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“Thanks for coming over. I can't believe they did this to me. I thought I was getting a promotion, not a pink slip." I take the first big sip of wine.
“It’s tough,” Nora says. She changes the subject and we gossip about one of our friends’ recent breakups for a while. They were a Tik Tok couple. Now? She’s documenting her ‘single journey’ and he’s writing a breakup album. We wish we knew what really happened there.
“How’s Hans?” I ask, inquiring about her new ‘boyfriend’ Ish.
“He’s…well…” She shrugs and her cheeks redden. “He’s really good. Like,reallygood. In the you-know-what department, at least.”
I tap my nose. “Are you referring to the department store, level D?”
She bursts out laughing. “Um, yeah. He’s like, not insecure at least. Something about former college baseball players. They always have big…hands.”
“And you know what they say about guys with big hands,” I joke.
I attempt to laugh at my own joke but I just end up biting my lip. My relationship PTSD kicks in and I remember how I never did date that minor league player, “Big gloves”, who gave me his number two years ago. Because I was dating stupidJansen. And thought we’d get married.
She laughs. “Why are we talking about me? Sis, tonight is about you. What would Dad say, if he were still here?”
My chest warms, thinking about my father who passed away a couple of years ago. I can’t help but smile a little at the thought of him.
When Nora and I were teenagers—she’s only one year younger than me—he’d drilled life lessons into our heads.
“He’d say,”—I conjure up my best dad voice—“‘Amelia, you’re not just some random girl, you’re a Hansen and a Papadopoulos. Norwegian men don’t get to marry into Greek families unless they are complete badasses—like me. And Greek women don’t marry Norwegian men unless they are completely intoxicating—like your mom. That’s a lot of weight on your shoulders, kid. But you can handle it. Because you’re not a normal girl. You’re a Hansen.”
Nora laughs heartily. “I love your impression of him. Cheers, to Dad.”
“To Dad.” We raise our wine glasses and drink them down.
My emotions are already on edge and tears flit through my eyes just thinking about my mom and dad.
As the story goes, my dad met my mom on an airplane when he first moved to the United States at twenty-three for work. She was just coming back from studying abroad in Spain. He had a flight transfer in Barcelona he was pissed about. Turns out, that little inconvenience would become the reason he met the love of his life.
They talked the whole way through the flight and when they arrived to Chicago, he refused to let her go, despite her ridiculously stereotypical Greek family. It took years but they finally came around to him.
My dad and mom had planned to name me Sofia after my father’s Grandmother, but when I came out of the womb, I had big brown eyes, so they went with Amelia, a more Greek name, instead.
I got her dark features—the black hair--which I’ve dyed blonde, dark brown eyes, and tanned skin.
Nora, on the other hand, got his blue eyes, fair hair, and generally more Nordic features. At a glance, you wouldn’t even guess we were sisters.
“I know this just happened today, so you’re still processing,” she said. “but you’ve got to look on the bright side. Now you have the opportunity to do something you've always wanted to do. Take a break. Have a little fun. You’re thirty-two years old. Single. You have some money saved. This is the start of a whole new era for you.”
“A new era?”
She bites her lip. “Yeah. Your villain era.”
I laugh. “What’s the villain era?”
“It’s just about living life unapologetically, all for you. Stop trying to play so nice and please everyone. What doyouwant to do? You don’t have to settle. Not for that crappy boy, or—”
“C’mon. He wasn’t so bad. Jansen was a good guy.”
“Then why didn’t he marry you? You were together for five years. Good guys don’t string women along.”
I sigh loudly.
“I know, I know! But I’m not going to start living my villain era. I mean, what if I never get hired anywhere else again? I’ve already applied for like ten jobs.”
She laughs and puts her hand on my knee. “It’s December. The next hiring cycle starts in late winter. Until then, you’re free as a bird.” She shrugs. “Maybe you could try that yoga retreat in Costa Rica you've been talking about."
