by Robin Lovett
The same things I’m going to do without him when I leave for home in less than three weeks.
I’ve always wanted to go to Italy. There’s so much travel I haven’t done. France, Italy, the world here is boundless and I’ve only glimpsed it. There’s so much I want that I haven’t experienced yet.
I don’t want my old life. It’s thinner somehow. The world with Terrence in it has so much more life, color, excitement. Even when things get tough, the crashes and the doping, the losing and the winning, Terrence lives it fully with smiles and laughter, anger and sadness. He lives with the kind of passion the writers talk about in my novels and poems.
When I go home for good...I won’t have Terrence at all, not even between races.
A caving starts in my chest, a vacancy re-opening where before there was nothing, but lately there’s been something. I don’t want it to be empty again.
“Aurélie?”
I look and see Paul, peering at me curiously. I’m standing motionless in the courtyard, students and teachers milling around me.
“Hi,” I say.
“Everything okay?’
“Uh—well—” I have no censor; I’m too raw to filter myself. “I don’t want to go home.” The words split the cavity in my chest wide, and it oozes fear. I can’t go home. I rub the spot in my ribs where it hurts. The idea of going home causes me actual pain.
“You will miss France?” Paul asks.
“Yes.”
“Ah, but you will bring your American cyclist home with you. I saw your picture with him on a sports website.”
I avert my eyes and massage the ache in my ribs again. “He’s racing in Europe all summer.” In fact, I don’t know if he ever goes home to Pennsylvania. It’s not far from where my parents live, but he’s never mentioned going home to the States.
Paul pats my shoulder with an empathetic smile.
I feel bad I’ve avoided Paul. If not for Terrence I might have thought Paul was the perfect guy for me. As nice as he is, I would have missed wonderful things. If it hadn’t been for Terrence, I might not ever have opened up enough to be friends with Paul at all.
“Couldn’t you stay for longer?” he asks.
“Fulbright’s already sending a teacher replacement for me.” I won’t have a visa to stay in France past when they say.
“It sounds like you’ve had a great love affair, as everyone should while they are in Nice.”
A great love affair, sure. Not that I’ve ever gotten the courage to have sex. I smile anyway. “It has been fun.”
I ride my bike leisurely to my apartment. I have no desire to sit on my bed and read. I have even less desire to plan going home, checking flights and doing Fulbright paperwork.
Soon some other English teacher will be living in my apartment. It will be like I was never here.
I drop off my messenger bag, get back on my bike, and pedal.
Thinking about leaving helps nothing. Dwelling on the pain in my chest, missing Terrence already, helps nothing. I’m going home no matter what. There’s nothing I can do about it.
I pedal faster, farther, and find the climb Terrence took me up on our first ride. It’s hard work to get to the viewpoint again, but it’s not as difficult as last time. I’m more fit than I was a few weeks ago.
The road continues, though I don’t have the energy to ride it. I wonder if I could ride to the top of the Col d’Èze. Riding it every day, going a little higher each time, I could aim to do it before Terrence gets back. It would give me something to do while he’s gone.
If I can’t see Terrence, I want to take advantage of this amazing place before I go home.
* * * * *
The next day I teach a fun lesson on American pop culture, one where my students laugh and have genuine fun in my classroom. All while speaking English. Maybe I’m not such a bad teacher.
I start my Col d’Èze climb with a smile, but get a flat tire before the first viewpoint. My tires haven’t been pumped in a week, since Terrence last did it. I owe Caroline a visit, I can pump up my tires there. I just hope it’s nothing more serious.
I drag my limping bike down to the boulevard, only to have Caroline stand in the alley and say, “Pumping up the tires isn’t going to do any good. It’s a puncture. You need to change it.”
“Oh.” My shoulders bend. I don’t know how to do that. I can’t afford to get it repaired. “Are you sure?”
She nods, rubbing her belly. “Bring it upstairs. There’s extra tubes in the closet.”
“I don’t know how.”
“I do.”
“You do?” I squelch my excitement though. I feel bad making her walk down the stairs, as pregnant as she is. I can’t ask her to change a flat tire. “That’s okay.”
She gives me an exasperated look. “I’m pregnant, not handicapped. Come on.”
I follow her upstairs and sit next to her at the kitchen table. She teaches me to change my tire, to pull out the old tube, partially pump the new one and re-fit it inside the rubber tire.
“You’re riding a lot,” she says.
“I thought I’d try the Col d’Èze climb, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea.” After I had to turn around this morning and walk my bike here, I’m not sure I want to try again.
“Of course it is. Take it slow. You’ll do it.” She shows me how to pry the tire on the frame with a plastic lever. “I’m jealous.”
“Do you ride?”
“Used to. Not for months now.” She pats her round belly. “That’s how Gary and I met. I used to race in Colorado.”
“Really?”
“Amateur only, but I was hoping to train here and maybe turn pro next year.” She leans back in her chair. “Not anymore.”
“Wow.” No wonder being pregnant has been so hard for her. It’s put her whole life, all her goals on hold. “Did you get to ride a little here before…” I gesture at her belly.
“A few weeks. The riding around here is some of the best in the world.”
