There’s a pause where I hear her shuffling around, and I imagine her sitting in an Italian café, coffee in front of her, and dabbing gently at her eyes with the linen napkin.
In my head, it’s like a foreign film, beautiful and poignant.
“But yeah, I’ll come. If you pinky promise not to tell anyone about it, I’ll come. Just us.”
I nod hurriedly even though she can’t see me. “Yes! Good. Okay, rehearsals are already underway since I’m joining the cast in the middle of pre-production. But opening night is in four weeks. Book your ticket, girl! Fair warning, I’m going to hug the snot outta you right there in the airport like some cheesy rom-com movie, but it’ll be besties reunited.”
Her bark of laughter is exactly what I needed to make the warm fuzzies inside me burn a little brighter. “And thanks, Carly. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
She does sniffle now, and I bet we’re both about two comments away from ugly crying. “Oh, please, you give me too much credit. This is all you. I’m just your bitch, here to give you a kick in the ass when you need it—”
“And advice when I don’t!” I finish, and we share a laugh as though we’re sitting in the same room.
“Damn, I miss you!” she says wistfully, echoing the thought rolling through my mind.
“I miss you too. But I get it. You can’t be here. You’re the only child of wealthy and overbearing parents, so the only logical escape is to frolic aimlessly around Europe, trading farm work for a bed. Let me know when you monetize your Instagram documenting your jet-setter lifestyle so I can follow your pursuits.”
The barbed teases are our way of showing love and laughing sarcastically at the absurdity of our lives. Fairy tale from the outside, but more often, a nightmare from inside the castle.
But we’re both making that proverbial mad dash for freedom.
And while Carly’s European life is filled with backpacking, hostels, and day jobs, mine is filled with playing pretend and doing mindless data entry for a Grinch of a boss rather than the real fun of ancient discoveries.
Still, we are doing it all on our own terms.
And somehow, that’s more important than any easy, posh life our parents could offer.
“Oh, I will. And you be sure to let me know when you and your boss discover something new. I mean, something old. Some old terra cotta junk that will change our beliefs about ancient Mesopotamia. Oh, wait! Nobody cares about that but you,” Carly replies, getting her jabs in too.
“Just the fact that you know the word Mesopotamia tells me how much you love me and actually listen to my rambling. I love you too, Car.”
She mumbles, “Love you, Em. Better jet though. I’m hoping to do a bit of street performing on the Ponte Vecchio at sundown, so I’d better get my spot.”
“Street performing? And you give me shit for acting?” I ask, laughing though I know her street gigs are more athletic than thespian. Carly did karate all through her teen years, mostly because I’m actually a better singer than she is, and the debutante balls required demonstrations of a talent.
Carly had delighted in being the only girl to ever do a fully-choreographed demo of her acrobatic kicks and aggressive punches, capping it off by roundhouse kicking a watermelon in a clear signal to any boy who wanted to take liberties with her. Kind of a ‘fuck you’ to the traditional norms of the ‘sit still and smile pretty’ thinkers and the girls singing the same three songs ad nauseam every year.
And now she’s parlayed those moves into performing on the sidewalks of Europe. When she isn’t doing hostels or farms, I’ve gotten pictures of her doing spin kicks and more in Amsterdam, Paris, Rome, Athens, and more.
“Hell yeah. I can make more money in a few hours of exhibition than I can with any other job. Did I tell you I quit my last waitressing gig? Even with the good tips there, I can make double on the street on a busy night. It’s like work and a workout all at once.”
“Well, then get out there. You’d better werk!” I say, my impersonation of RuPaul weak but clear. Especially when I add the Z-snap that Carly can hear but not see.
We say our goodbyes, promises to call again soon spoken over I love yous, both of us prolonging the