The days leading up to my departure were nothing but hell. My whole life was about to change, and I was far from ready for that. Tina stood by her word, and helped as much as she could. But even that didn't seem like enough.
I was only allowed to bring my own personal belongings: my computer, my phone, and my clothes. Everything else was thrown into boxes and put into storage. Everything in my old life was being packed away, with only the prospect of opening the package that held my new life.
"So you've got everything? Your luggage, passport, ticket?" Tina asked at the boarding gate.
"I'm all set," I mumbled, trying to force a believable grin.
Tina pulled me into a hug. "Call me as soon as you get there, okay? So I know you're alright."
"Okay," I slugged my Louis Vuitton travel bag over my shoulder. "Thanks for everything."
"You're gonna okay, you know that right?"
I smiled meekly, choking back the tears. "I know."
She gave my shoulders a light rub. "Well, we don't want you to miss your flight."
"Right." I turned away from her, and walked towards the gate. I turned back around and gave her a wave. I may not have wanted her help, but I was glad to have had it.
I turned down the ramp, and boarded the plane. I glanced at the first class and business seats with longing eyes, as I headed for my first seat ever in coach. What a nightmare; no leg room, no privacy, no peace and quiet. My idea of torture. And it was only downhill from here.
* * *
I got off the flight feeling grungy and exhausted. But I managed to survive in one piece, so I counted myself lucky.
The airport terminal was minuscule compared to JFK. Where were all of the people? As I strolled through the deserted terminal with my designer luggage, I felt unbearably out of place. My fellow arrivals looked like they belonged here; with their faded jeans, boots, and flannel button downs. Obviously, my Jimmy Choo heels and Stella McCartney tunic did not fit in around here.
As I reached the exit, I searched the inadequate crowd for any sense of recognition. A middle aged woman, probably in her mid fifties, held a paper sign with my name written in black sharpie. She had flowing gold locks, green eyes like my father, and a creamy complexion. The man standing next to her, with his arm wrapped around her, was tall and burly, with sharp features and salt and pepper hair.
I sighed and walked towards them. This was it, this was really happening. No turning back now.
Greta pulled me into a tight embrace. "It's so great to finally meet you! After all these years," she exclaimed, with a faint country accent.
I pressed my chin against her shoulder and looked up at the ceiling. "You too."
She pulled away, but still held on to get a good look at me. "You look just like your mother. Except you have your father's hair."
I tucked a lock of my chocolate hair behind my ears. "Thanks," I mumbled.
"How are you feeling?"
Again, I had to choke back the water works. "I've been better."
"I know it must be so hard, losing your father and making this big transition," she cooed, causing the pain inside of me to grow. "But we're going to try our absolute hardest to make you feel at home. After all, we are family."
"Thanks, Aunt Greta," I murmured.
Calling her my aunt felt forced and unnatural. After all, I didn't even know I had an aunt until a few days ago.
