Rebecca:

“You can’t go to dinner looking like that,” Nick comments as I walk down the stairs.

I look down at my favourite red dress. What’s wrong with it? I ask, confused.

“It’s so short, you’re asking for my mother to call you all kinds of names.”

So, the problem isn’t what I’m wearing, it’s the fact that your mother would say nasty things about me?

“Yes.”

Why can’t you tell her to cut it out?

“Because she’s my mother, Rebecca. You know how she is.”

When he says that, something inside me snaps. So, it’s absolutely fine for your mother to disrespect me, your future wife, the mother of your future children, and the person who takes care of you, but if it—

“Why must it always be about you, Rebecca? Why must you insist on starting a fight? Why can’t you just leave it alone?” Nick asks, tiredly.

After hearing his words and seeing the look on his face, my throat closes in anger. My eyes well up with hot, angry tears. You are a weak, weak man, Nicolas Levey. Just like your father. What Mommy says, Nick does. ‘Yes, Mommy.’ ‘How high must I jump, Mommy?’ Tell me, is it hard?

Nick’s face reddens as I speak. “Is what hard?”

Going through life without a spine.

Nick:

I see red. How dare she? Who is this woman? This is not the girl I fell in love with and proposed to. This woman is needy, difficult, and so, so loud. I would’ve preferred it if that last part stayed in the bedroom, but we haven’t slept in the same bedroom in almost a month.

“Are you going to say something or are you just going to stand there with a mouth full of teeth?” she challenges.

My voice is menacingly low when I speak. I will not tolerate your complete lack of respect towards me, my dad, and my mother. I—

“Excuse me?” Rebecca hisses.

Yes, you heard me. Now, go change and get in the car so we can leave. I’m hungry. With that, I walk out of the front door to the car standing in the driveway.

Rebecca flies out after me and slams the door as hard as she can. “You know what?” she shouts at me. “Fuck your mother, Nick! Fuck this dinner and fuck you! Stay at Mommy’s house tonight, because you are not welcome here!”

She stalks back into the house, slams the door behind her and locks it. I start banging against the door with my fist, yelling at this unreasonable woman to open the door.

Rebecca: 

“You can’t kick me out of our house, you psychopath!” he screams at me.

This house is in my name, you spineless jellyfish! If you don’t leave, I am calling the police! I scream back.

I lean against the door and slide down. The first sob escapes from my mouth before I even reach the floor. I cover my mouth so that Nick can’t hear my sobs. How have things come to this? We have been together for more than three years, engaged for six months, and we’re already fighting like my parents were before their divorce. Am I destined to repeat their failures? I don’t want to leave Nick; I love him. Is that enough, though? Can our relationship survive on love alone? I don’t think so; love left our relationship the day we started sleeping in separate bedrooms. Why did we even start sleeping apart? I used to love cuddling with Nick; it was one of my favourite things to do, besides… but even that doesn’t happen anymore. I really want it to, but it doesn’t seem like he does. I haven’t felt desired in so long.

Nick: 

“Oh, no Rebecca, tonight?” That’s the first thing my mother says to me as she opens the front door to greet me. No, ‘Hello, Nick. How are you?’ Just smug criticism.

No, Rebecca’s feeling a bit under the weather.

“It would have been nice of her to let us know. Now I have food and fewer mouths to feed. Nicolas, darling, you must tell Rebecca that she should be more considerate of people’s plans.” Moms explains.

My mother’s voice is too sing-song right now and, by the smug look stuck on her face, I can tell she’s relieved that Rebecca did not arrive for dinner.

Rebecca: 

He hasn’t been home for nearly 24 hours. It’s Saturday evening now. He texted and explained that he slept at his best friend, Eddie. They’re playing golf and he will be back this evening. I was relieved knowing that he turned to Eddie and did not spend the night being poisoned by his mom. Eddie is very level-headed and has a high degree of emotional intelligence. I am hopeful that he will speak some sense into Nick.

I am sprinkling peppercorns and dosing the fresh salmon with olive oil when I hear his bakkie (pick-up) turn into the driveway. Hope flares in my chest as I approach the door. I inhale before I open it, bracing myself for what’s to come. The door swings open and reveals Nick with a sheepish look on his face. He scratches the back of his head, but I launch myself into his arms before he can say anything. I’m so, so, so sorry! I sob.

