The next day we head to an island called Santorini. It's not as bustling as Athens was, but since it's a pretty big tourist spot it's not deserted like we might hope. I plan on sitting next to the beach for the first day, even though I kind of hate swimming and sand. Dan runs around in the water like some upper middle class family's golden retriever, tripping every once in a while and sending water flying everywhere. This is why I love him. Sometimes he comes over to the towel I lay on reading and makes sure to let his hair drip on me, trying to get me to go out to the water.
"Come on, you can't perch on that towel forever." I smile.
"Wanna me to prove you wrong?" I ask, smirking and sitting up.
"Come on," he begs, "Please? I look weird frolicking out in the water alone." He pulls a puppy face, poking out his lower lip, "I love you Mia!" he says. I stand up, marking the page in my book.
"Fine. But only for a little while." I adjust my bikini top and follow him out into the waves. "Don't splash my hair!" I shriek as he sends a huge splash of water my way. I dive out of its path before it hits me.
"You're such a stereotypical girl," he teases, splashing me again, but with a little less water. I roll my eyes at him. He knows I actually can't get saltwater on my hair, as it screws with the dye. People in Greece give me weird looks for my firetruck hair. I'm sure they'd be weirder if it was gross and faded.
I smile, "Thanks." Kill him with kindness or whatever, although it would be a bit mean to kill Dan. He is my boyfriend, after all. And it's illegal to kill people.
We goof around in the water for a while, then wrap ourselves in towels and head back to our little condo thing. It's a sort of cottage attached to the rest of the building, and we have our own little patio that connects to the beach.
"I got us dinner reservations," says Dan, pulling on a shirt. His hair is still wet, drying into little curls on the ends.
"Cool," I say, "Fancy or nah?"
"I don't know. Medium." I frown and open up my suitcase. I mostly brought jeans and shorts, with a few casual skirts and dresses. I choose the fanciest dress, a floral kind of skater design. I've had it forever, but it looks nice. After doing a tiny bit of makeup and putting my hair up, I tie up my black converse and stand up from where I'm sitting on the bed.
"Are you ready?" I ask, looking up. He smiles, dressed up in his nicest black skinny jeans and a button up shirt.
"Yep. I already got the hotel to call us a cab, so any day now." He winks, making fun of me. He always does this, talking about how I take forever.
"Be glad you don't have a beauty guru girlfriend," I joke, "We'd be here until midnight." Dan laughs and we head out the door.
The cab takes us a few minutes down the road and we pull up at a nice little traditional Greek restaurant. Even stepping out of the car I can smell the grease and flaky bread. I grab Dan's hand, actually kind of excited for once.
"This is amazing," I whisper, as he hands the driver some cash. We walk inside and get seated at a table out on the patio. A waitress gives us menus and takes our drink orders. Dan wants a Coke, I get water. I'm trying to be healthy, it gives me something to focus on rather than my own sorry life.
I'm still not over the amazing mess that is Greek food, so I order basically everything on the menu. Grape leaves, pastitso, gyros, I order it all. Note that I just said I'm trying to be healthy.
We talk in between bites of food.
"So how's Clara?" asks Dan. I shrug.
"She's okay, I guess. Her kid's great. Why do you ask?"
"I don't know. I'm interested. Although we are starting to sound like an average suburban couple." I laugh and take a sip of water.
We keep on this casual conversation, not really bringing up anything important. That's been us, recently. Nothing too deep. I'm trying to stay away from the whole, "crippling anxiety about everything" situation, but it kind of keeps me from talking about anything really important or emotional.
We share some baklava later in the dinner, and then head out and walk down the beach. Nothing super interesting.
"You excited to go back home?" asks Dan. I shrug.
"Kinda. I'm going to miss this place..." I say. Dan smiles.
"Yeah, me too." He grabs my hand and we walk towards our house. Every once in a while we have to stop to dump sand out of our shoes. Open-top sandals are not the best when walking on the beach.
We get to the house, worn out from the walk and dinner. I lay in bed, staring out the window at the ocean. It's really, really, beautiful. Dan sits next to me, looking out.
"This view belongs on a calendar, doesn't it?" he asks. I laugh and sit up, leaning against his shoulder.
"It's pretty great..." I reply.
Dan looks at me, totally quiet. "It's funny," he says, "We talk constantly, but I feel like we never do... Have you noticed that? Like tonight, at the restaurant, we were having a conversation the whole time but it's like we sat there silent. Nothing really happened."
I take a deep breath. "I guess I have kind of noticed that... But I don't know. Maybe we're just delusional." I laugh, hoping Dan will laugh too and we'll change the subject and everything will be fine. But he doesn't.
"Are you sure you're okay, Mia?" he asks, getting that "concerned mum" look that he gets about him sometimes. Usually it's when I'm not doing do well in the mental health area and am on the verge of crying in bed for five hours straight.
"Yeah," I lie, "I'm fine."
He shakes his head, "You might be an actress, but you're a shitty liar. Is it coming back?" A while back we decided that the word anxiety was kind of scary. I don't know what it is, but I just hate that word. So most of the time we just say "it."
"Maybe," I mumble. The truth is, it never went away. I've just been hiding it, trying to seem okay and normal. It's been getting worse this whole time, honestly. And now, I'm not sure I can hide it.
"Mi, why didn't you tell me?" he asks, the worry obvious in his voice.
It's not a cheesy confession scene. I'm not even sure I'm going to cry, like in the fanfictions I read back when I was fourteen. "I just don't want you to worry. It's my problem, you shouldn't have to make it your's, too!" Dan furrows his brows.
"You make it my problem when I see you so upset. I know you'll hate me for this, but when we get back, can you please go see someone?"
I frown, "So you're telling me to go see a psychiatrist? Get put on some drug that'll give me a false sense of happiness?"
Dan shakes his head, "It's not like that. I just want you to talk to someone that can actually help you. Pj and I aren't licensed psychiatrists, Mia."
I breathe for a minute, letting the air move through my lips like I'm blowing out smoke. When I first started piano I would get terrified onstage and forget to breathe. Once I started theater it happened again. It's funny, a twelve year old girl learning how to breathe all over again. I feel that way now, my piano teacher and director saying the same thing, "Just remember to breathe."
With one last breath, I turn back to Dan. "Fine. I'll go."
// 2016: once again I combined two chapters and now it's longer and better //
twenty
Start bij het begin
