London Calling

by Victoria Villeneuve

  “You always think about you.” She regretted the words as soon as she said them, but they both knew it was true. Natalie made sacrifices out the wazoo for Mark’s sake: she made him lunches on busy days, picked him up and dropped him off from campus (despite the fact that his house was on the other side of town), and went to every party with his friends because he wanted her to.

  He held up his phone when a message alert went off, and her hands balled into fists. All she wanted to do was slap the thing out of his hand, and then maybe give him a good kick.

  “Sorry, can you pay attention to our conversation for like… two seconds?”

  “You know what, Natalie?” It was a wonder that the screen didn’t crack when he slammed his thumb down against it. “I can’t… I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, and I think we need to call it quits for a while. I can’t do it anymore.”

  “W-What?” Her knees gave way at the thought, and Natalie collapsed back down onto the stone bench. “What do you mean?”

  “Look, I love you,” he started, crouching in front of her and taking her hand, “but I need to think about my future. I have to focus and keep my grades in the top two percent, and I can’t… I can’t focus on us and your family drama and everything that comes with it when I’m trying to study. I just can’t.”

  “But…” She didn’t want this. She didn’t want things to come to a screeching halt—all she had wanted was an apology. Her fingers were numb in his hand, and she found it difficult to form actual sentences. “But we’re… Mark—”

  “You clearly have things you need to work on, and I guess I’m not as helpful as I was in high school.” He touched her shoulder, but she couldn’t feel much of it—she didn’t feel much of anything. Not the warm spring breeze, not the blades of grass tickling her ankles. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry it came out like this, but I think we’ll both be better off. I hope we can be friends at some point.”

  Friends? Weren’t they friends already? He was supposed to be her best friend. He was her partner. He was everything.

  “Mark.”

  “We’ll talk later, Nat.”

  And then he was gone. Once she was alone, she pinched herself as hard as she could, trying to figure out whether any of it had been real. Had he just… Had he just dumped her? She didn’t want to believe it, but the sudden and unmistakable emptiness she felt in the pit of her stomach was difficult to ignore. It was like he had taken a part of her with him when he left, and she wasn’t sure if she’d ever get it back. Arms wrapped around herself, she doubled over and sobbed into her knees. Her tears mixed with her mascara, leaving blotchy wet marks on her jeans.

  Later never came. Mark hadn’t called or texted her in a week, and after a few of her messages on various social media platforms went unanswered, Natalie stopped trying. She never thought this was how it would end: four years stomped on in a matter of minutes, and then it was like it had never happened. Grace tried to be sympathetic, but she knew her friend wanted to shriek, “I told you so!” from the mountaintops for all to hear. Whenever she tried to talk to her mom about it, the woman ranted on and on about how all men were worthless pigs—and that did nothing. She didn’t want to think Mark was a pig. Mark was the love of her life, and now he just… wasn’t.

  He didn’t want to be, anyway. Scrolling through his Facebook profile, Natalie decided that he looked happy. Well, his pictures did, anyway. He’d gone to a pub night on campus after an exam last Wednesday, and he smiled his charming smile with all his bros over a few pitchers (despite being underage). Natalie hadn’t wanted to try a fake ID at any of the bars: it was a small town, and when you were caught using fake identification at one, the bouncers talked. Mark had always been frustrated with her over it; now he could do whatever he wanted.

  She’d never thought he’d be this cruel about it. Natalie seldom imagined their break-up, but when she did, she saw them ending it amicably: they’d be friends afterward, and it would be an easy transition. This was brutal. Her nerves were shot and her focus was gone—the last two exams she wrote were rougher than she anticipated, and she’d be lucky if she passed. Her first year of college was supposed to be fun and carefree, not laced with drama and heartbreak and nervous breakdowns.

  It was her third day off from her part-time gig at the registrar’s office. She booked the time off for her exams, and now she needed it to nurse her broken heart. Her dad hadn’t been home since the night of her belated birthday dinner, and when she talked to him on the phone, he sounded distant and distracted. Her mom was even more of a mess than usual, alternating between rage cleaning (also known as hurling her dad’s stuff into the trash) and sobbing uncontrollably in front of the TV.

