Chapter 2: Brenda text
At 8:01 the next morning, I called the travel agency.
A cheerful woman named Brenda answered.
I gave her the booking number.
“This looks like a wonderful family vacation,” she said.
I almost laughed.
“It was supposed to be,” I replied. “I need to make some changes.”
First, I canceled every premium dining package.
Then the drink packages.
Then the Wi-Fi.
Then every excursion.
Snorkeling.
Ziplining.
Private beach access.
Gone.
Refunded.
Sent straight back to my account.
Then I asked about the cabins.
Brenda paused. “What would you like changed?”
“The rooms under Richard Miller, Susan Miller, Vanessa Miller, Brandon Smith, and the others?”
“Yes?”
“Move them to the cheapest cabins available.”
Another pause.
“The interior cabins?”
“Yes.”
“The ones without windows?”
“Yes.”
“The ones near the engine room?”
“Those sound perfect.”
She hesitated. “And your penthouse suite?”
I looked out at the sunrise beyond my condo window.
“Leave mine exactly as it is.”
For the first time since Mom’s message, I smiled.
“I’ll be going after all.”
May you like
Brenda processed the changes with the professional neutrality of someone who had heard stranger requests. Confirmation emails arrived in my inbox like quiet receipts of a different kind. The matching navy shirts remained ordered; I did not cancel those. Let them wear the embroidery of a family that had decided I was optional.
I packed alone. No group chat updates. No last-minute requests for me to cover a missing excursion fee. The silver seashell earrings stayed in their gift bag on my dresser. Mom could buy her own souvenirs with whatever currency “family only” accepted.