Nick seems taken aback when I jump into his arms, but he soon relaxes into my embrace. I hear him subtly inhaling the smell of my hair and of me.

“You smell nice and fresh; let me shower and freshen up,” he says, but without letting go of the hug.

It feels good, and I savour the moment before releasing him.

I take the beautifully browned pepper-crusted salmon out of the oven and place it onto the hot rack on the dinner table. I smooth out my slim-fitting, black, braless cocktail dress and prop up my breasts as I walk to the fridge. I take our favourite chardonnay and place it on the dining room table between the wine glasses. Lighting the candles is the final step before he walks in from the bedroom. I smell him long before I hear him enter. He is wearing my turn-on, L’Occitane perfume, a white linen shirt and blue jeans. My stomach knots in excitement. I’ve done some light make-up and worn Nick’s favourite dress. The heels and lingerie are his bonuses. I hope tonight goes the way I want it to.

He doesn’t say anything as he joins me at the table. I pour wine into our glasses and send a seductive smile his way. He barely glances up as I lean over to him to hand him his wine. The silence is only broken when he makes the sign of the cross, then reaches out for both my hands and starts praying over the dinner. Nick’s mom is wicked, and I don’t have much time for her, but I do give her credit for raising a good Catholic boy, whose values are worn on his sleeve.

How was your golf with Eddie? I ask as I hand him the fish platter laden with his favourite meal.

In silence, he gently places a piece of fish neatly next to the avocado salad. I am immediately reminded how turned on I was on our first dinner date as I noticed how sophisticated he is around the dinner table. Something I quickly learnt.

He reaches for the bread roll, splits it in two, and gently spreads butter across the soft interior. He hands me a piece and says, “Let’s break bread together and start again.”

I nod, take the bread and enjoy the fresh roll.

I finally get the response I’ve been waiting for when he says

Nick: 

I played very badly and had to pay Eddie R100 for the loss. But it was worth it, because I got an opportunity to dump our issues on Eddie. I shared a lot of stuff with him—

She interrupts. “Like what?”

Well, everything that seems to be thorny in our relationship, and the parts that excite me. We spent a while speaking about my mom, our fading sex life, my frustration with your ill-disciplined approach to financial management, etc. As you know, Eddie is a good listener and is very wise. After bashing a big drive down the middle of the fairway on the start of the back nine, he asked about the things that I enjoy about our relationship.

This is when my game started improving, as I reminded myself of all the things I fell in love with. Firstly, your smart mind and how we spent so much time in good conversation. I was reminded about the time at the game reserve when we sat around the fire all night with three bottles of wine and burnt all the available wood, including part of the thorn-wood fence. We also spoke about the excitement of all the valuable time we spent planning our lives after the wedding. The time would pass so quickly, and everything felt like a fairy tale.

I birdied the par-three and won the hole, speaking about your beauty and how I am turned on by your long hair. Don’t stress, I stopped short of revealing our wonderful sex life in the first six months. I did, however, explain that my occasional snoring has forced you into the other room, and this has caused a major rift. He laughed when I said that I can’t remember the last G-string we bought together. I told him how we enjoy local South African travel and that we have amassed six different-coloured G-strings from the six different places we have been to, as a memento of our travels.

And how was your day?” I ask, taking a sip of the wooded chardonnay.

Rebecca: 

Well, firstly, I am delighted that you turned to Eddie, and your day seemed fruitful. Sorry that you lost the game and had to pay the R100. I don’t have the luxury of such a friend, and, because I am an only child, I am used to time alone. So I have not left the house since yesterday. I spent the day reflecting in much the same way. We are heavily invested in each other.

I reach out and place my hand on his; my eyes fill with tears as I explain, Nick, we also have many issues that seem to make us very unhappy. I am reminded about the time in the bathtub, crafting our wedding vows, where we declared to each other how happy we make each other. If we cannot stick to that commitment and the happiness is slipping away, then we must face it and do whatever is necessary to address it.

I love you, Nick, and you make me happy, but if I don’t make you happy, then I am happy to walk away and allow you space to find happiness.

The next few moments pass in heavy, tearful silence. It’s finally broken by the soft clink of Nick tapping his knife against his fork, a quiet signal that he’s finished his meal

As an excuse to wipe the tears, I get up to fetch the peppermint tart I made for dessert.

As I place the bowl in front of him, he says, “Yummy, my favourite… This is one example of how happy you make me, Becks. I value our relationship, and I want to work on it. At the clubhouse after the game, Eddie suggested that we go and speak to their ex-domestic helper.”

