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I can feel my heart thudding in my molars. My thumb scrolls through the list, faster and faster, my panic rocketing higher at every new ticket price.
“I can’t afford any of these. What am I supposed to do?” I purchased a round trip already, and that nearly wiped me out.
Why didn’t I think about how expensive this was going to be? And I can’t wait three days to go back. I just can’t.
Nadia yanks my phone out of my grip. I’m too stunned to react, and I watch in disbelief as she taps the screen and walk over to her purse. By the time she whips out her credit card and enters the numbers, I realize what she’s about to do.
But before I can say anything, she taps the screen, and my phone vibrates as the confirmation email comes through.
“Done,” she declares.
“Nadia!” I shout, jumping off the bed. “No! You can’t do that!”
“The hell I can’t!”
“This is too much! I don’t deserve?—”
She jabs a finger at me to shut me up. “Don’t youdarefinish that sentence.”
I swallow the words down, choking on them. “It’s too much money.”
“Nothing is too much for you, Emily.” Offering my phone back to me, she cocks her head and smiles. “You worked your ass off to plan me the best bachelorette party in the entire world. You didn’t have to do that, but you did. Because you care about me, right?”
“Right,” I admit weakly.
“Then accept that I care about you too. More than anyone else.” Slipping her hands over mine, she stares into my eyes. “What you’re going through is serious, and I can’t help with the grief you’re about to face. But I can still send you home to face it.”
The tears are harder to fight than ever before. “Thank you. I swear I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”
“Pay me back by taking care of yourself,” she urges me warmly. “Promise me.”
“I will.” Giving her a firm hug, I hold my face against her shoulder a moment. I really don’t think I deserve this act of kindness, but I also need it. I’m desperate for it. Gathering myself, I rush toward the bathroom. “I need to change.”
“I’ll help pack your bag,” she calls after me.
At the large, shell-shaped sink, I rinse off my hands and face. The soap I scrub myself with smells like lemons. I fight back a wave of sadness and instead replace it with something worse:
Hope.
Maybe I’ll cross paths with Konstantin again someday.
I’m a pathetic dreamer. But thinking about him reminds me of something.
“Nadia,” I say as I exit the bathroom, “let me leave your trip itinerary for you. I had a lot planned. I still want you to do all of it.”
“I’ll be sure to take a disgusting number of photos for you,” she says.
I pull out my sheet of notes. It details everything over the next three days. She’s going to love the light blue Fiat I ordered to be dropped off at the hotel tomorrow.
Yet all I can think of is Konstantin’s dark Lamborghini.
With a pen, I scribble new instructions at the bottom of the page.
Someone told me Salerno has great views of the sea. And try the limoncello. They make them with the local lemons, Sfusato Amalfitano. Just remember to sip them, because they’re strong.
Nadia accompaniesme on the three-hour long trip to the airport with me, even though I tell her she doesn’t have to. The flight won’t leave for another eight hours.
I’ve changed into cropped tan joggers with a matching hoodie, my ponytail pulled through a yellow baseball cap. I need to do all I can to be comfortable when I’m facing a ten-hour plane ride.