  She wanted out. Just for a little while, Natalie wanted to get out of Cooliage and away from everything that was chipping at her self-esteem and confidence. Before she broke completely, before her nerves shattered, she just needed some time to herself. Facebook was a great temporary escape, and as she curled up under her covers with her hair in a bun and day-old crusted mascara, laptop on her chest and an empty bag of chips beside her, she scrolled through her news feed with feigned interest—that is, until she happened upon an old friend’s trip to Germany.

  Billy Howard was a high school friend who decided to put college on hold for a year to go traveling. He started in Bali, then moved westward over the last year, and was now apparently in Germany. She clicked on the album, scrolling through the pictures with more interest. He was by himself, and based on all the excited comments he added to each picture, he was having a blast.

  The internet was a strange place. In a lot of ways, it worked just like the human brain. One minute she was looking at Billy’s pictures on Facebook, the next she was on a photo article about Europe’s top ten most beautiful (and cheap) holiday destinations. And then she was checking her online bank account. She needed the escape—to get away from her warmongering parents, her unsympathetic friends, and her totally happy ex-boyfriend. With the registrar’s office closing down to part-time work over the next four months, Natalie would be jobless anyway.

  And Europe was calling. All of it was. The Parisian cafes. The Italian beaches. The Swiss hiking trails. The Spanish architecture.

  There was more than enough in her savings account for a few months of traveling, and with no job or coursework lined up for the summer, why not? Why not see some other part of the world? She’d only ever been to Mexico—her passport looked sad and stamp-less. When else in her life would she be free from adult responsibility? Nineteen, single and jobless, just starting her college career: this was the perfect time to take a whirlwind trip to Europe. She could work double shifts for the next two weeks until her contract expired, and she’d have a little financial cushioning.

  In the spur of the moment, Natalie purchased an economy class plane ticket to Paris, and when she was finished—seat chosen, fees paid, and ticket nestled in her inbox—with everything, she realized this was the happiest she’d been in months.

  *

  “Je… veux… uhm…” Natalie flipped through her English-French translation book, nibbling her lower lip as the attendant behind the front desk counter looked on with a sigh. “Un… Pepsi.”

  “We don’t have Pepsi here,” the man remarked, pointing down the hall without looking up from his computer screen. “There is Coca Cola in the vending machine.”

  “Oh, merci.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  After tossing her dictionary and guide book in her backpack, Natalie slung the bag over her shoulder and trudged off down the hall, cheeks tinged pink from the whole interaction. Still, at least she had managed to find a spot to get a soda: the tap water had a funny taste in Paris. She sidestepped a trio of Japanese teens, all speaking rapidly on top of one another, and paused in front of the vending machine. It was definitely going to take her some time to get over the conversion rate between US dollars and the Euro, and she was happy she’d exchanged some bills to coins at the airport.

/>   Money aside, Paris was exquisite so far, and all Natalie had seen was the airport and the taxi ride to her hostel. With her plane ticket booked two weeks earlier, there was no stopping her from taking that much-needed European holiday. At the time, she wasn’t sure where she’d end up: for all she knew, she could spend an entire month in France and be the happiest girl on the planet. That was what being spontaneous was about, wasn’t it? No more planning her future, setting dates and timelines—especially with a certain someone.

  It had been tough for those last two weeks. A quick chat with her boss secured her ten hour days for the remainder of her time at the registrar’s office that semester, which flooded her bank account with enough to buffer her savings should something go wrong. The money might have been great, but her days were exhausting, and there were times when she wasn’t sure why she was putting herself through it. Every single spot in Cooliage reminded her of Mark, from the campus cafeteria to the grocery store, and she hadn’t been sure if she was going to make it to her night flight across the Atlantic without messaging him.

  But she did it. He hadn’t bothered with her, and she tried her best to do the same.

