Strong arms wrapped around her from behind and picked her up off her feet, with little kisses on her cheek. “My Lydia! Lydia! Lydia!” her dad shouted, happy to see her. She turned around and gave him a real hug, and then he reached over and pulled Krysta into a fatherly embrace. “What brings you two up here?”

“We’re slumming, Dad.”

He nudged her with an elbow. “No, really, it’s a Thursday. You never come up on a Thursday. That job of yours keeps you in Boston for far too long and far too much. You know, we have a job up here for you, Lydia.”

“Yeah, Dad, I know,” she said, the well-worn trope something that used to fray at her nerves, but right now…right now it felt comfortable to be wanted for who she really was.

Dusk was settling in and she watched a group of kids, no older than eight or nine, run past with sparklers in their hands, the orange sparks catching her eye and turning into a thin orange line of light as they trailed down to the ocean, which had been shimmering when she and Krysta had pulled in but started to fade to the grayish orange-pink shade as the sun went down. She knew that there was at least another hour of tolerable light but this was when the mosquitoes would come out and start to feast. Pete put one arm around her shoulders, one arm around Krysta’s, and Sandy tucked her arm around Lydia’s waist, the four of them a wall of happiness, though Lydia carried a tremendous secret. Paradoxically, a very public secret. She was about to find out whether her parents’ unconditional love really was as unconditional as she'd always believed.

“Adam and Dan will be sad that they missed you. They’re down in Bos—” A look of confusion and an odd sort of regret crossed Sandy’s face as she said that, and Lydia became very aware of a change between her and Dad.

“Well…what’s going on? Where are Adam and Dan?”

“They’re in Boston.”

“Are they going to visit Grandma?”

That made everyone laugh. Madge would put them in their place no matter what. She thought that it was time for them to be settled down and married now that they were in their thirties, and Adam and Dan were enjoying the bachelor life, probably a little too much right now, in the city. “I guess we should let the cat out of the bag, shouldn’t we?”

Pete looked at Sandy, his eyes raking over her face trying to read what he was supposed to say. Meanwhile, Sandy seemed to be calculating something, her eyes and face warring with each other, one happy and one confused. Finally, she looked at Lydia and said, “Honey, they’re at a business conference on social media.”

“What? Why didn’t they include me? I was right there, I could have taken the day off…work…” Her words faded out as both her parents planted their hands on their hips and stared at her, the accusation lingering in the air like a cloud of mosquitoes ready to strike and suck out her blood.

“You said you don’t want to use your skills to help the family business,” Sandy said slowly.

Pete just cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest. “You said,” he added, “that there was no need for you to be involved at all because you had your own life in the city and you wanted to work for a giant corporation, like Bournham, and that you were going to pave your own way.” He smiled and couldn’t help himself, adding, “Honey.”

The sting of knowing that she wasn’t included in the business conference with Adam and Dan was, for the first time, greater than her self-righteous sense of wanting to have her own life. It didn’t escape her that in large part that was probably because of what had happened with Matt Jones—scratch that. Michael Bournham. She had to stop thinking of him as Matt, and yet, she couldn’t think of him as Michael Bournham, the man whose face was splashed across the front of Time, People, TMZ—and now, unfortunately, his face and her ass, her bare naked, sensual, very engaged ass, were splashed all over the internet too.

She could tell that her parents had no idea what was going on underneath the surface, and as she and Krysta exchanged a glance she caught that Krysta thought the same. They were completely unaware. Adam and Dan may figure it out while they were in Boston; in fact, she would be shocked if they didn’t, the news stations probably rolling the footage every five seconds, at least the parts that were safe for prime time television. So, it all came down to Miles.

That was neither here nor there, because she had to answer her parents. Finally, with a weak smile, knowing the news she was about to deliver, knowing that it would break their hearts to have her move out of the country, and yet knowing that she had to do it to escape the potential tsunami, the after-effects of what had just happened in her life, she simply said, “You’re right. My choice. I hope they’re having a good time and learning a lot.”

That seemed to perplex Sandy even more, who now furrowed her brow, peered deeply into Lydia’s eyes and said, “Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?”

Caleb saved the day, jumping in and asking, “Does anyone know whether we have fennel seeds?”

Krysta’s eyes lit up. “I’ll come and help you find some.”

“But you don’t live here, Krysta. I was asking Mom and Dad.” He gave her a funny look and then his eyes cut away. Suddenly, it was weird and everyone knew it was weird. Krysta deflated on the spot.

Pete evened out the weirdness by saying, “Krysta has a good point. You seem to have refrigerator blindness. Maybe it has turned into pantry blindness, Caleb.” Sandy and Lydia laughed. He nudged Krysta. “Go help him. The pantry is big enough. We feed two hundred people, three nights a week here. I’m sure there’s a can or a jar or a packet or a whatever of fennel seeds somewhere in there.”

