In the afternoon, but you really don’t have to be there, Kenna.
I’d like for someone to be at the house, if it’s ok with you. It just feels weird. We haven’t prepped it.
Ok, sweetie, if you’re not doing anything special. It’s just an informal visit. We haven’t finalized our listing yet.
If I’m not doing anything special. I can’t believe that Uncle Nick has forgotten that tomorrow is gotcha day. We usually have cake and go through my album. But I’m not a little girl anymore. I reread the message. They haven’t finalized anything yet. A part of me wishes this means they might still change their minds. But the next text dashes any hope.
Good news, though! The house is worth more than we suspected! Ephron just got named as a top 10 destination in WA State. Lots of interest in established biz like ours.
That’s great, Uncle Nick.
Take a day off, won’t you? Carlos says you’ve been in the diner every day.
I like to stay busy.
Well, he’s on strict orders to send you home if you try to work today.
I wonder what Lorelei will do to amuse herself. I still haven’t heard back from her about switching back early.
How’s it going in Mykonos?
Uncle Stavros made a new friend.
Nick texts a photo of Uncle Stavros asleep in a lounge chair. His straw Panama hat is tipped down over his face. There’s a big, fat ginger cat splayed out in the shade under the seat. The whole scene looks so perfectly sunny and Mediterranean. I “like” the picture, sending back hearts.
When was the last time I left Washington State? I really need a vacation. But where would I go? And with whom? Traveling alone would be better than third-wheeling it. But it’s not what I dream of. I’d really love to share the experience of travel with someone else.
My stomach is growling. I’m officially awake. I pull on some dark, denim shorts and a loose, flowy, Indian print top and pad into the kitchen in search of coffee. And then I remember. There is none. Nothing potable anyway. I don’t even have any milk for my cereal.
Oh, well, Rafe had said to come over to the main house to stock up and use the kitchen any time. He hadn’t forbidden me from coming over. He just didn’t want mehanging outaround his mom and his kid.
Just to be on the safe side, I shoot Rafe a text to warn him that I am coming over. Once again, it strikes me. I have Rafe Barzilay’s number. Inmy phone. Is that ever going to feel normal?
I wonder what will happen to my contact info in his phone after we swap back. Will he block me? Or maybe he’ll just delete my info and forget he ever knew me, until one day when I accidentally butt-dial him, and he’s all, “Who the hell is this? How did you get my number?”
Shit.I’m going to have to delete his number the minute we switch back, which I really hope is sooner rather than later. I can’t live with that kind of fear. I’ve got to speak to Lorelei already. Just as soon as I have some coffee in me.
I slip on a pair of platform flip-flops, still admiring my sparkly toes, and grab the Fruity Pebbles from the cabinet.Be grateful for small mercies.Lorelei and I share the same taste in cereal.
My feet sink into the pea gravel, crunch-crunching across the long driveway in front of the main house. There’s a farm delivery van parked out front, and the man getting into it looks like the old man from the street the other day. Same overalls. He sticks an arm out the window and waves as he pulls away.
I pause to grab the wire crate full of old-fashioned glass milk jugs and the basket of farm-fresh eggs from the front porch. Maybe I’ll make myself an omelet? There’s got to be at least two dozen eggs here. Tucking the cereal box under my arm, I skip back down the front steps and take the path around to the back. Rafe told me to head into the house directly through the kitchen, so I let myself into the sunroom/kitchen through the oversize sliding glass doors.
The kitchen is spectacular. Everything new and state of the art. There’s a twelve-foot-long, quartz-topped island with seating for seven. Restaurant quality appliances and a glass-fronted fridge. But the most stunning feature is the colorful, Moroccan-tile backsplash. It’s a spicy punch of color in an otherwise neutral space, which I am sure keeps it feeling warm and sunny even in the depths of a Washington winter.
There are no signs of gray weather today. The sun is shining brightly, and the view out the wall of glass is all bright verdant green and bursting blooms. I note the peony bushes and wonder if anyone would mind if I cut a few. But then again, why bother? I really need to switch back with Lorelei ASAP.
Carefully, I set the jugs of milk and eggs on the counter and think about enlisting Rafe’s help. Surely, he’d agree with me. He never thought this was a good idea to begin with.
“Who are you?” a little voice says, startling me.
I spin around toward the adjacent sunroom. There’s a large, green sectional sofa in here and some upholstered chairs, gathered around an oversize, round coffee table. The coffee table is strewn with Barbie dolls and action figures. The voice is coming from a large wingback chair that’s got its back to me.
Ruh-roh!
Slowly, I approach.
“Hi, Orly,” I say, tentatively. “It’s me, Lorelei …”
