“So it’sBarrynow?!”
“Yup, he's dependable, quiet, and doesn’t try to mansplain backstroke to me. Honestly, he’s a catch.” I huff.
“Until he starts vibrating pre-flight take off again and gets pulled from the cargo hold like a ticking bomb.”
“That happenedone time,and in my defense, it was a long layover and I didn’t realize he was pressure-sensitive.” Trying my best to sound indignant.
“You made international news, Mia.”
“And yet, still single. Go figure.” I huff.
She sighs, but I can hear her laughing. “Just get your butt on that plane and try not to cause an international incident.”
“No promises.” I say with a laugh.
She sighs dramatically. “Just promise me you'll actually talk to people while you're there. Get some quotes. Feel the atmosphere. Don't just hide in the water.”
I frown, recognizing the shift in her tone. “I don't hide.”
“Sure you do. It's your safe place. Has been since your Mum died and I get it Mia, I really do. I just want you to get out there too, live a little, chat to people, maybe even have a turn in the sheets with a handsome stranger…you know, like an actual person.”
The mention of my mother sends a familiar pang through my chest. “Can we not do this now Brè?”
“Fine, fine” she concedes. “But you know I'm right. Small towns make you shut down because they make you feel trapped after the accident, so just do me a favor and get out there okay? Maine is a great state, great people, amazing food and I’m sure you’ll love it.”
I let out a sigh and sit on the edge of my bed, suddenly feeling the weight of those memories. The boating accident that took my mother when I was twelve. The way my father's grief transformed so much into suffocating protection. The way our small coastal town became a prison rather than a home.
“This Portree assignment isn't permanent,” I remind her, and myself.
“Three days, maybe four. I'll write the piece, take some photos, and be back in time for Sunday brunch and copious quantities of mimosas.” I let out a feeble laugh,
“Sounds perfect,” Brè says, her editor voice returning. “And this piece could be huge for you, Mia. National Geographic have been sniffing around your work. Impress me with this one, and I might have to share you with the big leagues.”
That gets my attention. “Seriously? Nat Geo?”
“Seriously. Now get your ass on that plane.”
After hanging up, I do one final sweep of my apartment, making sure everything is turned off and locked up. The anticipation of a new place, new experiences send a thrill through me.
It's always been this way—the moment before departure carrying a sweet tension that nothing else can match. Not even diving into a pool at the starting signal.
But as I grab my keys, a small voice whispers inside me:You're still running. Always swimming away from something instead of toward it.
I push the thought aside. I'm not running; I'm exploring. There's a difference.
***
The flight is smooth until it isn't. We hit turbulence somewhere over the Midwest, and I grip the armrests, reminding myself that I've survived worse than a bumpy ride.
The businessman next to me, with salt-and-pepper hair, offers a sympathetic smile.
“Not a fan of flying?” he asks.
“Not a fan of not being in control,” I reply honestly.
He nods. “Heading out for business or pleasure?”
“Work actually. I'm covering the annual Gathering in Portree.” I say with a forced smile.
