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I look down, blinking hard.

She pulls me into another brief embrace, then releases me and reaches for my suitcase. I take it from her before she can lift it.

“I can manage my own bag, Oma.”

“Yes. I am aware. Allow me the pleasure of pretending you still need me occasionally.”

I smile despite myself. “You always did like having the last word.”

“Only when I am correct.”

She opens the trunk, and I put my suitcase inside. When I turn back, she's watching me with that familiar, steady attention that has always made it difficult to hide anything from her.

“Come,” she says. “We have things to discuss, and I would rather do it somewhere warm.”

I settle into the back passenger seat and slide over for her to get in. The interior smells faintly of leather and the peppermint sweets she keeps in the center console. Her driver pulls away from the curb, merging into traffic

For several minutes, she asks ordinary questions. How was the flight? Did I sleep? Had I eaten anything worth calling food? I answer as best I can, grateful for the reprieve, until we turn onto the road leading away from the airport.

“Your mother believes you will come directly home,” she says.

I glance at her. “I am going home.”

“Yes. Eventually.”

There is something in her voice that makes me sit straighter.

“Oma, what are you planning?”

“I am taking a trip.”

I wait.

“A secret trip,” she clarifies.

I turn toward her fully. “A secret trip?”

“From your parents, yes.”

I stare at her, trying to reconcile the woman who has spent her life navigating family obligations with the woman casually announcing that she intends to disappear without telling anyone.

“Where are you going?”

“To see someone.”

“Who?”

She gives me a sideways glance. “You are very curious for someone who has only just arrived.”

“You picked me up at the airport, told me you were taking a secret trip, and then said you were going to see someone. I think curiosity is justified.”

A small smile touches her mouth.

“I intend to meet with someone your parents have made rather difficult to approach.”

My stomach tightens.

“Is this about me?”