“Yeah,” I agree. It’s the only good thing he ever did for us. Sure, he peaced out, and we never saw him again, but he used to send Mom a few hundred bucks each month until Mason and I were eighteen. On our eighteenth birthdays, she explained that she’d put most of it aside, and it was ours to do with it what we wanted. Mason, naturally, did the smart thing and put his in a money market. I used mine to travel. The rest went to help Mom pay for NYU.
The photos tacked above Mason’s desk catch my eyes. There’s one of Sarah, his friends, one of me, Jules, and Chloe, and the rest are the postcards I’ve sent him. They line the wall, a road map of the places I’ve been. Places Mason has never seen for himself.
“Do you want to go see the Northern Lights?” I ask abruptly.
He glances over his shoulder and chuckles. “What?”
“I was thinking of checking out the Northern Lights. It’s on your list. You pick out all these places and then never go. So let’s go.”
“You want to take me to Alaska?” he asks.
“Norway, actually.”
The smile fades, and he turns back around. “We’ll see.”
He’s stingy about his money, but I have a little bit saved up from all my random jobs, and I start to offer to pay for the trip, but Mom appears in the doorway.
“What are you two up to?”
“Trying to convince Mason to see the Northern Lights,” I tell her.
“In Norway,” he says, his tone indicating something along the lines of “Can you believe it?”
Mom seems surprised and hesitates just a little before redirecting her expression into something a little less worried. “Oh, that’s fun.”
No one says anything else, and I start to get a little frustrated. My whole life, he’s pressed me to visit all the cool places I’ve wanted to see. I thought for sure he’d be anxious to go to one of his own.
Mom gives me a pointed look. “Richard wants to know where you want to go for dinner.”
Suddenly, I’m starving, and I think about all the crappy places that sell greasy food, and I wish I could go to them all. “Anywhere I can get a cheeseburger.”
“So McDonald’s?” Mom jokes.
“Yeah, I’m dying for a Happy Meal.” Mom chuckles, and I stretch, somehow finding the energy to haul myself off Mason’s bed. “Richard can choose. Let me get in the shower real quick, and I’ll be ready to go.”
“Yeah,” Mason says. “I can smell you from here.”
Mom and Mason both start to laugh, and I flip them the bird as I walk into the bathroom. “Hilarious. You’re both hilarious.”
Autumn in London is my favorite. It’s chilly but not too cold, and everything seems to take on a golden hue. The changing color of the leaves is just as beautiful here as it is back home, and Richmond Park feels majestic, like a place straight out of one of Jules’s fantasy novels.
The downside? They don’t overindulge in Halloween quite like we do in the States. It makes me yearn for Virginia, for decorations as far as the eye can see as early as August. Of taking trips to SpiritHalloween to test all the new animatronics and pumpkin patches with cider and slides and homemade candy apples.
Thankfully, there’s still plenty of pumpkin spice and apple tarts and caramel candy, so when Jules sends me a picture of yet another seasonal latte, I’m prepared and send her one back.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket on my way home from work, and I assume it’s Jules. But when I swipe on the notification, I stop walking.
It’s from Simone. It’s been a few months since we’ve caught up, and I smile when I see her name pop up.
In your neck of the woods for a work thing and found myself with an evening off. Care to grab dinner?
You’re in London?
For the next few days. You up for it?
The last time we saw each other was last December when I was home for Christmas. We went out for coffee and caught up on our lives while she was on a lunch break from work. It wasn’t nearly enough time, especially since she’s one of the only people I still talk to from high school. It would be good to see her.
Dinner sounds great. What time are you free? Where are you staying?
