Shake me out of this gray fog.
But every time, I start with this surge of determination and end up here again—restless, flat, circling the same empty rooms.
Jack keeps saying the trip will be good for me, that I’ll have fun. “It’s a chance to unplug,” he told me last time we talked. “Just show up, man. We’ll take care of everything.”
Unplug.That’s what everyone keeps calling it, like I’m a device overheating. Maybe I am.
I should one hundred percent skip it. But I won’t. Because it’s also expected of me to show up at this family affair, where everyone who is anyone will be seen, and I cannot disappoint my parents, it seems.
Athena would’ve loved this trip. She thrived in these circles, fluent in the language of clinking glasses and polite laughter. I would’ve played the part at her side, and my mother would’ve been satisfied. But now it’s just me, and I can already hear the questions waiting when I get back.
I take another sip of the beer, then let it go warm in my mouth. Two weeks. That’s all. I’ll fly in, smile at the right people, eat some fondue, and keep my head down. Be normal. Befine.
And maybe if I fake it hard enough, it’ll stick.
4
MANUELA
MONDAY
The customs officerbarely glances at my passport before waving me through. Outside the security area, the airport hums with early morning activity—roller bags rattling, carts stacked with suitcases, children half-asleep on strollers, parents sitting down and taking a moment to breathe. The floor shines too much, like it was polished just for this party. I chuckle at myself because I wouldn’t put it past Elle.
I blink at the brightness. Everything feels louder, greener, lighter.
The flight wasn’t bad, exactly. But it was long, and my neck is sore from the awkward angle I held it for most of the red-eye. I don’t sleep well on planes—I’m used to the long distances, but the amount of bodies around me makes me jittery. Last night, the man next to me had sharp elbows and a tendency to sniff every few minutes, which in turn made me incredibly paranoid because I really can’t get sick.
I didn’t say a single word to him, simply tried not to breathe in too deep.
At baggage claim, the carousel is already moving. I stand behind a family wearing matching sweatshirts that saysomething about#FamilyTripon the back, with the year in ginormous glitter font under the tagline featuring their last name and what I assume is supposed to be a funny play on words. They’re arguing loudly in English about whose turn it is to check their connecting flight information. I hug my coat tighter around me and keep scanning for my suitcase, half afraid it didn’t make it.
My carry-on duffel is slung awkwardly over my shoulder, the strap already digging into the spot where I hit my shoulder with the door on the way to the airport yesterday afternoon, and I wince without meaning to.
I finally spot my suitcase on the belt. The light blue-and-white ribbon my mother tied to the handle is the only thing that distinguishes it from the sea of black around it. I pull it off the belt and set it on the ground and start heading towards the exit.
I pause for a second near the arrivals area. Elle sent a whole itinerary for getting to Lucerne. A train to the city center, transfer at the main station, then about an hour to the final place where someone will be waiting for us. It’s not hard. Just… a lot.
And I’m more tired than I want to admit.
I got here a few hours later than the rest of the group, which should be at the house Elle and Jack rented by now. The cheaper flight was worth it, though it means walking in by myself, which only sharpens that familiar sense of being a step behind everyone else.
I sit on a bench near the sliding glass doors. A breeze sneaks in every time they open, soft and cool and smelling faintly of coffee and diesel. I close my eyes for a moment; I should get moving, but it feels good to stop.
There’s always this strange beat the moment right after I land in a new country, where I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Not because I belong here in any real way but because I belong in motion. It’s been this way since Ifinished college and decided to stay in Buenos Aires, where life moved faster than in Tres Fuegos, and the quiet independence of growing my own career and owning my life gave me the momentum to keep going. It makes me feel capable.
Like I’ve built something of a life, even if most of the time I’m still trying to prove it to myself. And even as the last three years have been a constant reminder that sometimes things take longer than planned.
I pull out the train directions Elle sent a few weeks ago and double-check my route. One step at a time.
“Fancy seeing you here.”
I glance up. Connor’s standing a few feet away, leaning slightly on the handle of a suitcase that looks like it’s already lost a fight. There’s a small rip on one corner, and the zipper is holding on with what looks like sheer willpower. He’s got sleep lines on his cheek and his hair is doing something chaotic, like he ran his hands through it too many times and gave up halfway on each of those attempts.
“Oh—hey, Connor.” I blink up at him, caught off guard. I didn’t even know he was coming, and now he’s suddenly in front of me, tall and very real in this crowded section of the terminal. For a second I’m not sure if I should stand, wave, or just stare. Of course Elle never mentioned he’d be here. Why would she? He’s part of her world, not mine. And besides, nobody knows that when I first met him, I had the slightest crush on him.
“I ended up on a different flight,” he says, dropping his bag with a sigh. “Had some miles to redeem, so I took what I could get. Figured I’d catch up with everyone here.”
“Ah.” It’s all I manage because I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that he’s actually standing here, talking to me.
