“And you credit Annika for your turnaround? She sounds like a remarkable person,” he says mildly.
“Oh, she is,” I sigh. “I mean, she’s a pain in the ass too.”
My father laughs out loud and I’m startled, then crack a grin.
“It wasn’t only Annika—I made other friends in that class too. And who knows why people change, right? But I’m sorry you didn’t get more of a chance to talk to her.”
My father straightens his expression and says solemnly, “Oh, I’m sure I’ll have other chances.”
I don’t know what to say to that, but there’s something else I want him to understand.
“You see then, why I can’t pretend? With girls like Polly?” I’m embarrassed by how earnest I sound.
“Yes,” he says gently. “I see.”
22
Annika
Lani, Holly, and I are so far apart all summer that we have to rely on group chats to stay in touch. It makes it hard to know how they’re really doing (which I don’t like), but it makes it easier to hide how I’m really doing (which I do like). By midsummer I don’t know who we missed more—each other or our so-called partners. Lani is the only one who didn’t have to pretend otherwise, and I have to admit I’m jealous.
HOLLY: Happy Birthday, Annika!
ME: How’d you even know?
I dropped off social media after the whole Facebook thing last year. Less mess, less stress.
HOLLY: I have my ways…;)
LANI: OK, what did you hack into this time?
HOLLY: Me??????????
ME: ha. Pls don’t screw up my visa status, ok?
LANI: I miss Kyle so much!
ME: umm, and that has to do with… what?
HOLLY: she’s obsessed!
LANI: you want to hear me gush?
Neither Holly nor I touch that one.
LANI: Okay then! The sex is amazing but I swear right now I’d give my left foot just to hold his hand and look in his eyes. I miss his teasing and scowling, his swearing, his smarts, and OMG his kisses! I’m bereft.
HOLLY: Yeah, I didn’t need to hear that, but you sure can write!
ME: So Holly, you’re not dating???
HOLLY: Nope. Distracted.
LANI: By????
HOLLY: Umm. Nothing. No one. You know.
ME: LOL! How’s Noah?
HOLLY: fine! why would you ask that? I mean, I miss him but we talk every night.
LANI: EVERY NIGHT?
HOLLY: Shut up! Annika, what about you? Aren’t you supposed to be dating?
ME: Yeah. Supposed to is turning out to be a bummer. I’m not feeling it.
LANI: I wonder why? (not!)
I desperately want to ask about Matt but I’m afraid of what I might find out. I hear from him so rarely. Maybe he’s forgotten about me. Maybe whatever spell we were under has worn off…. I start to panic.
ME: Can we not just talk about guys?? Isn’t there a feminist principle to observe here?
HOLLY: A Bechdel test for texts! That reminds me of Noah!
LANI: Oh, for christ’s sake!
ME: LOL! You sound just like Kyle!
LANI: We’re all so screwed!
ME: And not in the good way….
“How do you feel about my son?”
To say the question surprises me would be an understatement.
“Excuse me?” I wonder if I’ve missed something, if my English has failed me. Senator Troubridge stands in the doorway of my room-away-from-home, looking calm and unflappable. I heard her come in late last night. And Mary Mac warned me she’d be in town for some meetings. Matt’s mother. The senator.
“How are you, Senator Troubridge? Thank you again for letting me stay here….”
She waves an airy hand in dismissal, but her eyes are still locked on me.
“How do you feel about my son?” she repeats, more slowly this time, as if I really didn’t understand her English the first time. My hackles rise (an expression I like a lot) and my shoulders straighten. I’m about to leave for work and I don’t have time for this. On the other hand, I owe her.
“I feel very strongly about your son.”
There’s a pause while I see her digest this and I see a flicker of something else in her expression. Amusement? Respect? Concern? All of the above? Whatever it is doesn’t make it as far as her mouth.
