margo? How can you even consider it?
How, indeed.
I look up. My gaze tangles with Michael’s.
Oh, god. I’m going to tell him. About all of it. How my brother, Jasper, died in another country the day I was born, how a fear of foreign places has held our family in a clenched fist ever since. How I spent my childhood burying my longings so deeply I fear I’ll forget them myself someday. How I once had two best friends, until Margo went off to a foreign-exchange program in high school and never came back, thus solidifying my parents’ terror forever.
Long-buried truths tumble up my throat like caged animals starving for freedom, and—
My phone rings.
I seal the words behind my lips, shaking myself. What the hell am I doing? I fish through my purse, then suppress a groan at the name on the screen.
My mother. How fitting.
I flick the button. “Hello?”