“Why?”
She smiles. “The climbs. The roads. The guys ride into the Alps all the time.”
The back of my neck bristles. “Then why do they leave here early to train elsewhere before races? How do you manage with Gary gone so much? I’ve known Terrence a month and it drives me crazy.”
Her mouth twists. “I hate it, but he loves it. What can I do?”
“It makes no sense. Six days in Milan? Why do they need to train there so much?”
Caroline drops her eyes, staring at her hand on her belly. “It’s strange to me, too.” Her voice is lower, layered.
It sounds like she thinks there’s something suspicious about it. “Why’s it strange?”
She heaves a sigh. “You’ll have to ask Terr. Maybe he’ll give you a better answer than Gary gives me.”
“Gary won’t tell you? How come?”
“I have suspicions.” She stands. “You want to borrow my cycling stuff?”
Her abrupt subject change makes me think of last weekend when I asked if Terrence was hiding something from me. She didn’t answer me then, either.
I don’t want to pressure her so I go along with it. “I’d love that.” I’ve wished for a jersey instead of my baggy tank top, and for gloves to make the brakes easier on my hands.
She gives me a BG jersey, two water bottles, gloves, sunglasses, and a box of gels.
“Gels?”
“Energy shots. Sugar packets, basically. You can eat them on the bike. The guys live on them. Riding the Col d’Èze inclines…” She hums. “You’ll want one every twenty minutes or so.” Digging through a closet full of other gear, parts, and tools, she hands me a zipper pouch with an extra tire tube and a CO2 cartridge. “You can change a flat by yourself on the road with these.”
“Thank you.” I want to say something com
forting, like I wish she could ride with me, but it seems wrong to offer condolences for a pregnancy.
She waves me off with a tiny smile. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll ride again someday.”
I leave, promising to join her for dinner Saturday night. It’s nice to understand her better. I may have made a friend. Now, I’ll be too busy to miss Terrence and too occupied with riding to count the number of days until I have to go home. It’ll be less than two weeks tomorrow.
* * * * *
The riding exhausts me and forces me to dig for recesses of muscle power I didn’t know I possessed. I put on the BG jersey and the gear from Caroline, and transform into someone else, an athlete working my body into pinnacle shape.
Except, I stop often on the climb to rest, and I suck on the energy gels like candy. I have no idea how far the top is, so the pursuit seems endless. I rest until my breathing slows, I remember I’m leaving soon and will never see Terrence again, then I get back on the bike. I pound the pedals until all my thoughts silence beneath my thudding pulse.
Little fears pop into my head about what Caroline implied. She’s overreacting. The team is training and going to see a doctor in Milan. Nothing’s weird there.
I consider calling Terrence but don’t. He needs to focus on racing. Besides, he’ll get in trouble for talking to me.
On my weekly call to my parents, I impatiently watch the timer count down from ten minutes. I may miss my father’s crass jokes and my mother’s obsessive caretaking, but I pick up the receiver in fear of them grilling me about med school.
Five minutes in, it begins with my father asking me about applying for hospital internships. I wish the call was over.
“Uh, I haven’t had time to think about it, Dad.” And even if I did have time, I wouldn’t. I have two weeks left in France. After that, my life will be all about medical school. I could cry. The only way I survived my pre-med major was because of my French minor. I never would have passed organic chemistry if not for the Baudelaire poems I cuddled into bed with each night. In medical school, there’s no French minor.
My mom shares the landline with my dad. “There’s a waiting list just to volunteer at the hospital. You have to start looking.”
“Relie, is your résumé ready?” my dad asks.
This is all they’ve ever wanted for me. My dad’s been researching medical schools since I was in high school.
I am a mess of “I don’t know what I want”. I love being in France, but I’m homesick. I don’t want to go to medical school, but I’m not sure I want a Ph.D. in French either. I don’t want to lose Terrence, but he never has time for me. My life is lying fallow in a ditch, and any way I try to climb out makes me slide back to the bottom.
“I’ll start working on it,” I lie. I have no intention of working on my résumé while still in France, but I’d rather pacify them than argue.
They hang up satisfied, leaving me apprehensive. When I go home, that’s all I’m going to hear or be allowed to think about: med school, being a doctor.
I want Terrence, and him asking me about my French books, and talking to me about my students, and complaining to me about his racing, and teaching me how to cook.
But I can’t have that. I can’t have him. I have to leave him.
That cavity of fear gapes in my chest.
My only reprieve is another attempt at conquering the Col d’Èze, followed by dinner with Caroline.
Then I’m back in my apartment. It’s late, and I’m alone.
Again.
In bed.
Thinking of him.
Some nights, I almost wish he’d never taught me to give myself an orgasm, because it’s not enough. When it’s over, I’m filled with the sickness of missing him. I fantasize about what real sex with him would be like, and I regret not going all the way the first night he propositioned me.
It would have been so easy to turn in his arms and let him kiss me like he does, and touch me like he does, and undress me like he does, and…I don’t know how he does the next part.