Her head tilts as she assesses me. “Can you elaborate?” She raises one elegant wrist to glance at her watch and I don’t think the gesture is intended to be rude. I think she’s just busy. But I am too.
“No,” I answer, grabbing my handbag and moving to pass her in the doorway. She’s not exactly blocking my way but she isn’t exactly moving aside either. She says nothing, just watches me with those sharp eyes.
I sigh. “Is this where you tell me to give him up and I say no and you swear and threaten and I resist and you go back to Matt and tell him all about it and how I passed your test and he rushes to my side and then we all live happily ever after?” I fold my arms and tilt my head back at her, mimicking her posture.
A tiny smile tugs at her mouth. “I don’t like to swear and threaten.”
I smile more widely. “Then I guess not. It was good to see you though.” I step around her.
“I’m on my way out as well. Can I drop you somewhere?” Again she checks her watch. I’m sure her time is planned to the minute and I wonder how much this conversation with me is setting her back.
“Sure. I’d appreciate a few more minutes of AC.”
Senator Troubridge nods and falls into step beside me as we descend the stairs to the ground floor. She texts as she walks and I’m impressed by her multitasking skills. In heels and a tailored dress no less.
“How is your internship going so far?” Her face doesn’t lift from her phone and she moves ahead of me through the front door and toward a waiting black town car.
“Pretty well. The work is interesting but the—white tape? red tape? black tape?—I can’t remember the right color but the logistics of asylum applications is a nightmare. I can’t imagine how anyone does it without some agency assistance.” I follow her into the back seat, relaxing now that we’re not talking about Matt.
“Tell me more.”
So I do. I explain the application process and where the problems arise as the car pulls smoothly out from the curb. It’s a short ride to the offices my NGO shares on Fourteenth Street and I field several more questions from the senator.
“People will talk about you,” she says abruptly.
“Excuse me?” I understand what Matt means now about feeling several steps behind her. The car pulls up in front of my building but I hesitate with my hand on the door.
“They are probably already talking about you. Don’t pay them any mind.” Her eyes search mine.
“Okay…. Thank you for the ride.” My confusion must show.
“Annika,” she sighs patiently. “People will always talk about you. You’re noticeable: foreign, pretty, smart, and you’re a woman in the male field of politics. Ignore them. Appearances matter, of course, but other things always matter more.”
She pauses then adds with a little wince. “Like the truth, my husband would say.” She gives me a real smile and I’m startled.
“Thank you,” I say again, at a loss now.
Her charm is a little overwhelming and it reminds me painfully of Matt again. I get out of the car slowly, still processing what she said. For some reason I’m reluctant to end our conversation.
“Tell Matt…,” I stall.
Tell him what?
“How is he anyway?” I rush out.
Senator Troubridge presses her lips together as if to hide another smile. Two in a row!
“I really couldn’t say.”
Then she pulls the door closed and I’m left wondering what that was all about.
23
Matt
It’s a weird summer all around. My friends are spread out all across the country—from Conn
ecticut to Hawaii. We’re all on our own, dealing with shit. I hate to think this is what adulthood might be like. It’s so serious. It doesn’t help that Kyle and Noah are in the same boat, missing their girls. Our group chat can get pretty depressing.
ME: you heard from Holly lately?
NOAH: you mean, have I heard anything about Annika from Holly?
ME: No!… but have you?
NOAH: I talk to Holly every night.
KYLE: EVERY NIGHT?
NOAH: Umm, yeah?
KYLE: And you still haven’t told her how you feel?
NOAH: Umm, no?
ME: how the hell are you dealing? I’d be a wreck!
KYLE: I’m a wreck and Lani knows exactly how I feel about her.
NOAH: can’t really say—
KYLE: WTF?
ME: You mean you won’t say, not you can’t. What’s going on between you and Holly?
NOAH: NOTHING!
ME: you 2 going to be cool when you’re back on campus?
NOAH: IDK. Are you and Annika?
ME: Fuck you.
