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Chapter One
EVA
My father pulls his old green Subaru, “Subie-Doo,” up to the curb in front of the Redmond, Oregon, airport and stops. Leaving the engine running, he opens his door and hops out. “Come on, kid! Gotta get through security before the rush.”
I roll my eyes at the total lack of cars around us and reach into my backpack. When his door slams shut, I leave my parting gift on his seat, then climb out, hoisting my bag onto my shoulder. With a quick glance to make sure the whoopie cushion isn’t too obvious—the color matches his seat covers remarkably well—I shut my own door and head for the back of the car. “I can’t believe you’re dumping me at the curb.”
He pulls my small roller bag from the back and sets it on the sidewalk beside me. “You’re twenty-two years old. Security won’t let me go to the gate with you, so what’s the point of parking and trekking all the way in?” He waves a hand at the short-term parking lot, which does not illustrate his point. The airport is not very big, so even if he parked at the back of the short-term lot, it wouldn’t be a long walk.
I snap the handle to its highest position and slide my backpack straps over it. “When I started college, you visited me every weekend for the first term.”
“That was right after your mom left. I might have been lonely.” He hefts the larger, hard-sided case to the sidewalk.
I give him a level look. “Sure, but it’s been over three years. You still visited me eight times last year. Every month. And I was only in Eugene. Now I’m flying across the globe and you’re practically tossing me out the door as you swing past.” I’m not really surprised. He’s been a lot less clingy since he started dating Nica Holmes. Yes, Nica Holmes the actress. She’s been his celebrity crush for years, but they met last spring, and after a rocky start, they’ve become the “it” couple of Rotheberg.
Don’t get me wrong—I love Nica. She makes my dad happy, and she’s a nice person. Because of her job, she travels a lot, but Dad is making plans to join her on-set for Thanksgiving—since I won’t be here. And there are definitely perks to knowing a Hollywood A-lister—I’m hoping someday I’ll get to go to the Oscars.
Not to mention I’m working on a double major in business and theater arts. Maybe Nica can help me network with the right people when I start looking for a job next spring. After I figure out what kind of job I want to look for. As graduation looms closer, I realize I have no idea what I want to do when I grow up. I just know I want to move out and stand on my own two feet.
Dad has the grace to blush a little. “You’re growing up. I trust you to make good decisions. Not that I didn’t trust you before?—”
I pat his arm as he flounders. “It’s okay. I get it. I can take care of myself. Any last words?”
“Last words. Ha! You aren’t done hearing from me. I expect you to send me your new phone number on Discord as soon as you get it. But in the meantime, lemme think. What does a twenty-two-year-old exchange student need to hear before she heads to Europe for three months?” He looks away, blinking hard, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “Study hard. See everything. Try new things, but don’t do anything stupid. Drink the beer, but not too much. Do good. Avoid evil. Have fun.” A sideways smile twists his lips. “Make me proud.”
Tears sting my own eyes, and I throw my arms around him. Going away for three months just became real. I’ve never been more than a two-hour car drive away before. I’m super excited to study abroad, but not seeing my dad until Christmas is going to be a bit of an adjustment. I squeeze him tight for a long moment, then step back. “You make me proud, too, old man. I’ll miss you.”
He swipes a hand across his eyes and tugs my braid—newly dyed a dozen shades of blue and purple. “I’ll miss you too, kid.” He makes a shooing motion at me. “Go on. Get your bags checked. And text me when you reach the gate.”
I grab both suitcase handles and laugh. “You won’t even be halfway home by then.”
He smirks and waves a hand toward the end of the drop-off lane. “I’ll probably still be fighting the airport traffic.”
We both turn to look at the four cars parked at random spots along the curb. Two of them appear to be empty. The third one has a couple making out beside it. The fourth just pulled up. There’s no security in sight—not unusual between flights at our tiny airport.
I give him one last hug, and he tugs the end of my braid again. When he releases me, I back toward the revolving door, dragging my bags. He watches for a few seconds, then gets back into Subie-Doo. The passenger side window rolls down, and he waves the whoopie cushion at me. “Nice try. I wasn’t born yesterday.”
With a laugh, I turn and head inside.
When my plane lands in Seattle, I find my next gate, then connect to the WiFi. Before I can open the Discord app, my phone chirps—I have a dozen messages from Dad. I read the last one first.
How many more?
Grinning like a maniac, I scroll back through the images he’s sent: the kitchen sink sprayer with packing tape hanging from it; the wall of family photos where all of the pictures have been replaced with images of William Shatner; a shampoo bottle with the lid off and a piece of plastic wrap lying on the counter beside it; the lamp with the plastic bugs taped inside the shade; and a scattering of ping pong balls that fell out of a kitchen cabinet. The images are interspersed with critiques:
Very clever
Not your best work
Missed those the first time.
Dad and I have a history of playing pranks on each other, and I’ve left him a few to find. Some of them—for example, the whoopie cushion and the one that garnered the disappointed comment—were intended to make him think I’d only left a few lame ones, to increase the wow factor on the better ones. Obviously, he knows me too well to be diverted from his search. I don’t have any intention of revealing how many, of course, so I message back.
A magician never reveals her secrets.
I send a selfie of myself in front of the gate.
SeaTac. Next flight in 45 min
