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The simplicity of the idea washes over me like a balm. An Airbnb. No strings attached, no nosy neighbors, just a temporary healing space.
"An Airbnb," I repeat, tasting the solution. "We wouldn't need to know anyone personally, and it's common enough not to raise suspicion."
"Exactly," Dick nods, visibly relieved. "It's perfect. We just need to make sure everything inside looks rented, impersonal."
"Nothing personal," I affirm, picturing the photos, the mementos, all of Liam's touches that would need to be tucked away, hidden from view.
"Then it's settled," Jenny declares, a collective exhale shared between us as the plan solidifies.
"An Airbnb," I say once more, allowing the charade to settle in my mind. It feels right—like a lie told with the best intentions, woven from necessity and laced with love.
"An Airbnb," they echo, and for a moment, the storm inside me quiets, a meltdown averted.
Chapter twenty-four
THE WORLD WE LIVE IN
TONY
"Hey, are you okay?" The question slips out as I catch sight of Lola's glistening eyes through the pixelated video call. She's rubbing at her face with the back of her hand, and even across the ocean, I read the sadness in the slump of her shoulders.
"I'm just . . . it's been hard, Tony," she admits, voice thick. "Thinking about you and mom out, all alone during Thanksgiving and Christmastime. This was always Mama and Papa’s favorite time of the year."
“Mama, maybe. For Papa, it was Christmas all year round.”
“You are right. He had the biggest heart and such a kind soul. To him, life was always a celebration.”
I nod, remembering my Dad and feeling a tightness constrict my throat. "I know, Lols. But listen, nowadays, technology is so advanced we can still have the Holidays.
"What do you mean?" Her sniffles quiet as curiosity peeks through her sorrow. “What does Zoom turkey taste like? Thatis a cop-out, T. There’s no such thing as Zoom Thanksgiving or Christmas.”
"Let me talk to Liam. Maybe he will be OK with you guys coming here and staying straight through New Year's. You all could if you wanted to. Take emergency unpaid leave if you have to."
I feel a flicker of hope ignite in me; even as I say the impossible, the prospect of reunion brightens the dim room I'm sitting in.
"Really? You think he'd let us all come for Thanksgiving?" There's a tremble in her voice, a delicate mix of hopefulness and disbelief.
"Of course. He knows what we have suffered this year, and he has been so adamant to make amends. This, too, would go in that bucket. " I watch her carefully, anticipating the shift.
Lola's lips curve into a tentative smile, then blossom into a full-blown grin. "That would be amazing, Tony! To have everyone together here—” She gestures around her, then corrects herself, “Or there, in Zurich!"
"Exactly. It's settled then." I say, feeling a weight lift off my chest. We could make this work; we must.
Energized by the idea, Lola leans closer to the screen, her previous tears forgotten. "Remember when Dad used to get us up at the crack of dawn to start the turkey? He said the early bird gets the juiciest meat."
I chuckle, leaning back against the chair. "He did love his cooking metaphors. Never understood why we couldn't just sleep in and eat later."
"Because, Tony, 'tradition isn't about convenience; it's about commitment.'" Lola quotes him perfectly, her deep voice mimicking Dad's stern yet affectionate tone.
"Right, right. And the Thanksgiving football game in the backyard. You always cheated, by the way."
"Did not!" she protests, but her eyes dance with mischief, just like when we were kids plotting our next adventure.
"Did, too. But I'll let it slide . . . for old times' sake." The banter feels natural, almost like a hug, a balm to the lingering ache of his absence.
"Thanks, sis." Lola's voice softens. "I miss him.”
"Me too, Lols. But he's with us, you know? Every time we keep those traditions alive." I swallow past the lump in my throat, finding solace in the memories.
