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Nope. I wasn’t jealous of my forty-year-old aunt.
Giving up, I fell over and wiped the sweat from my brow, and sucked in enough air to calm my lungs.
The past two weeks here had been exactly what I needed. My aunt lived in this hip region in Greece that catered to mindfulness retreats and anyone looking to reset and recharge. It was a whole wellness area that had yoga, massages, and counseling; it was the perfect self-care oasis. Everything felt alive here, from the food to the people, and even the atmosphere, that it was impossible to wallow in self-pity.
Though, once the jetlag and homesickness hit, I’d tried.
Aunt Lola poured a bucket of cold water on me and then smacked me with leaves, telling me it was with love. I didn’t know about the love part, but at least it had worked to get me out of bed.
Once I’d quit fighting the place, I fell in love with it. Aunt Lola had amazing friends who had all taken me under their wings, showing me new experiences every day. It was the first year I hadn’t hated my birthday either, blowing out candles on a huge cake my new friends had made.
Each day was a new adventure. I hiked to ancient ruins, tried new foods I’d never heard of, and even got a makeover. That had been Emory’s idea, the daughter of Aunt Lola’s partner, Calliope. Emory was a year older than me, and we’d become instant friends. Having more than just my parents and Bryce to talk to felt nice.
Somewhere between running away from Emerald Stadium and getting on that plane, I realized I only had a handful of numbers in my phone—and most were doctors.
I was twenty-five with no social life. Even I had to admit it was pathetic.
But two weeks away and that had changed.
Surprisingly, baseball was not the number one subject of conversation here, and going without it for two weeks made me miss it. I’d even talked to the therapist about it, and she was helping me find a new way to experience the sport. I wanted to feel like I belonged in my family, but not like it was the only thing that mattered.
It was a relief to voice that and be validated and heard.
Therapy had been precisely what I needed. I’d done four sessions so far and had one more before I left tomorrow. There was still so much to unpack with my illness and family that I actually regretted having to leave. I never thought I’d be able to be away this long, much less not be eager to return home.
“Lake!” Emory yelled as she rushed into the yoga room. That had been one other thing that had changed. Everyone called me Bee or Lake here, depending on their age. The older crowd tended to use the more affectionate Bee, while the people my age liked the edgier Lake, stating it fit my new look.
Pink strands stuck to my sweaty forehead, and I swiped them out of my face as I turned to my new friend. She held a big envelope in her hand, a massive smile on her face as she stared at me, practically vibrating on the spot.
“Is that it?” I asked, gasping as I quickly stood.
“I can’t open it. Will you?” she pleaded, her hands trembling.
Nodding, I took the thick cardstock and flicked it open. The invitation was ornate, and I smiled as I read it out.
“Emory Samaras, you’ve been cordially invited to attend this year’s Fête de la Fraise as a featured pâtisserie. Please see the enclosed itinerary for more details.”
I looked up, and we both screamed as we jumped up and down, clutching one another.
“I knew you’d get invited,” I said, a twinge of sadness that I wouldn’t be here to support her hitting me.
“I mean, I hoped. But I never believed,” she gushed, her accent thick with emotion. “You should come with me!” she squealed, her eyes lighting up.
“What? No. I couldn’t. I’m supposed to head back tomorrow.” I shook my head, frowning at my new best friend.
“But do you have to? Not to be brash, but what’s waiting for you there? You don’t want to work in business. You’re no longer engaged, and the rest of your family is preoccupied with baseball. Tell me I’m not wrong?” She lifted her brow and crossed her arms, daring me to contradict her.
I hated how right she was. I didn’t have anything to return to, and while this trip had been exactly what I needed, it only highlighted how dull and lonely my life in Ohio was.
Not to mention the niggling doubt that the second I stepped foot back in America, I’d return to the no-boundaries, no-backbone, and no-personality Blake I’d become.
But staying here… could I really do that?
Thankfully, Aunt Lola finished her yoga and joined our huddle, gushing and hugging Emory as they both cried in Greek.
Believe me; it was a whole thing.
The rest of the night, as I packed my suitcase to leave the next day, I couldn’t shake the question… Could I stay longer?
