are barely long enough.
“I took pictures with a snake today. Do you want to see?” I show him the snaps I took on my phone.
“It’s a Burmese python!” he says. “ ‘D’you know they can grow up to twenty feet?”
“Luckily, this guy wasn’t that big.”
“They’ve got two lungs. Most snakes only have one.”
Henry loves to read. He remembers everything he reads and everything he watches on TV. I’ve had to cut down his YouTube time, because he was following his curiosity down all sorts of rabbit holes—some that I wouldn’t want him learning about even five or six years from now.
He’s got long arms and legs now, and his face is leaning out. It’s hard to see the chubby little boy he used to be. Some things are the same, though—he’s still a gentle giant, helpful, kind, and careful of others’ feelings.
“What should we do tonight?” I ask him.
“I dunno.”
“Did you finish all your schoolwork?”
“Yeah.”
“Let me see it.”
He takes me over to the little hotel desk where he’s got his papers and textbooks all spread out. He shows me the chapters he was reading with his tutor.
Sometimes when I know we’ll be in the same place for a while, I enroll Henry in one of the international schools, just so he can experience classrooms and friends in a somewhat normal manner. He seems to like it when he’s there. But he seems to like anyplace we go. He’s so easy-going, that I can never be sure if he’s genuinely happy, or if this is all he knows.
I have a lot of money saved now. Enough that I could stop working, or slow down. We could live almost anywhere.
The question is, where?
I’ve been to every city in the world, it feels like. But none of them are home.
Most recently, my parents were living in DC. After Serwa died, my father launched himself into humanitarian work. He’s brokering some big international anti-trafficking coalition. In fact, he’s doing a cross-country media blitz right now.
Well, speak of the devil.
My phone buzzes with my father’s number.
“Hold on,” I say to Henry.
I answer the call.
“Simone,” my father says, his deep, smooth voice cutting through the airwaves between us, as if he’s right in the room with me. “How was your shoot today?”
“Good. I think they got everything they wanted, so that was probably the last day.”
“Excellent. And what do you have booked next?”
“Well . . .” my stomach gives a little squirm. Even after all this time. “I’m actually supposed to do a shoot for Balenciaga next week.”
“In Chicago?”
I pause. “Yes.”
“That’s what your assistant said. I’m glad to hear it—because your mother and I will be there at the same time.”
“Oh, great,” I say weakly.
I was already dreading going back to Chicago. I haven’t been there in almost a decade. The idea of meeting up with my parents there . . . it doesn’t exactly thrill me. Too many old memories dredged up.
“I’m holding a rally,” Tata says. “In support of the Freedom Foundation. The Mayor of Chicago will be speaking, as well as one of the city aldermen. I’d like you to be there.”
I fidget in place, shifting from foot to foot. “I don’t know, Tata . . . I’m not very political . . .”
“It’s a good cause, little one. You could lend your support to something meaningful . . .”
There’s that note of disapproval again. He doesn’t think my career is meaningful. I’m one of the top paid models in the world, and he still sees this as a frivolous hobby.
“Just sit on the podium with me. You don’t have to speak. You can do that, can’t you?” my father says in his most reasonable tone. It’s framed as a request, but I know he expects me to say yes. I bristle against that pressure. I’ve been on my own for a long time now. I don’t actually have to do what he says.
But, at the same time, my parents are all I have now that Serwa is gone. Other than Henry, of course. I don’t want to tear down the truce between us. Not over something as petty as this.
Chicago is a big city. I can go there without running into Dante.
“Alright, Tata,” I hear myself say. “I’ll go to your rally.”
After I hang up, I pull out my phone and find the picture of Dante I’ve saved all these years. I try not to look at it, because he looks so fierce and angry. Like he's staring into my soul, and