Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58353 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58353 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
"Are you in trouble? Do you need help?"
"No, everything's fine," I insist.
"Filia, don't leave me in the dark. You're hiding something. You never hide things from me."
Cringing at his pointed question, I push the phone closer to my lips, my voice going soft. "Dad... I sort of got fired from my job."
He inhales through the receiver. "You? How is that even possible? You're the hardest working person I know."
My chest grows tight as sorrow takes hold. I knew he'd say something like that. Sappy Dad mode is torture right now. "It wasn't about hard work. It was social politics." Swallowing a rush of sadness, I keep my voice level. "I'm sorry, Dad. I hate to disappoint you like this. I promise I'll figure something out when I get home."
"Honey, I'm not disappointed. I'm just happy you're okay! But why are you in Italy? Are you stuck, do you need a ticket to fly home? If this is about money––"
"No, no!" My laugh comes out twisted. "If it was about money I'd just ask Marco."
The line goes quiet. "Who is Marco?"
Ah, shit. "Marco...um." I didn't mean to mention him. It slipped out. My finger curls on the phone's cord until my knuckle turns white. "Marco is a friend. He's been helping me out."
"A friend you never told me about?"
"That's because I only met him recently." I rock back and forth. "He's really nice, Dad. When I was panicking about losing my job and getting back home, he offered me a place to stay, paid for my meals, just...he's been taking care of me."
"Oh."
I don't know what to make of that simple word. Looking at the police woman who's still staring me down, I sigh. "Dad, can you talk to the embassy, let them know I'm not in danger and remove the report?"
"Sure, yes, but Filia, aren't you coming home? I'm looking now, I see flights to Los Angeles in a few hours. You can hop on one, I'll buy the ticket. Come home, sweety."
He can't see me shaking my head. "Not yet. I need more time."
"Time for what? Time with this Marco guy?"
My hand tightens on the phone. There's barbs in my tone. "Yeah. Exactly."
"Filia, you have a life here. Don't throw it all away for some fling with a stranger."
My jaw tenses as I grit my teeth. "I told you, I lost my job. I don't have anything I have to rush back to."
"You're capable of big things, Filia! Once you come home, I can help you get a new job. A better job! You'll excel at it, just like you always have. You aren't the type to make mistakes, honey. Don't make one now."
"Marco is not a mistake. And maybe, if you'd noticed my mistakes in the past, acknowledged them...didn't pretend I was perfect... I wouldn't have felt so depressed after getting fired."
"You're angry with me for thinking you're perfect? How does that make any sense!"
"Because I'm not perfect!" I snap. The old man and police woman gawk at me. I don't care, I keep yelling. "I never was! Nobody is! But you got in my head and made me feel like I was amazing, and anything less than success was impossible. Any small fuck-up would let you down!"
I'm breathing heavily now. The knots in my belly are untangling as I let the old grudges loose.
He's silent for a few seconds; when he talks, his voice is weak. "You can fix this, Filia. It isn't a mistake until it can't be fixed."
"Dad. Stop. This doesn't need to be fixed. The more I think about it, the more grateful I am that I got fired." I catch my reflection in the window near me. I'm smiling. "If I'd flown back to LA, gone back to my tiny apartment, kept on with my flight crew job, I wouldn't have come to Italy." I pull in a big breath. "I wouldn't have met Marco."
He's silent. I hold my breath, and after a while, I wonder if he hung up the phone.
"Filia," he sighs. "Let me talk to the embassy."
I lift my eyes and lock my gaze on the older man. He sees me give a little wave and heads my way. "My dad," I explain, offering the phone.
The gentleman puts the phone to his ear. "Hello? This is Ancel Rizzoni. Ah, you're her father. I see. Yes. Yes, of course. I'm glad things were cleared up." He glances at me with a half smile. "I'll make sure to update the system. Thank you. Here's your daughter again."
I take the phone as he hands it over. Staring at his back, I ask, "Dad? Did you..."
"It's all set, Filia. The authorities won't bother you anymore."
Tension leaks from my body. "Thank you."
"Promise me that when you do come home, that you'll call me?"
"Yeah. Of course." I hesitate, weighed down by the awkward conversation from before. "I love you, Dad."