by Lilah Pace
“My apartment is safer, and I don’t need extra reasons to want you over here more often. But that’s not actually what I meant when I said you didn’t have to go back to routine. ”
I look at him over the sticky rib I’m holding. “You research professors might lose sight of this, but the rest of us have to deal with this thing called an academic calendar. It starts again in two days. ”
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“Research professors have to deal with unexpected requests for us to work elsewhere. ”
“Like Scotland?” I say. Sun-splashed memories of our time in the Highlands make me smile.
He nods. “Or Japan. ”
I pause mid bite. Did he just say what I think he just said?
Yes, he did. Jonah leans across the table, a spark in his gray eyes. “I know it’s harder for you to get away than it is for me. But you said your schedule’s more forgiving this semester. You’d only have to move a couple of classes to get a solid week off. We could spend that week in Kyoto together. ”
Japan! I’ve always dreamed of going there. Okay, I mostly want to see the ancient woodcuts, which is not the average tourist activity, but it still counts. The rest is a blur of cherry blossoms, kimono silks and Mt. Fuji—but if I go, I’ll get to discover the real country. It would be such an incredible adventure . . .
“You need studio time,” Jonah says, anticipating my objections. “But you also need inspiration, and Japan would provide plenty of that, right? You’d owe other people in your department favors. Well, okay, do a few favors. I’ll help if I can. It’s worth it. ”
I want to go so much it feels like I could scream.
And yet I can’t bring myself to agree. Instead I set down my food, wipe my hands. “I’d love to. But I can’t. ”
He doesn’t fully believe me. “Are you worried about the expense? You can’t be. ”
After seeing the luxurious sky-rise offices of Oceanic Airlines? Hardly. “It’s not the expense. It’s not not wanting to go—oh, Jonah, it sounds amazing. But this isn’t right for us, not now. ”
“Getting away from it all? It might do us good to relax. ”
I smile sadly at him. “We’d be getting away from everything except the real problem. Sharing some tiny Japanese pod hotel room for a week would only intensify that. Don’t you think?”
That finally makes Jonah pause. His hand curls around his bottle of beer, but he doesn’t take a drink. Behind him, on the brick wall, is my etching—the strong hands cradling a fragile bird. For some reason the image looms larger now.
Finally he asks, “Are you saying you aren’t comfortable with me?”
“No. I mean, look at us, Jonah. ” I gesture at this apartment, with my purse on his countertop, my coat draped over one of the hooks on the wall. “Of course I feel comfortable with you. But this seems like a moment when we need to—breathe. Take a step back. Come back to each other without so much pressure. ”
“That word again. ” Jonah doesn’t dispute it; he simply sounds resigned. “I’ll be gone for two or three weeks. ”
Three whole weeks? The thought sends a tangible pang through my body. I hadn’t realized even that would make me feel bereft. He wouldn’t have argued for me to come to Japan with him if he didn’t think he’d miss me too.
However, I’m still certain that remaining in Austin is the best choice for us both.
Or am I?
Because if I’m being really honest with myself, I have to acknowledge this sneaky whisper in the back of my mind, the one that says, Three weeks is a long time. He’ll have some time to get over what happened in Chicago. He’ll want me as badly as I want him. He’ll stop worrying about our games. Jonah will come back ready to do everything to me—to do anything, no matter what—
I shouldn’t let myself hope for that. But that’s one more reason I shouldn’t go to Japan with Jonah; I’m still trying to twist this situation around. Attempting to wriggle my way out of it. Either Jonah needs time to heal, or I need time to accept. So Austin it is.
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” I say softly.
Jonah reaches across the rough-hewn wooden table to take my hand. “Impossible. ”
Twenty-three
The first e-mail has no words except for the subject line: Missing you. I click on Jonah’s message to see a photograph of a temple, symmetrical and serene. Although I’m not familiar enough with Eastern religions to know which one this temple serves (Shinto? Buddhism?), the design alone communicates peace and harmony.
I’m glad Jonah felt drawn to a place like that, and I wish I could see it with him.
