“It’s on your key ring. The big gold one.”

She reaches under the sink and grabs a bottle of spray and a roll of paper towels.

I slip on a pair of sneakers, grab Maureen, and take off down the village road. It’s a sunny, slightly dewy morning, and I muse that Ireland’s reputation for unendingly miserable weather is another one of those foreign misconceptions, or perhaps a rumor perpetuated by residents who don’t want the island overrun with tourists.

There is still a dampness to the air that somehow feels alive and fresh, liberating and refreshing. Florida’s humidity feels like dog breath. Southern California is mostly very dry and monotonously temperate. But this is like wading through wispy rain clouds.

Thinking of Florida, I decide to call my mom again. I feel sure she won’t answer, but to my surprise, she picks up.

“Hello?”

“Mom! Hi. You’ve been hard to get ahold of.”

“Oh, sorry, babe. We’ve been so busy lately. But we’re getting pretty good at pickleball, and then all the rigmarole of getting here.”

I shake my head. This is so weird. How did me moving to Ireland at age eighteen change things in the butterfly effect chain enough that my parents picked up pickleball?

“Getting where? Can we Facetime?” I ask.

I can hear her eyes rolling. “You know how I feel about that. But fine.”

I pull my phone away from my ear and press the button. My mom’s face appears.

She’s the same, and it makes me want to burst into tears. Good old Mom. I want to curl up in a ball in her lap and watch old episodes of Frasier with her while she makes me pasta with too much butter and cheese.

What is unfamiliar, however, is the setting behind her.

A mountain carved into a crystalline blue sky, speckled with candy-colored buildings.

“Actually I’m glad we’re doing the Facetime because isn’t this gorgeous? It’s simply stunning.”

I squint at the sight as she pans to a beach with red-and-white-striped umbrellas and loungers, calm water reaching out endlessly to a horizon. “Wait, where are you?”

“What do you mean? We’re at the hotel. Just got in last night.”

It looks like she’s on the Amalfi Coast. “Two seconds, Mom.”

I switch out of the call and into the Find My app. If it’s anything like my real life, I am anxiously following all my loved ones.

There they are. Mom and Dad are in Positano. And Kiera, Aimee, and Cillian are all less than a mile away.

“Meggie?”

“Sorry.” I go back to the call. “Positano! Looks nice.”

“It’s heaven. Truly. So what was the call about the other day? Some brunch game? We’re getting ready to go to lunch, but I have time.”

“Is that Meg?”