“It’s pretty cool.”
“What’s for dinner? I’m starved.”
“I asked the chef to make something quick and easy, a burger, toasted sandwich and French fries. I’ve had enough of fancy gourmet food, anyway.”
“Me too,” I said, still looking at the moon.
We stayed like that for a while and then he spoke. “So, tell me, what have you been up to these last thirteen years. We sort of touched on it, but not really. And I want to know everything.”
I turned on the lounger and faced him, resting my head on my hand, propped up by my elbow.
“Well, as you know, I was going to study accounting.”
“I always thought that was way too normal and boring for you.”
“You were right.” I smiled at him, amazed by how the awkwardness and weirdness of before was gone. “I ditched it after a year and then one day walked into this film lecture by total accident, and that was it for me. Got my honors, four years specializing in cinematography. I was lucky enough to work under some really goodDOPs early on, and then managed to work my way up pretty quickly.”
“Did you meet all your friends at film school? The ones you seem to message all the time?”
“You noticed that?”
“Hard not to.”
“A psychologist called us co-dependent once.”
“No.” He feigned shock. “Not at all.”
“So what if we have a very active WhatsApp group and overshare every aspect of our lives with each other?”
He laughed. “I think it’s great you have so many friends. And you and Sarah still seem as thick as thieves.”
“Maybe even thicker than thieves.”
“I’m glad you have a support system,” he said meaningfully—the implication was that, of course, it was my only support system.
“Me too. And you?”
“I have a few friends, but because I travelled so much, they’re scattered around the world, so I don’t get to see them often.”
“That sucks.”
He shrugged. “I keep in touch with them, though.”
“And why Greece?” I asked.
“Have you been there?”
I shook my head and he smiled at me. “You should. You would love it. It’s obviously gorgeous, but the people and the vibe are what makes it so special. I felt at home there for some reason.”
“Do you want to go back?”
An expression washed over his face with something that resembled sadness. “My mother needs me. And I don’t know how much longer she’ll be here, mentally.”
“I’m really sorry about your mom, and the divorce. I would never have suspected that. They always seemed so happy.”
“It was a total shock to all of us and she hasn’t really been the same since that, and a part of me blames him for what’s happening now. I mean, logically I know that divorce can’t cause dementia, but stress and heartbreak certainly doesn’t help.”
“How bad is she?” I asked.