Krysta looked at Caleb. “You want help?”

He nodded slightly. “Sure. Come on in. Do you know how to chop vegetables?”

As they talked food, wandering off to the kitchen, Lydia breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Just then, Miles made an appearance, the red golf cart zipping around a corner and by her eyes coming around at about 7 mph. Which, if Dad was as predictable as she knew he was, meant that he would shout “Slow down!” in 5-4-3-2-

And he did.

Miles obligingly pressed down on the brake, slowing down to what she viewed as a 4 mph pace. Pete nodded, Miles waved and then slammed on the brake when he saw Lydia. His eyebrows shot up. He looked at her, he looked at Pete, he looked at Sandy, and then back to Lydia. He turned the golf cart off, walked over, and put his hands on her shoulders and smiled a weirdly loose, slightly off-kilter grin that made Lydia’s insides go cold.

“Lydia! Imagine seeing you here. What a nice surprise!” Then he leaned in to hug her and whispered, “Did you bring the camera crew with you?”

Gut punch. Holding back an impulse to cover her face with her hands, she steeled herself instead and made eye contact. With a fake smile, she said through gritted teeth, “If you say one word I'll drive your golf cart into the ocean and leave it there.”

“You're not in a position to threaten anyone, Lydia. Not when my online buddies have deconstructed the moles on your ass and started a movement to name a constellation after them.”

Fuck! “Don't say a word.”

He seemed offended. “Of course, I won't. But I'm guessing the video is why you're here.”

Motioning him to move closer, she whispered, “I got a promotion.”

“So it worked?”

“What worked?”

“Fucking the CEO.”

Her turn to deliver the gut punch. Literally. Sinking her fist into Miles’ washboard abs, she caught him so thoroughly off guard that she made full impact, pushing the air out of him.

“Oof!” he gasped, bent over.

“Quit fighting, you two!” Sandy called out.

“Jesus Christ!” he followed up, rubbing his belly.

“He’s the only one who hasn't seen me on tape,” Lydia muttered, storming off to join her mother. Rage and humiliation and fire and ice poured into and out of her in one big flow of energy. As she reached Sandy, she just blurted it out. “I got a promotion and I'm moving to Iceland!”

“Promotion! Congratu…” Sandy's words wound down, like a hand-cranked music box running out of steam. “Iceland?” she squeaked.

Miles limped over. Why he was limping was a mystery, for she’d decked him in the gut, not the balls. “Iceland?” he added, in an octave all too close to her mother's.

Krysta walked toward the group, reaching Lydia as Miles and Sandy stared at her in stunned silence. “Subtle, Lydia,” Krysta muttered.

“That's why you're here on a Thursday?” Pete's voice cut through the air, laden with hurt and pain. “To tell us you're moving an ocean away?”

“At least it’s the same ocean,” Lydia said softly. Talk about blowing it. Nothing was going as planned. Miles rubbed his stomach and glared at her. Sandy just glared, period. Krysta made eye contact with a small stick shoved into the dirt, and Pete glowered at her like a king whose subject had just committed treason.

“Might as well be Mars, Lydia,” her dad said quietly, sliding one arm around Sandy's shoulders.

“Iceland?” he mom asked again, eyes wide and full of tears.

Lydia just nodded silently.

“When?” Sandy gasped.

“Monday.”

“MONDAY? As in this Monday?”

Nod.

“Motormouth is suddenly mute?” Miles was clearly enjoying watching Lydia go through this torture. As long as he kept his mouth shut, she didn't care.

“Shut up, Miles,” their parents said in unison.

“Okay, okay,” he said, hands in the air. “I’m just the grunt. Off to drive my non-submerged golf cart to go help someone with their sewage issue. It can't be worse than this,” he added, smirking at Lydia, who now had four eyes lasering in on her.

Pete sighed deeply. “Iceland?”

“Would everyone stop saying ‘Iceland’?” she pleaded.

“I always expected New York,” Sandy wailed. “Not Iceland. People live there?”

“You’re being melodramatic, Mom.” Guilt was rapidly draining out of Lydia, replaced by a familiar, comfortable rebellion.

“If not now, when?” Sandy barked back.

Lydia just snorted. Sandy burst into tears.

Ugh.

Wrapping her arms around her mother, she conceded. “I’m sorry. I didn't know how to tell you. I just got the promotion and the transfer. My salary is nearly tripling, and I get to be a director.”

Pete's eyebrows shot up and his voice boomed. “From administrative assistant to director? That’s my girl!”

Sandy pulled back in shock. “That’s amazing!”

“I know,” Lydia said shyly.

“I suppose we should celebrate,” Sandy said reluctantly. “But a continent away!” she wailed.

“A five-hour plane ride. Direct,” Lydia countered.

“Five hours?” Sandy perked up. The group headed for the main house.

“Yep. Icelandair. You can do it. Come see the geothermal pools, the beautiful nature…”