  Her mother wasn’t thrilled at the idea of her traveling across Europe alone, but she was so distracted with the impending divorce (and who got what during the split) that she didn’t put up much of a fight. In the end, she was the one who drove Natalie to her airport to catch her connecting flight to JFK Airport in New York City, and then she was on her own.

  And so far, she liked being on her own.

  The flight had been a little uncomfortable: Natalie was nestled between two strangers in a middle seat, and both sides thought the armrests belonged to them. Her headphones hadn’t worked for half the flight, and a baby shrieked for the last two hours non-stop while its mother chatted with her husband. Still, once she had grabbed her bags and hightailed it to the taxi station outside the airport, things finally started looking up. Natalie drowsily admired the cityscape as the cab whizzed through the narrow streets, taking in the narrow, tall, connected buildings that were a distinct contrast to the American single homes she was used to. Never once did she feel unsafe on her own, but she carried her keychain with her keys nestled between her fingers out of habit, even when she checked in to her youth hostel in the downtown core of the city.

  With all the exquisite sites to see in Paris itself, choosing a place to stay was one of Natalie toughest decisions. At the time, she had spent so much on her airline ticket that it seemed silly to fork over hundreds of more dollars for a room she’d only be sleeping in. So, she researched various hostels around the city, choosing their minimalist comforts over decadent hotels for the sake of her bank account. The one she landed on was fairly centralized on Rue Trousseau, though from the online articles she had read, it was easy to walk just about anywhere in the city—with enough determination and energy, that is.

  Although she saved money by choosing a hostel, Natalie was willing to fork over some extra cash to get a single room. Even if the next few months were about exploring new places and finding out who she truly was, she wasn’t ready to expand her social circle just yet. She hated thinking she was fragile, but she just didn’t have it in her to endure new people forced into her life. Besides, the hostel hosted all sorts from around the world, and she knew she would have been miserable if she had to sit on the bottom bunk her room listening to people yammer on in another language all night.

  Unless they were Ukrainian—then she could have covertly listened in, catching the majority of what was said, and felt like she had the upper hand. Or she could have just joined in. It would all depend on her mood at the time, she supposed.

  For all the horror stories she had read about hostels, she was genuinely pleased (and surprised) with how much she loved this one. It was clean—every room looked minimalistic and pristine. Even the bathrooms smelled fresher than the ones she had experienced in the few Cooliage College dorms. There was a cafeteria-style eatery in the basement, where she enjoyed a modest breakfast served by polite staff. The first floor had the reception hall and lounge, which was equipped with a foosball table and a few chess sets. For the most part, people seemed happy to relax on the plush furniture: couches, bean bag chairs, and recliners filled the small hall.

  The Coke can made a horrible racket when it came crashing down from inside the vending machine, so much so that a group of guys with delicious Scottish accents actually stopped talking to see what the problem was. Her cheeks went from pink to bright red, and Natalie fished the can out of the bottom holder and stuffed it in her backpack. Their lighthearted chatter followed her down the corridor, but they eventually faded out when she reached the lounge. A bean bag chair by one of the large windows was calling her name, and Natalie plunked down into it with a sigh.

  Because of the time difference between home and France, she decided she’d save the city tour for tomorrow. Today, instead, would be filled with the wonders of Versailles. She’d signed up for the tour a few days ago, grabbing a ticket while there was an online deal, and the bus would pick her up from the hostel at eleven-thirty. There were a number of information packets at the front desk, and she had grabbed one before breakfast about the iconic palace, which was located just outside of the Paris core. Her brochure boasted a relaxing drive through some countryside, and with her jetlag started to tug at her, she was happy she’d chosen something relaxing for the day.

  Information packet in hand, Natalie settled into the cushy beanbag chair, ankles crossed and eyebrows furrowed as she reread some of the text. Mark wouldn’t have liked this. He would have wanted to sleep all day and hit up a club tonight. She shook her head. It was hard not to think about him: he’d been one of the only people she thought about every single day for the last four years. Her vision blurred as she stared at photograph of the famous gardens on the back of the brochure, her mind slipping temporarily back to Mark.

  “Are you doing Versailles too?”

