Message from Home

I ran up to my room with the envelope in hand, dying to see what the message was. As much as I wished it was from Sebastian, that was impossible - he had just dropped me off. But my pulse still raced as I ripped open the envelope, clumsily tearing a piece of the folded paper within.

The message was from Mom. It was a faxed message. I'd given her a fax machine for Christmas, and now it was her new toy.

The message read:

Hey baby, give me a call (or fax!) to let me know you got there OK and how things are going. Don't forget to take Paris for Dummies with you when you go site-seeing! XOXO Mom

I sighed, trying to convince myself that my disappointment was irrational, and decided to call Mom later, after I'd had a shower. Truthfully, I was looking forward to telling her about my first day in Paris.


“Mom, there’s only one reason for my behavior: I’m certifiably insane.”

“Oh honey, give yourself more credit. You might be crazy, but you’re not certifiable.”

“I’m probably just on the rebound. You know I haven’t seen anyone since Carl and I broke up. I just didn’t feel..”

“Comfortable. I know, Emily. But it’s been two months. You should start seeing people, go on dates. You’re young – you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. So start enjoying it again.”

I pressed the receiver to my ear and wished my mother was in the same room with me and not a continent away. She wasn’t just my mother, she was also my best friend, my confidant.

“But he’s French.”

“Oh, Emily, it’s not like you have to marry the guy. Just enjoy yourself. But remember to be careful.”

I knew what that last euphemism meant. “Mom!”

“Well, better safe than sorry.”

We hung up shortly after. As I was brushing my teeth, I thought over my first 24 hours in Paris. I’d had my first café au lait and bought a few postcards. I’d even met someone new.

The End

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