You did the right thing, staying here, I remind myself. And yet I can’t stop looking at the photograph, imagining myself half a world away with the man I love.
• • •
“It’s a miracle babies ever figure the world out, isn’t it?” Geordie says that evening as he sits on Arturo and Shay’s floor, next to the play mat where Nicolas kicks vigorously.
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“Why d’ya say that?” Shay calls from the kitchen, where she’s helping herself to a second serving of red beans and rice. I don’t attempt to cook dishes from home very often, but this one seems to be a success.
“Think about it. ” Geordie points at Carmen, who’s sitting slightly apart from the rest of us—dining in front of the TV even though there’s room at the table. Maybe she’s trying to get closer to Geordie? “What’s the first thing you did when you came in, Carmen?”
She pauses, fork in hand. “Um, I said hi to the baby. ”
“Ah, but no. You leaned over him and went wooby-wooby-woo for about three minutes straight. ” Geordie cracks up laughing.
Carmen makes a face. “Oh, come on. Everyone likes to be silly with babies. ”
“Exactly! Their new little brains are trying to interpret this enormous new world around them, and what data do they get? Countless people leaning over them, chanting pure nonsense. ” Ruefully, Geordie leans over Nicolas and says, “Stick with me, kid. I’ll talk to you with a proper Scots accent. Bring you up right. ”
“Don’t even,” Arturo says. “Between his grandparents’ Mexican accents and his mother’s Australian—”
“I’m not the one with the accent!” Shay protests as she comes back to the table. “You are. ”
Arturo ignores this, though he can’t help a smile. “—the last thing Nicolas needs is another accent in the mix. ”
“What about another language?” I’ve been curious about this for a few months now. “Are you guys going to raise Nicolas to be bilingual?”
Shay and Arturo give each other a look, and I realize I’ve accidentally tripped over a marital debate. Too late—they each launch into overlapping explanations, with Shay saying she thinks it’s important to speak two languages from the very beginning, while Arturo insists his parents were right to teach him Spanish first, then English, so he wouldn’t get confused. Neither of them is angry about it, but it’s pretty obvious extra opinions are totally unnecessary.
I glance over at the other two adults in the room to get their reactions. Geordie, like me, is stifling a laugh. He looks so much better the past couple of weeks; he’s found a sponsor, a woman named Kitty who’s apparently been sober for more than two decades. Probably she hasn’t had much chance to really work with him yet—just knowing someone in the same boat is committed to helping seems to have been enough to buoy his spirits. Geordie’s resumed shaving every day; his clothes once again seem to be neatly pressed. He no longer looks like his own shadow. The guy I knew is coming back.
Although I’d like to think he’s doing this for Carmen’s benefit, she isn’t responding in kind. Normally she chooses clothes in the brightest colors. Today, however, she’s in slouchy jeans and a sweatshirt. She looks fine, but nobody would ever say she’s dressed to impress a guy.
More than that, she seems oddly withdrawn, and has ever since I got back into town . . .
Oh, no. What
if my matchmaking only worked on one of the two people involved? Did I only saddle Carmen with the misery of unrequited love?
Inwardly I groan. Why, exactly, did I ever think I was an expert on romance?
After we’ve finished dinner, Geordie and Shay find a marathon of Star Wars movies on some channel and insist they need to watch the whole thing with Nicolas, because it’s “such an important part of American culture. ” Meanwhile, Arturo—the only native-born American of the three—takes his turn washing the dishes. That gives me a chance to walk out with Carmen and suggest we make an evening run to Amy’s for some ice cream. Austin’s having one of its occasional bursts of unseasonal warmth—while it’s cool enough for me to wear my mint-colored cardigan, it’s definitely not too cold for ice cream.
(Then again, I tend to believe there’s no such thing as “too cold for ice cream. ”)
Amy’s is another of the city landmark shops on South Congress Street. As good as the specialty flavors are, that’s not why this place became one of the most beloved places in town. The people behind the counter don’t stop at scooping your ice cream—they flip it in the air, almost impossibly high, and manage to catch it with the cone or cup every single time. During the day, the line of people often stretches out the door onto the sidewalk, and people clap for each successful landing. Amy’s night hours get quieter however, so Carmen and I practically have the place to ourselves.
