As I nurse coffee on a Thursday night, Chemistry book propped open and Facebook chiming in the background, my father answers the phone. They are at the airport, reading magazines. YiaYia says she is “super-duper.” She is filled with excitement and “ready to dance.” This is old news; YiaYia is always ready to dance whether it be impromptu jitter-bug lessons on Christmas eve or the waltz at her son's 60th birthday, her feet were born to swing. She closes by wishing me good luck on my exams, and with about a thousand “Bye, now, bye dear, love you, bye now, bye dear” 's, passes the phone to my mom.
After my Chemistry and Biology finals, I will meet them in Paris on Sunday, bedraggled but ready to waltz all over town.
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