Ex-maid? I gasp.

Nick: 

Yes, their family sponsored her education, and she became a psychologist. He recommended we chat with her.

“Sounds interesting.” she answers.

Just then, the YouTube channel she set for dinner releases the sounds of the sea, followed by the clear sound of a Spanish guitar. I quickly reach for the sound bar remote and turn up the volume before the subwoofer roars: “Aiy… Fonsi.

The seductive sounds of Despacito get us both to our feet. We spent many joyful evenings at Latin American salsa classes dancing to this song. We stay locked in each other’s embrace as I flick and spin Rebecca to the beat. Perhaps it is the wine and the emotional dinner, but we are both singing with Bruno Mars and swaying back and forth to Versace on the Floor before I carry her to the bedroom.

* * *

The Amazing Trek

Rebecca: 

At 6am on Sunday morning, I awaken to the church alarm set on the clock radio. I walk gingerly to the bathroom, still a little bruised on my ‘crown’ (Nick’s pet name for ‘it’) from what is typically described as make-up sex.

After picking up the clothes from the lounge floor and the G-string from the top of the wine bottle, I wake up my date for Mass, reminding him how we agreed to start dating again as we did before we moved in together. In the shower, we both agree to take Eddie’s advice and give Thembi a shot at helping us.

* * *

Driving back from Mass, I suggest that we spend the morning at the mall, as I need to do some shopping. I know that shopping is not Nick’s thing, but I am taking a chance to spend more of this quality time together.

So I am not disappointed when he responds, “Becks, you drop me at home; I need to clean my clubs and sort out my golf bag.”

I reluctantly agree. He kisses me goodbye and hands me his credit card. “Buy me a nice golf shirt and—” I know, I quickly respond. I heard you last night when you said I am irresponsible with finances. I will prove you wrong.

He smiles and walks away.

Nick: 

I am sitting in the lounge enjoying the golf on TV when my phone beeps. I peek at it, and the banking app confirms the purchase from the golf shop. I smile with excitement.

Minutes later, my mood changes when the phone beeps again; this time, the spend is the national lottery.

I have enough time before Rebecca arrives home to calm down and work out how best to address this irresponsible expense. Becks gave up gambling when we met, and I get concerned that this might trigger that desire again.

* * *

Nick: 

“I hope the T-shirt fits,” Rebecca says excitedly when she arrives home.

We unpack the parcel and try on the clothes. Just then, the lottery ticket falls out of the golf packet. She leans over, picks it up and places it on the table.

Oops, I say. Can we chat about that ticket when you’re done packing away the clothes?

“No problem,” she says as she bounces to the bedroom to leave the parcel.

When she’s done, she flops next to me on the couch and starts explaining how the cute little lottery marketing girl at the mall convinced her to buy the ticket. She says it’s a last-minute ticket, because the draw will be done later this morning, and the payout is more than R30 million.

“I am sorry that I used your card. It was in my hand at the time and easier than getting my card from my handbag. I will give you the cash as soon as I get to the ATM, honey.”

It’s not about the money, Becks, I explain. It’s more a concern about staying away from any form of gambling. The lottery is exactly that. A very slim chance of winning and a very high chance of losing. I am dead against gambling and don’t want any form of temptation again.

Rebecca

My mood starts changing as I gear up for another unnecessary fight. I remind myself to ‘zip it’ and breathe deeply. The breathing is interrupted by the TV channel automatically switching to the lottery draw.

The numbered balls bounce around to the sound of high bass music, and the balls fall one at a time. After the fourth ball, we both glance down at the ticket and the numbers match those on the top right side of the TV screen: 7, 22, 28 and 30. Two more to fall. Our next numbers are 33 and 47. My heart stops beating as the yellow ball numbered 33 falls. I sit up on the edge of the couch; Nick is calm and has zero expectation. A typical accountant.

I nearly wet myself with excitement and jump when the purple ball numbered 47 falls. Suddenly, there is a little smile on Nick’s face.

I jump up, kiss him and start dancing. He is still peeled to the TV presenter. I don’t hear her saying that the computer reveals nine winners.

Nick quickly explains, “Sorry to burst your bubble, but the winnings are split nine ways.”

How much did I win? I ask him. Is it R30 million divided equally between nine winners? How much is that?