“So,” I say over a scoop of chocolate chip. “You seem kind of down. ”
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“Down isn’t the right word. ” Carmen stirs her strawberry milkshake with a red straw. “Freaked out, maybe. ”
I frown. Freaked out doesn’t sound like romantic trouble. “What’s the issue?”
She looks over her frosted glass and bites her full bottom lip. “You have to promise not to tell anyone yet. Maybe not anyone ever. ”
“Oh, my God, what is it? Is everything okay?”
Carmen laughs as she lowers her head behind her hand. “It’s fine, I swear. I’m making it sound worse than it is. ”
“So spill it. ”
“I got into the Stanford Ph. D. program. ”
I admit it; I squeal like a teenager who just found out Zayn’s coming back to One Direction. “That’s fantastic! Beyond fantastic. What are you moping about? We should be—setting off fireworks! Getting seconds of ice cream! I think I still have my New Year’s party hat. ”
“Thanks, Vivienne,” she says, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “But think about it. Stanford is in California. If I move out there, I’m leaving Arturo and Shay and the baby behind. ”
So what? I want to protest. It’s not like you could live with your little brother forever. You have to go where your career takes you!
But I’m coming from a background where I couldn’t wait to get out of my house. Carmen and Arturo had an entirely different experience growing up. Sometimes they feel like their parents are too far away in San Antonio, only a few hours’ drive. For Carmen to decamp to California—it’s an even bigger leap than it would be for most people.
Even that isn’t the main issue on Carmen’s mind, though. She’s thinking of the young family we just left in their run-down rental town house, the one they furnished from Goodwill.
“They need all the help they can get,” she whispers. “Arturo got married so young. Shay has to take fewer classes this semester—she won’t even graduate until this December! When I think about moving away, ditching them, I feel so guilty. But it’s Stanford. One of the best math programs in the world. ”
“Hey, let’s toast your getting in, okay? No matter what, that’s awesome. ” I lift my ice cream cone; with a smile, she raises her milkshake glass to click against the cone. “Last semester you were in a panic. Now? You’re king of the world. ”
Carmen holds out her arms for a moment, like Leonardo DiCaprio. Her smile remains crooked, though. “Honestly, that’s another factor I have to consider. If the pressure was too much for me here, what’s it going to be like at Stanford?”
“It wasn’t too much for you here. If it were, you’d never have gotten into Stanford in the first place. ”
She turns back to her milkshake, looking up at me only with her eyes. “If it were you—what would you do?”
“I’d go. But I’m not you. ” Wow, super helpful. I struggle to come up with something better for her. “You want to be there for the people in your life, but you have to do the best you can for yourself too. Striking that balance is difficult. ”
In my mind I hear Jonah’s voice telling me I don’t look out for myself enough. I think he’s wrong about that, mostly because he’s had to ruthlessly prioritize his own mental health to even survive his terrible childhood. Where I see roots, he sees chains. But he’s right about examining choices from time to time. Carmen shouldn’t sacrifice everything for her family, but she’s someone who’s happiest when she’s not completely independent.
I start to tell her as much, but that’s when my phone buzzes. Hoping for a message from Jonah, maybe with another beautiful picture from Japan, I steal a glance at the screen—and my gut drops.
“Carmen,” I say slowly, “I know you’re having a rough night, but I’ve got to go. ”
• • •
Within twenty minutes I’m on the other side of town, in front of an apartment complex I’ve never visited before. I’m supposed sit here in my car and wait—under no circumstances am I to walk up to the door and knock.
But to hell with that. If I don’t see or hear something in another five minutes, I’m going in there with my lug wrench in one hand and my phone set to speed-dial 911 in the other . . .
Then I see movement, and shadows against the ground-floor windows. The figure approaching me takes shape with every step forward, though he looks hardly recognizable.
