“I’m going to London,” I repeat, letting the words settle in.
I’ve been trying to avoid the thought as much as possible, but now, here I am, faced with it yet again for the second time today. The first time was when my mom hugged me this morning and then proceeded to cry, making me feel extremely uncomfortable. She blubbered something about missing me and being proud, but I just moved on to my dad, giving him a hug. And luckily for us, he was able to hold back his tears.
At least one of my parents can handle their emotions. My mother can never compose herself, which is one of the reasons—aside from the utter betrayal that still upsets me—that I preferred to come to the airport alone. We are born alone, we die alone, and I would like to not be coddled and suffocated for the remaining time in between.
That’s why I get along so well with my dad. He understands me. Hell, he’s practically just like me. Or I suppose, I’m just like him. He is focused and driven. He doesn’t let emotions overcome him. He understands that a firm pat on the shoulder from him makes me more emotional than a full-body hug, and his good-bye was enough warmth to last me through the next three weeks.
I take my passport and boarding ticket from the woman and watch as my luggage, one piece after another, disappears into the hidden maze that moves silently through JFK to the appropriate plane. I think back to my dad as I get in the TSA line, the image of his cool eyes settling into my chest. I caught an ounce of maybe regret in them when he said his good-bye, but he looked happy at the same time. His mixed emotions left me feeling a little sick at the thought of leaving, but there’s not much I can do about it now.
I hand my passport and ticket over at the security check and then find myself seated on the seven twenty-five p.m. flight to London Heathrow.
Sunday, September 22nd
Are you kidding me?
London Heathrow Airport
Seven hours later, I’m woken up as we are descending into the London area. I pull up my window shade, ready to let the sunshine wake me, but all I see is a gray sky.
Of course. My mood matches the color.
After landing, I make my way through passport control, withdrawing my exchange paperwork for them to look over, and then I try to find my name on one of the many pieces of papers held up to greet arrivals.
I get a little worried when I don’t find either Mallory or James. I move to a bench and pull out my phone, connecting to the Wi-Fi before texting my dad.
Me: I can’t find my driver.
I watch the little dots moving on-screen, showing that he’s typing.
Dad: We didn’t book you one.
Me: Are you kidding me?
Dad: Yes.
Me: What?
All I see is those dots again, and I get frustrated, my heart pounding in my chest.
Me: ?????
Dad: Your host family is picking you up. You should look for one Helen Williams. She has your photo.
I read the text twice, realizing how unprepared I was for this arrival. And how little my parents seem to care that their daughter just landed in a foreign country and is all alone. I call my dad.
“So, I’m supposed to just wait for Helen to arrive?” I ask, irritated.
“Honey, I just received a message from her that she’s meeting you there. Your flight landed early, and apparently, you’ve made it through immigration quicker than she expected.”
“Do you realize how insane this is?”
“You declared quite clearly that you were an adult and could handle yourself. I shouldn’t have had to tell you about this. You should have asked.”
My mouth gapes open at my dad’s comment.
“You’re kidding me, right? You don’t have to take everything I say so literally.”
“You’re not a Park Avenue princess, Mallory. Don’t make the slip from dramatic to ungrateful. She is almost there. I gave her your contact information as well, just in case.”
“Throwing me to the wolves then, I see.” Or to London, I suppose. Or to this random woman who is apparently picking me up. “You know, I’m still at the airport. You can change your mind. I’m sure there’s a flight to JFK. And, oh, would you look at that? There’s one leaving in a little over an hour. That’s just enough time for a little wave to Helen before heading home. See? I came; I saw.”
My dad laughs. “Give us a call when you get settled, Mal.”
“Fine,” I reply flatly.
He thinks I won’t remember this. But I will.
I pace for a few moments, realizing that I am way more nervous than I expected. I didn’t think I would have to see anyone right away. I guess I just didn’t think.
All of a sudden, I see a woman barreling through the crowd, weaving in between people and suitcases. When her brown eyes land on me, her face softens with relief for a moment, and I know I’ve found Helen.
“Oh dear,” she says, rushing up to me, her short legs moving as fast as they can. “I am so sorry for the delay.” She sets her purse down onto the ground in a huff. “I am absolutely mortified. I should have known better. I actually am a speeder, believe it or not, but it wasn’t traffic that kept me. These new automated gates at the airport are a nightmare, getting into the parking garage.”
My eyes go wide at her outburst, and I almost have to take a step back. But, funny enough, her nerves actually settle my own.
“It’s no big deal. I just got through,” I say with a smile, placing my hand on her shoulder.
She lets out a large breath, and I can feel her relax under my touch. She smiles up at me, fully collected. “I’m Helen Williams,” she says, extending her hand.
“Mallory James,” I reply.
“Now, let’s collect your cases, dear, and then we can head to the house to get you settled in.”
Her dark hair falls to her shoulders like mine, but hers has a curl to it. Her skin is a pretty olive tone, her flushed cheeks accentuating her warmth. We stand in front of the baggage belt, and I squeeze my hands together, trying not to fidget. She hasn’t said much else, and I can’t seem to come up with anything brilliant to say either. So, instead, I try simple.
“So, you have kids?”
It’s an obvious statement because, duh, I’ll be staying in a room vacated by one of her children who is also doing a school exchange. But every parent can go on and on about their kids. I’m hoping she takes it as a go flag, so we don’t have a lull in conversation. There’s nothing more painful than small talk—or worse, a deafening silence.
“Yes.” She turns to me, beaming. “Mia and Noah. They are twins but almost complete opposites.”
“Really?” I ask curiously, a smile coming to my face.
“Absolutely. Noah is focused and driven. He can be quite the brooder and is very intense. He has a huge heart, but I like to think he keeps it tucked away for those most important to him.” She glows. “And my Mia … well, she is a feisty one, as her father would say. They both have strong personalities, but Mia is a little softer and quite creative.”
“That must make it fun—to have children with such different personalities,” I reply, grabbing one of my bags as it comes around the carousel. I easily get it off the belt.