After a moment of silence, he says, “I won just over R3,3 million.”

That small word ‘I’ suddenly wedges a global rift between us. I realise quickly that I used it earlier, and now he used it against me.

Who owns the ticket? I purchased the ticket with his money… Oh shit…

We both stare at the ticket and say nothing.

I break the silence. The coffee is starting to work my tummy… Excuse me…

* * *

Take a few moments, reader, to consider this:

Who truly claims the winnings in this story?

Rebecca: 

While sitting in the bathroom, my phone beeps. It’s a WhatsApp from Nick… message forwarded from Eddie:

“Hey Bud, I called Thembi and she has moved her diary to accommodate Rebecca and you at 9am tomorrow. Don’t miss this appointment; you won’t be sorry.”

Nick: 

It’s 8:50am when we push open the glass doors. Sandblasting on the door reads: Mrs. Thembi Dubois – Clinical Psychologist.

Above the neatly dressed receptionist hangs a picture of the class of 2020. Seven international graduating students, all dressed in different shades of purple. The striking South African on the left is Thembi Dubois.

We are greeted by the young, well-spoken Zulu receptionist. “Nick and Rebecca – 9am appointment?” she asks.

We nod and agree, both our eyes still peeled to the photo on the wall.

We are again startled when we hear her saying, “Ma Mthembu, Eddie’s friends have arrived.”

She places the phone down and ushers us to the lounge waiting area. “Mrs Dubois will be with you shortly.”

Unable to restrain myself, I ask the receptionist, I am confused; who are we seeing at 9am?

She smiles back and explains, “Thembi married a French travel agent in the USA. He relocated with her back here to Durban, South Africa. So she is Mrs Dubois. However, in our Zulu culture, she is always referred to as Ma Mthembu. Ma for respect, as she is older than me, and Mthembu, which is her clan name, or, as you would say, her maiden surname.”

Oh, now we understand, I respond.

Just then, Thembi’s office door opens, and she invites us in. We are both a little nervous and uncomfortable. Our first time in front of a psychologist.

She offers us coffee and she settles us down like a true professional.

Rebecca: 

Towards the end of the session and after very little more than probing questions and a few that unpack our background and history, she says, “I am relieved that you both are very committed to your relationship and are keen to make it work. We simply need to start a recovery plan. I also like Nick’s suggestion of dating again. Almost as if you are not engaged. The issue of the lottery winning and who actually owns the money is probably God’s hand over your future and your relationship. I have a suggestion; come with me.”

She leads us to the reception area again. “This is my study group of the class of 2020 at the University of Notre Dame in the USA. At our first study group meeting, the three females in the group all arrived dressed in different shades of purple. Thereafter, we agreed to name our group Seven Shades of Purple, as there were seven of us in the group. Each from different countries. Each of us taking a liking to different topics. We have remained in contact, and we have set up a network group to assist our patients.

“If you agree, I recommend the following. That we set aside a fair portion of the lottery winnings, and the two of you go on a world tour. Well, at least to six countries. At each of these places, you will spend a little time with each of my friends, who will help with different aspects of your relationship. If nothing comes of it, then at least you would have seen six different places.”

I beam with excitement at the prospect of international travel, as I have never travelled internationally, other than Swaziland and Lesotho, to see the snow on Sani Pass.

Rebecca: 

As usual, Nick is concerned about the cost.

After a little convincing by Thembi, he agrees to meet Pierre’s travel team to discuss the costs and the travel plans.

“Great, it is agreed,” she says with equal excitement. “Pierre will be in contact to make all the necessary travel arrangements. Good luck and see you at the end of the trip to continue your therapy sessions.”

The next few weeks pass in a flash as Bianca, the senior travel consultant at Pierre’s travel agency, closes out the travel plans. Thembi is also in regular contact, keeping us excited about how this will be a trip similar to the TV show The Amazing Race, something I always wanted to do with Nick. We are great travel buddies. Albeit local travel only.

Each new destination will be a surprise, and we will be provided details of the following destination at the current location.

Nick is battling to deal with the unknown and the fact that he is not in complete control, but is just as excited. As the visas arrive, his concern amplifies that Thembi and Pierre may use all of our lottery winnings. He has other big plans for part of our winnings.

This suddenly changes after the final meeting he attends with Bianca, which I cannot attend due to work pressure.