KYLE: So glad I have an amazing girlfriend I can’t wait to see again on September 2—
ME and NOAH (simultaneously): Fuck you!
KYLE: Just sayin— Only 18 more days now.
ME: Only??
Why can’t we just shoot the shit about baseball?
24
Annika
I pluck at my skirt again because the humidity is making it stick to my legs. The heat of a summer in D.C. was a surprise, but the humidity? Shocking. I can’t run outdoors at all and events like this—outside in the middle of the day—are unbearable. I pluck at my shirt and notice Sergei’s eyes shifting downward. I fold my arms over my chest and step away from him, focusing on the speaker instead of on my irritation. I do not want to have that conversation again.
The speaker drones on and on though, thanking each donor, then acknowledging every staff member. I know this barbecue is supposed to celebrate the end of the summer program, but all I feel is hot and sticky. And now annoyed.
I fidget, shifting from foot to foot in my heels. I was told this was a casual picnic. Then I was told it was an official celebration for all the summer staff. I didn’t know what that meant I should wear—so I hedged, choosing a cotton skirt, tee shirt, and low heels. But without stockings my bare feet rub against my shoes and now I’ve got a blister. Could I get any more cranky?
“We can leave if you’re uncomfortable. You really shouldn’t be out in this sun without a hat.” Sergei closes the gap I put between us and smiles down at me.
“I’ve been in charge of my own head for years now,” I snap at him, then regret it when his face falls. I know he’s trying to be considerate, trying to please me, but he gets it so, so wrong.
“Sorry,” he mumbles. And I feel worse.
“You’re right.” I pat his arm very briefly because physical contact is a definite no-no. “It’s hot and I’ve stayed long enough. I’ll just say goodbye to my supervisor.”
“I’ll come with you!” Sergei is all smiles again and I sigh. How can a guy who looks like a Viking remind me so much of a puppy dog?
I met Sergei at an event for Estonians in D.C. that I attended out of desperate homesickness. It worked. I got to speak my own language for a few hours and I met some nice people in this very small world. Sergei was one of the nice people, and I appreciated it when he invited me out and introduced me around and kept me company at events.
But I’ve had to tell him over and over that I’m not interested in him as anything more than a friend (even to get to friend I had to forcibly upgrade him from acquaintance in my own mind). Every time I remind him of this he gets a sad, hang dog look (where does that expression come from? I wish I could ask Matt) and then he just bounces back and tries again.
Now he trails after me as I search the party for Ron, my boss. I find him chatting up three young women, who listen dutifully while he describes his business trip to China last month.
“As an American man traveling alone you can imagine how many offers of companionship I got!” He smirks at them. They look uneasy and I stifle a gag. Eww! That’s just wrong on so many levels.
“Ron, I have to leave. The event was delightful. See you Monday morning at the office.” I’m as business-like as can be and I give the other women a glance in the hope they’ll take advantage of his inattention to flee. One of them quickly does so.
“Annika!” He starts to go in for a hug, then glances at Sergei.
And suddenly I’m glad Sergei is with me. In fact, he’s been highly effective in this role all summer.
“Leaving so soon? Have you had enough to drink yet?” He laughs.
Wow, that’s all he needed to become a complete asshole—urging alcohol on the under-age women who work for him. I give him a tight smile and back away with a little wave.
“Yep! See you Monday!” Then I grab Sergei’s arm and march away with determination. As soon as we’re out of sight I drop his arm.
“He doesn’t seem so nice,” Sergei says slowly, hurrying to catch up to me.
“Nope! He’s not.” Luckily, this exchange is in Estonian so I don’t need to worry about consequences.
One thing I discovered in D.C. is people’s capacity for back channels, gossip, and maneuvering, especially political people. Senator Troubridge was more right than I knew. Somehow someone found out I was staying in her house and speculation went wild. I mean really wild—I heard that I was her illegitimate daughter, that her husband was Russian by birth (what would that have to do with anything?), that I was sent by the Estonian government to bug her house, that I was blackmailing her son and the family showers me with favors to keep me quiet. That last one gave me the most pause because I wanted to keep Matt entirely off limits. All summer he was my private solace—and I didn’t want to share him.
