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I nod and look down at the cake. It smells and looks absolutely delicious, but before I can even take a bite, my phone starts vibrating against the table.

I glance down.

Mom.

My stomach tightens.

Of course.

Mom. Dad. Chiara.

They’ve been calling me several times a day since I got here, and every single time I’ve watched their names disappear from my screen without answering.

I’m okay. I landed.

That was all they got the first day.

Since then, every three or four days, when the messages in our family group chat became too much to ignore, I sent them some version of the same two words.

I’m alive.

Then disappeared again.

My thumb hovers over the screen, ready to do what I’ve done every other time.

Ignore it.

But I stare at her name and, for some reason, I don't see my phone anymore.

I see my mom.

Sitting somewhere in Chicago with hers in her hand.

Calling her daughter again and again, not because she wants anything from me.

She just wants me to be okay.

And I know what that feels like.

God, do I know what that feels like.

Wanting someone you love to be okay so badly you would give anything for it.

And having absolutely no control over whether they are.

My chest aches.

I miss her.

The realization hits me so hard I almost laugh.

I miss my mom.

I miss Dad.

I miss Chiara.

I miss them so fucking much.