Chapter 9

I made a call.

“Hi, Mom. I suddenly need to go to Brazil. What do you say?”

There was a long pause before she spoke. “I’m afraid to ask, but why do you need to go to Brazil?”

“For love.”

“I see,” she said. “How long have you known him?”

“About five minutes.”

“Trip, be serious.”

“He’s a model. I’m going to be a photographer. This is how you and Dad met.”

She huffed. “Promise me you’re not drinking.”

“I promise you I’m not drinking.”

“No drugs?”

“Absolutely not.”

She sighed again. “Put it on my credit card. No first class. Call me from Brazil.”

First class was delightful. I’d have to explain later to my mother that the flight had sold out in coach, but I hoped her bill wouldn’t reflect I’d paid to upgrade Marc to first class as well. Who knew models flew in coach?

Thirty minutes into the flight, Marc got out his math text.

Please don’t be calculus. Please don’t be calculus.

It was algebra. Phew. However, the book was in Czech. No matter. Math was international.