* * *

Nick: 

I like Pierre and Thembi more than ever, and I have a surprise for you, I say excitedly when I walk in from the final meeting. The costs are nowhere near what I was expecting and, as a gift to you from me, I have upgraded all our flights to business class.

“Nick Levey, are you feeling okay?” Rebecca asks with genuine concern. But she still jumps up at me and gives me another of those warm hugs with her hair all over my face.

“You are a darling,” she whispers in that tight grip.

After the release, I hold both her hands and say, I am committed to this relationship and realise that I have to act in the interest of the relationship before my own selfish needs.

“Your points are going up, Mr Levey!” she exclaims and leans forward to kiss me. It’s one of those muscle-melting, dating-type kisses and not the typical peck on the lips that married couples do.

I googled the business class benefits and I am sure we are going to enjoy the travel… only the best for us, I explain.

Bianca suggested that we pack light and keep space in our luggage for little gifts we might get from each of the therapists, not to mention what we might bring back from the shopping in each country. She laughed when I told her about our little travel mementos and how very little space they will take up in our suitcases.

I have no doubt that we will be returning with much heavier bags. That’s another reason I upgraded our tickets. Business class allows an extra 20kg of luggage each.

Rebecca: 

You are the best… I love you, Nick, and I am sure this trip is going to do us a world of good. I, too, have a little gift for us. I spent time luggage shopping. Our old bags have done some mileage, and I am afraid that international travel requires a little upgrade. I got us the latest from the Thule shop at Cornubia Mall.

“Thule,” he remarks with a crease in his eyebrows.

Yes, Mr Levey… only the best for us…

I have an idea, I claim as I switch on the kettle. Let’s fill our second bags with a gift for each of the therapists. I have a nice South African idea.

“Knock your socks off, angel. I like that creative side of you. Just remember, they must fit into one suitcase.” Nick nods.

I lead him by the hand to the sitting room, where I have laid out six neatly packed bottles of fine Grenache red wine from Creation Estate. It’s wrapped in a small fleecy blanket, branded in South African colours and held together by a purple ribbon.

In support of my gift idea, I get another of those nice, melting, dating kisses.

The Friday night before we depart would typically be our date night, but we stay home and dedicate it to the final packing.

My stuff is laid out on the bed with very little of the duvet exposed, and Nick uses a little space on the bedroom floor. As seasoned travellers, we have a little packing game. He inspects my things with the aim of removing some unnecessary items, and I do likewise.

The usual ‘must-list’ items are placed on one side of the floor.

• Travel medication and sunscreen;
• A lightweight warm jumper each, even though it’s summer in the northern hemisphere;
• Swimming costumes and caps;
• Underwear for no more than four days (wash and wear is our policy);
• Lightweight tracksuit each for long-distance air travel;
• A small Ziplock bag containing washing powder (for our clothes);
• A bundle of interlocked international electrical plug adaptors;
• Our mobile phone chargers.

Nick goes first and reminds me that we are staying in fancy hotels that will definitely have hairdryers. So we arm wrestle to remove my hairdryer. I toss the hairdryer, but the GHD hair straightener is first into my Thule bag.

We both agree that the new dancing outfits and the cocktail dresses are a must for our date nights abroad. I hug my new sexy South African flag printed salsa dress and place it next to the GHD.

For Nick, I insist that he only needs one pair of takkies that could double up as golf shoes, should he find time for a round or two. He mumbles and kicks the golf shoes to one corner.

The last of the bags packed are our new Thule backpacks. We don’t forget a change of underwear, our tracksuits, a soft T-shirt each, a face cloth, and a small towel to share for a cat wipe down on the plane. All good to go.

“Don’t forget a toothbrush, and toothpaste to share for the plane,” he suggests.

Excitement and a little nervousness are oozing out of us.

Our night ends after a light sushi takeaway dinner in the bathtub and an exciting conversation about what to expect on this trip. When the bath water cools, the bubble bath melts away, the many candles around the tub die down and the wooded chardonnay bottle empties, we agree that it’s time for bed. Quality time in the bathtub is another of our dating activities to which we recommit.

* * *

Nick: 

At 12:25pm on Sunday, 9 July 2023, the Uber driver heads out of our driveway heading to the Ushaka International Airport.

We have agreed to meet Bianca, Pierre and Thembi at Mugg & Bean for coffee and final instructions.

They are waiting at a cosy corner table when we arrive. After lots of hugs and kisses, we settle down.

