It struck me as a wondrous talent that Jan was able to type anything on her keyboard with her manicured hot-pink talons. Her entire focus was on her computer screen; her short coiffed hairstyle partially blocking the palm tree–lined beach backdrop. Dressed in a stiff navy jacket and cravat and wearing heavy eye make-up, Jan prided herself on looking the part, though I desperately wanted to reach out and blend her foundation line into her neck. John and Jan Buzzo’s travel agency looked like the place where airline staff who couldn’t quite pass the test came to live out their days, fulfilling their own crushed dreams by living vicariously through other people’s travels. At the back of the room, just before the curtained alcove that didn’t quite hide the view of the kettle and cup-a-soups, John Buzzo banged on the top of the printer and swore under his breath at the paper jam.

‘Stupid piece of—’

‘Here you go!’

A stapler punching paper drew my attention back to Jan, who, with much care, folded the stapled sheets and slid them into a complimentary faux leather binder embossed with the company’s motto.

No regrets.

‘You’re all set!’ Jan beamed, handing over the blue pouch with a silent fist pump for her commission earned.

I stared at her outreached hand for a long time, blinking as if I was having an out-of-body experience. I took it from her gingerly, barely believing what I had done. In an attempt to escape another one of my mother’s lectures about what I was doing with my life, accompanied by the drone of the vacuum cleaner as she sucked up wayward chip crumbs from under my feet, I had gone out for some much-needed fresh air and sunshine. Now it seemed I would be basking in Italian sunshine, thanks to the budget ‘Bellissimo’ tour that I had just booked.

Like, seriously, I had only been making an enquiry, right? Walking past the travel agency, I entered on a whim, thinking only to ask a couple of quick questions, and maybe grab a brochure to take away. But as I opened up the travel pouch as if I was standing on a grand stage readying myself to announce ‘and the winner is’, there it was in bold print:

Shorten/Samantha Miss

Economy

Boarding Pass

Melbourne–Rome

Oh, God.

I felt all the blood drain from my face, the horror registering as I mentally began to calculate how many days I had until I would actually be scanning this very ticket.

What have I done?

Jan leant on her elbows and looked at me across her desk. ‘Sammi, you are going to have the best time.’

I blinked, double-checking the date on the ticket against the calendar on Jan’s desk, then looked up to her kohl-rimmed sparkling blue eyes.

‘Remember,’ she said, reaching out and tapping one long fingernail on the binder. ‘No regrets.’ Tap-tap.

Then why did I want to vomit into her wastepaper basket?

‘Rome?!’ My mother’s predictable tirade echoed in the kitchen. ‘That money was meant to be for a car, or a deposit on a house! Bill, talk some sense into her.’

Dad sighed, rubbing his hand over his beard, weary from the conversation already. ‘Give her a break, love. You told her you wanted her to go out, so she went out.’

‘I didn’t expect her to book a ticket on some binge-drinking, orgy party-bus to Rome.’

‘That’s not what the brochure says, is it?’ I quickly flicked through the booklet. ‘Oh, yes, that’s right, binge drinking day one. But to be fair, according to the itinerary, the orgy doesn’t commence until day three.’

I slid the booklet over to Dad, who played along, nodding his head with interest. ‘Well, you have to get settled in first,’ he added.

Mum snatched the brochure away from us. ‘I am so glad you two think this is funny. Have you given any thought to how you’re going to prepare for this? Monday, Sammi. You fly out next Monday. You have no Euros, no travel adapters; what season is it over there? Are there travel bans in place? I bet you know nothing of all of this.’

Truth be known, I hadn’t given a single thought to any of those things—I was busy trying not to freak out about what I had just done. But as I watched Mum look over the travel documents in horror, it occurred to me that this was as much about proving to my family that I could indeed make adult decisions as it was an attractive escape route. It all seemed so impossibly grown up, to book a trip away on the other side of the world. I didn’t do these kinds of things; I was the baby, the homebody, strictly anti-change. Unlike my sister, Claire, the globetrotter, I was happy staying at home. I sat on the stool next to Dad at the kitchen island, my attention drifting between my parents. Was it really such a shock that I could do something like this? That I, Sammi Shorten, could be so spontaneous and whimsical as to book a European adventure? They clearly didn’t think I’d go through with it; I could see it in their eyes.

Mum squinted at the documents at arm’s length, struggling to see without her reading glasses. ‘You must be able to get your money back somehow … surely there’s something in the fine print.’

Something inside me shifted, a feeling that drew my weight down onto my elbows as I leant on the kitchen countertop. ‘Mum.’

‘There must be some kind of cooling-off period …’

I sighed. ‘Mum.’

‘Surely a special circumstance where they can refund your money or …’

‘MUM!’

Mum snapped up from the documents, blinking, then looked at me closely as if seeing me for the very first time. ‘What?’

I smiled, small and sad, seeing everything that lay behind her eyes. In her gaze I saw her pleading for me to stay; that I could binge-watch all the TV I wanted, eat out of the fridge, make a mess, leave the hall lights on all night if I wanted—just please don’t go.

I slid off my stool, rounded the kitchen counter and wrapped my arms around my mum; she seemed so small and fragile against my towering frame. I wasn’t sure where my height came from, but it certainly wasn’t from Mum.

I kissed the top of her head as she slowly, and somewhat reluctantly, put her arms around me; in ‘Mum-logic’, hugging me back meant admitting defeat.

‘I won’t even be gone that long—it’ll be a whirlwind trip. I’ll be home and leaving crumbs on the carpet before you know it.’

Mum pulled away. ‘Yes, well, that’s what your sister said.’

My smile dimmed, thinking of Claire, who had ended up in Paris, madly in love and shacked up with a gorgeous Frenchman.

I laughed. ‘Ah, I don’t think you have to worry about me following in her footsteps.’

‘Really?’ Mum looked dubious.

I grabbed my mother’s shoulders and looked her square in the eyes. ‘I may not know anything about anything, but the one thing I do know is that I will not be falling for some gorgeous Italian man on my trip.’

Dad folded his arms across his chest, looking ever so stern.

‘Seriously, this trip is about me, not about finding love.’

Mum looked at Dad, defeated but still resolute in her worry as she mumbled, ‘Famous last words.’