When he slides into the car, I tell myself not to overreact. But when I see his face, I gasp.
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“Please,” Kip says, his voice thick through his split lip. “Just drive. ”
The silence between us stretches over the jazz piano on the radio until I can’t bear it any more. “Tell me this one thing. Was it the first time?”
“No. ”
I can’t wrap my mind around it. Kip Rucker sees all. Knows all. He arranges every single thing at the University of Texas at Austin to his satisfaction. I’ve heard people from virtually every department on campus wheedling for favors, seen him handle crises for everyone from the cafeteria lunch crew to one of the assistant deans. But here he is on the front seat of my car, bruised and bleeding from punches delivered by the man he cared about.
Why should it be so hard to believe? I stood as a bridesmaid in my rapist’s wedding. Jonah still owns part of the house his stepfather lives in. Sometimes we can’t pull away from the ones who have hurt us, any more than we can from the ones who have loved us.
And when they’re the same person—that’s the hardest of all.
“It’s done, okay?” Kip flips down the sunshade to check his face in the mirror. “I’m not going back to him. Deleting his number from my phone. Blocking him on Twitter. Et cetera. So you can skip the lectures. ”
The overstuffed duffel bag he’s clutching suggests he’s telling the truth about leaving Ryan behind for good. Yet I can’t get over the fact that Kip got hit and he stayed.
We tell ourselves only weak people are victims. That the bad guys wear black and broadcast their evil intentions with every word and gesture, so nobody can fall prey to them except innocents and fools. We tell ourselves that because it gives us the comforting illusion of control.
It’s so much harder to face that it could happen to anyone. That it does happen, all the time, and we hide it because we’re ashamed of what was done to us. Meanwhile, the people who should be ashamed go on with their lives, mentioning us only to talk about how “hysterical” or “crazy” we are.
Why is the world so fucked-up?
“
I wasn’t going to lecture you, Kip,” I say, keeping my eyes on the road. “Do you need anything?”
Kip tosses it off lightly: “Got any miracle concealer? I don’t intend to show up bruised at the office. ”
“I’ll check my purse when I drop you off. ”
If Kip doesn’t want to talk, we won’t talk. But I reach over to take his hand, and after a moment, he squeezes my fingers.
• • •
By the time I get home, it’s nearly midnight. My head throbs, my eyes feel red, and I feel like I could sleep for a thousand years. Tomorrow I have to TA a class and try to get in some studio time. If only I could call in sick. Or comatose. Sorry, can’t make it today, in a coma. See you tomorrow.
I flop onto my bed, kicking off my shoes. As much as I’d like to slip into unconsciousness, an unfinished memo to my advisor nags at me. I’ll sleep better if I get the damned thing done. So I wake my laptop, prop myself on some pillows. The screen glows softly to life. Before I can open my word processing program, however, Skype blinks with a call from an “unknown number. ”
It’s international. I grin. While I don’t know the country code for Japan off the top of my head, I’d bet anything this is Jonah.
Sure enough, he appears in the window, brilliant daylight streaming around him like a halo. When he sees me, his stern face eases into the slightest, gentlest smile. “Vivienne. I thought I’d try—just in case—but I figured you’d already be in bed. ”
“Nearly. But not quite. ” The sound of his voice flows through me—tranquilizer, painkiller, and intoxicant all at once. My head sinks deeper into the pillow as I nestle the computer comfortably in my lap. “How’s the trip going?”
“Incredible. Seismic activity is nearly constant in Japan, of course, but the recent activity we’ve been monitoring . . . you don’t want to hear about tectonic plates, do you?”
Jonah actually looks disappointed; I have to laugh. “Sometime. Not right now, though. I’m too exhausted for scientific talk. ”
“Bad day?”
“Not for me. But for some of the people around me, yeah. ” When I remember Kip’s bloody mouth, sympathetic pain slashes me inside.
Jonah nods. “Sometimes that’s worse. Your own problems, you can handle. Someone else’s troubles might be out of your control. ”