The French flight attendants were on strike, so the ladies in charge of Dad’s flight to Paris, then Copenhagen were “professional but a bit abrupt,” according to sources.*
The plan was for Dad and me to meet at the train station at the Copenhagen airport. His flight wasn’t scheduled to land until 730pm, so I thought I had acres of time at 8 to secretly eat a pastry as I waited. Just as I was about to take my first bite, I hear my name correctly pronounced for the first time in almost two months. Mouth wide open, eyes wide open, I see Dad across the tracks on the other platform.
It is so nice to speak American with someone.
Dad seems quite at home here, though I had to show him how to operate the shower. “These buttons don’t do anything!”
Welcome to Europe.
I am reading The Family Romanov by Candace Fleming and Good Behavior by Molly Keane.
*Dad
paralyzedbynotcaring 