Chapter Thirty
Today’s Milan-San Remo. Terrence hasn’t called me. Gary called Caroline yesterday, which is reasonable because they’re having a baby. It still hurts, though, to hear from Gary, through Caroline, that Terrence will be racing, and not from Terrence himself. It’s not like Terrence and I have a real relationship. It doesn’t matter how much he needs me or how much I miss him. I’m leaving in…
I’m not counting the days. I’m not.
I can’t. I’m physically unable to. The ache in my chest is getting worse.
I have a decision to make. Paul and his friends are going to the little country of Monaco with the famous casinos and raceway. I haven’t travelled. It would be good to spend the day with French people, touring another city.
Even though it goes against what I’m supposed to do in France, I’m done thinking that way. I’m not going to Monaco. What’s important is what I want to do. And I want to ride my bike up the Col d’Èze climb.
I focus on my pedal strokes. Down. Down. Down. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.
I’ve memorized each bend in the road. Each one I pass is a mini-victory. My lungs burn hotter with the steepening incline.
My legs jerk in circles, my thighs burn, my back aches. I could turn around anytime. I chant mantras to combat the urge: I want to see the top, I want to do this on my own. To give up would mean losing more than a million-dollar view. I’ve come so far, it would be like giving up on myself.
The road winds around the mountainside until I can no longer see the city of Nice, only villas, forests, and water. My bike weaving, my feet spin in slow motion.
The springtime sun makes sweat sprout on my neck, and the glittering sea speckles like diamonds in my eyes.
I can do this. I’m doing this.
Except, ahead, something kills my courage.
Trees. Lots and lots of trees. The road goes flat, the incline levels and turns away from the sea. My legs spin easily. I’m grateful for the reprieve, but I don’t know if this is the top.
If I keep going, I’ll go inland and won’t be able to see the water. The Côte d’Azur will be gone.
I pull over. My feet dragging onto the roadside gravel, I lean over the handlebars, breathless, my body depleted. This is it. I can’t go farther.
I can’t see the top. I don’t know how much farther it is, or maybe this is the top. I expected a sign, some indication of arrival, not anticlimactic ambiguity.
I would know if Terrence were with me. Or even Caroline.
But I wanted to do this for myself. This was supposed to be for me. But I miss Terrence more than ever. I wanted to feel connected to him. And now it’s over and I can’t go on and…
I’m on empty. I have nothing left. And I can’t escape it anymore, how much I miss him. The hard fact is, if he doesn’t have time for me when he gets back from the race, I’ll be devastated. It doesn’t matter that I’ll be leaving soon.
Tears burst from my eyes.
I’m vulnerable and I’ve never felt so at the mercy of someone else before. Like he holds my heart in his hands to either love it or break it.
Please let him not break it.
I want him next to me, smiling, taking selfies of us.
I shake the water from my eyes. “Stop it!” If I want to smile and take selfies, then I will smile and take selfies.
I take out my flip phone. It’s no smartphone, but it still has a camera. I take my first ever selfie, my face flushed from my ride, my eyes wet from tears.
I know he’s racing. I text it to Terrence with a “See you tomorrow”.
Even if he thinks the text a desperate girl move, I don’t care. I’m so full of him right now—I have to send it to him or I’ll burst.
I descend the climb, leaning over my handlebars, an aerodynamic pose, in im
itation of him. The wind whistles through my helmet, chilling the sweat on my forehead, and staunches the anxiety bleeding from my veins. Whether I should or shouldn’t have sent that text, whether I see Terrence again or not—it’s been wonderful to have him, even for a little while.
Before I met him, I was complacent here, not knowing how to have fun and enjoy the wonders of Nice. He’s shown me how to make friends and climb mountains. He’s taught me to believe in myself as a teacher, to love myself, eat better, exercise. And more. He’s taught me I’m worth it, beautiful and sexy. Priceless.
The breath-stealing scenery flashes by me, fast and blinking, and I’m overcome with a need to watch Terrence race.
Caroline is home, probably watching Milan-San Remo, so I turn my bike toward the Promenade and ride straight to the team flat.
* * * * *
Caroline opens the door and lets me in without a word. I itch to tell her about my climb up the Col d’Èze, but her glum expression stops me. Her mood reminds me more of her petulant arguments with Terrence, not the giving woman who taught me to change a flat and lent me her cycling gear.
“How’s the race?” I ask.
“Nothing’s happened for the first hundred and fifty kilometers, as usual.” She moves slowly back to the couch.
“How are you feeling?”
“Doesn’t matter.” She supports her back and sits down.
Her answer perplexes me, until I see the stack of suitcases by the door. “Caroline?”
She doesn’t look at me. “I’m going home tomorrow. That’s all I’m thinking about right now.”
I’ll miss her. It’s been nice having a girl friend in this crazy world of cycling.
It’s odd she didn’t mention it over dinner last night, but I knew it would happen soon. “That’s good, right? You’ll want to be with your family when your baby’s born.” Though if Gary can’t be there, I’m sure he’ll be disconsolate.
I sit down on a chair in view of the TV. Riders race across the screen, traveling on a winding seaside road, fanning the Mediterranean. It’s Italy. I want to go there. I could’ve gone to the finish, if I wasn’t too much of a wimp to travel alone. I’m nervous enough about flying back to the States.