  The voice seemed to appear out of nowhere, cutting through her Mark musing and dragging her back to reality. Natalie looked up and found a man and a woman seated on the couch next to her, and the woman was smiling.

  “Uh… Yeah,” she managed, holding up the pamphlet. “I’m taking the eleven-thirty tour today.”

  The man held up an identical brochure. “Us too.”

  Australians. A duo of tanned, beautiful Australians were staring at her. From the rings on their wedding fingers, she assumed they were married. He was a little on the thin side, but his sleeveless t-shirt showed off a pair of ridiculously toned arms. She, on the other hand, had nice, thick curves to her, with bright blonde—possibly dyed—hair and a cluster of brown freckles on the bridge of her nose.

  Natalie tried to sit up a little straighter with as much dignity as she could on the squishy chair. “Oh, cool.”

  “Samantha,” the woman said, hand extended, “and this is my husband Mick.”

  She grasped Samantha’s warm hand, pleased by the firmness of her grip. “Hi… Natalie.”

  “You American?”

  She glanced down at her clothes, then to her bag. “How could you tell?”

  From everything she’d read about traveling, Americans weren’t exactly the world’s favourite sort of people. So, based on the advice she’d seen, she tried not to show too much patriotism. Samantha laughed, leaning back against Mick.

  “Your accent. I could pick you a mile away.”

  “Sam worked at a place in New York for a bit last year,” Mick added. “Best chef in the world right here.”

  “I loved it.” Natalie couldn’t help but smile at the pair. “Working there was great. We’re on a European food tour now, actually.”

  “A whole continent of face stuffing!”

  “Wow,” Natalie said, nodding a few times. “That sounds like the best vacation ever.”

  “It’s been amazing. We’re on month six at the moment,” Samantha told her, and Natalie tried not to look too shocked. “What about y
ou? What brings you to France?”

  Well, my family life is a shit-storm, and the guy I thought I’d eventually marry just dumped me, and none of my friends seem to care, and my dad is a cheating jerk who has totally checked out of my life…

  Negative thoughts came to mind first. They bounced around her brain, overwhelming and obnoxious, and Natalie needed to take a deep breath to clear them—well, more like two.

  “Well…” She paused. Samantha and Mick had just met her. They seemed like decent, friendly people, and it wasn’t fair to burden them with her issues. Besides, these were two people who knew nothing about her: she was as much of a clean slate to them as they were to her, and there was beauty in that. “Well, I just finished my first year at college, and I thought I should get some traveling in before I have to actually be an adult.”

  Her cheeks coloured again as they both laughed, but it wasn’t an embarrassed blush. Instead, the colour came from a happier place, a place that felt pride for her ability to crack a joke, to hide the ugliness from back home—to make quick friends with strangers.

  “Do that while you can,” Samantha insisted. “I mean, you have your whole life to be a grown-up, and it’s not all fun.”

  “Most of the time,” Mick added, and Natalie chuckled. They didn’t look much older than her, but if Samantha was, supposedly, a chef who had been working around the world, they had to be in their late twenties at the very least.

  “Are you here by yourself then?”

  She nodded, and Mick and Samantha exchanged a look.

  “Well, if you want to hang around with us, we don’t mind.” It was Mick who offered the invite, and Samantha pointed out the window.

  “I think that’s our van for the day.”

  She accepted Samantha’s hand when it was offered to her, and they both laughed as they struggled to get her upright out of the beanbag chair. As she followed them outside to a small white van, the tour guide’s agency title scrawled across the sides in fancy black cursive, Natalie marveled at how quickly things had taken a turn. She went from wanting a single bed and a solo vacation to actually enjoying the thought of having two easygoing Australians to hang around with. The change had come quickly—and out of nowhere—that morning, but for once, she wasn’t scared of it. The usual heaviness that settled on her shoulders after change wasn’t there. Her life back home was so dark and miserable lately, but with Samantha and Mick cracking jokes with the driver and butchering their version of the French language, she was happy to be in the light at last. Whether it lasted for a day, a week, or an hour, Natalie planned to enjoy it.