Because if the men here seem predatory, like my boss, or dull, like Sergei, I know that not all guys are like that. And if D.C. seems kind of under-stimulating after the intellectual and social camaraderie of college, then at least I know I’m going back. Next week. My heart gives a little jump.
At the Metro station I pause and hold out my hand to Sergei. “Well! This is my train! See you!” I chirp.
Sergei takes my hand and gives me his sad face again. “You are not going to change your mind about us, are you?” He dips his head to peer into my eyes.
I know he’s handsome, I think idly, because women around me eye him with interest. But he does nothing for me. I even tried kissing him once. Nothing. It just reminded me of what Matt told me in the car about regular sex: how it might feel nice enough but one part of the brain stays detached, watching and thinking. It was just like that.
“I’m sorry, Sergei. But no.” I try to sound regretful but all I really want is to get away from him. It’s nothing personal, but patience is not my forte.
“Will I see you before you return to Carlyle?”
I look at my feet. “Probably not. I’m pretty busy…. You know, packing.” I know I could be nicer but would it really be better to prolong his suspense? I choose the Band Aid approach: just rip it off.
“Okay, Annika. I understand,” he says heavily, then watches while I give yet another lame little wave and scurry down the stairs to the train.
And I have to wonder: what does he even like about me? Is it just my looks? Do I just remind him of home? Does he just want a girlfriend, any girlfriend? Because he saw nothing of the real me. I was never myself with him in any meaningful way. Even when we talked about our jobs I couldn’t get him to engage with current events or politics. Why would he like me any more than I liked him?
I chew on that the whole way back to the house. It’s late afternoon by now and all I want for the rest of my day is air conditioning. I let myself in the front door, welcoming the blast of chilled air on my sticky skin. Dropping my bag and fishing for my phone I realize I missed a call from my mother while underground. She asked me to call her back AS
AP so I dial the unfamiliar number.
“Annika! I’m here!” Her voice is clear as a bell.
“Here where?” I ask, bewildered.
“D.C.! You know I had that conference in Vancouver? I arranged to stop over here on my way home! I’m at a hotel in Dupont Circle.”
“Oh my God!” I jump up and down despite my blister because this is the best news I’ve had all summer. The worst part of the internship—aside from the weather and my pervy boss—was being unable to get home. I work straight through til move-in day at Carlyle.
“Come here!” I insist. “We can cook and catch up!”
“I wanted to take you out to dinner, Anni-bear!” I can hear her huge smile through the phone.
“I miss your cooking!” I whine. “I’ll shop while you head over.”
She laughs and gives in so I forward her the address and run back out the door.
“I couldn’t not see you for months, Annika!” We are sitting in the Troubridges’ huge kitchen and I’m perched on a stool at the counter grinning like a fool. My mother chops vegetables and sips from a glass of white wine.
“You could have told me you were coming! I would have looked forward to it all week!” I watch her hands at work, enjoying the familiar sight and the familiar sound of her bracelets jangling.
“I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure.” She shrugs a shoulder. “Did you buy garlic? Yes, of course you did. Here it is. Please mince it for me. So how are you?” She gives me a sharp look before returning to her prep. I take the garlic and find a cutting board and knife, and let myself shift back into old patterns.
“Okay,” I begin, then hesitate. “Where should I start? With school? With my job? With my summer?” We’ve talked on the phone but I haven’t seen her in ages. There’s much we haven’t discussed.
“Anywhere! What are you thinking about these days?”
Well, that narrows down the field: Matt. “A guy,” I admit reluctantly. My mother lifts an eyebrow.
The Do-Over (Extra Credit Book 2) Page 14