Bianca takes the lead. “I hope you packed light as I suggested, and did not forget the separate hiking bag for Kathmandu.”

We slide our well-used, packed 55-litre backpacks over to her.

As you instructed, ma’am, I say.

“Great. This will be delivered to Bella in Nepal before you arrive. I have arranged complimentary laundry services for you at each of the hotels, other than Kathmandu. Please make use of this. It will prevent you from buying unnecessary items and will keep your bags fresh.

Next are two beautifully branded travel pouches. This contains all the emergency numbers, travel insurance documents and colour copies of your passports, as well as $500 for emergencies. Keep this pouch separate from all your other travel documents.” Bianca instructs.

I suggest that I keep that in my backpack, as Nick has all the other travel documents.” Rebecca interrupts with excitement.

“The second is printed copies of your travel tickets. They are backups only. I will WhatsApp your e-tickets for each flight at least 24 hours before the next flight. I will also confirm your seats, etc.” Bianca concludes

Thembi then hands us a cling-wrapped parcel containing six 200-gram portions of kudu biltong and requests. “This is for each of my classmates. We understand it might not make it through customs at some of the airports, so if they confiscate it, we fully understand. We are most concerned about the strict immigration at the Australian airport. My friends insisted that we attempt the delivery of this biltong. I used to spoil them with it in the US. So please make place in your bags.”

I slide it into my Thule bag and explains how it fits perfectly into the spot he reserved for my golf shoes, which were thrown out.

“Nice,” Pierre comments. “WhatsApp me the courses you wish to play and at which destination, and I will make the bookings from here. The language is often a major issue when booking abroad.”

We high five each other like golf pros who just qualified for a major tournament.

“Lastly and most importantly, here is envelope number one of seven,” Thembi says with that Amazing Race expression on her face.

It’s a purple sealed envelope.

“This contains all the itinerary information you will need for your stay in Paris. You are the first couple to set off on this trip, and my colleagues and I are very excited to help the two of you build a happy, long, long-lasting relationship. We are also hopeful that many others will follow you. First up is Louise Petit. He is everything but petite. A large teddy of a Frenchman. You will enjoy him. He is married to Geneviève, who is a chef at a popular restaurant in Paris. They will host you at the restaurant for at least two consultations on ‘communication as a vital part of a long, happy relationship’. I think one session is around dinner, and a longer one over lunch is planned. But Louise is known to change things on the spur of the moment.

In the envelope is also a little writing pad for notes at each session. I suggest you use it. All the sessions will be in English, so no need to concern yourself about the language barriers. I have set up a shared folder in the cloud. This contains all your information. We are all professionals and will update the file after each consult. The group of us will meet regularly to review and update each other. So it’s like having one therapist in seven of us. Consider yourself very lucky.

I encourage you to fully engage with each of them as you have done with me. They will make suggestions during your time with them. Find time to reflect and agree on any actions that will improve your relationship. I will wrap up the last session with you in Cape Town on your return to SA.”

Like a well-choreographed play, Pierre then takes over and explains that the trip will be very taxing on us physically and emotionally. He has tried to provide enough time in each country for the important therapy sessions as well as relaxation and leisure. In each envelope is a list of suggested things to do with the limited time at each destination.

“You can decide and make the bookings at the concierge desk at the hotels. We have also provided for any emergency, so the trip can be cut short and restarted if, for any reason, you need to come home.” Pierre says concluding the briefing session.

I thank them all and go on to explain that Rebecca and I are committed and experienced local travellers. We will not buckle easily. We want this to work.

Rebecca: 

One of our objectives is to be an example to many others and to leave a legacy that helps other people after us find happiness in their relationships. So I will be making the necessary notes and will share the pearls of wisdom on our return. We are typical South Africans with lots of staying power. Don’t wait for that withdrawal call. It won’t come. Besides, I also plan on making this our rehearsal honeymoon trip and having lots of fun. We are very excited.”

Bianca offers to get the bill for the coffee and reminds us that it’s time. She scribbles a little note on a serviette and slides it to me without the others noticing. We all hug and say goodbye.

The robust Thule wheels bounce effortlessly over the cobblestones as we enter the airport sliding doors.

On the escalator, I peek at the note on the serviette from Bianca… Oh shit… I forgot to get the repeat…

The note reads: “Hope you packed enough contraceptive… LOL… Enjoy, sister… Bon Voyage… Lots of love, Bianca.”