by Olivia Rigal
“But you were distracted?” He’s smiling, and looking very happy with himself, suddenly.
I burst his bubble. No way can I let him think that jealousy got in the way. “Not distracted, tipsy, borderline drunk, actually.”
“I see.” He’s still smiling. He doesn’t believe me.
“Do you know where she lives?” I ask.
“Yes, I pay her rent and support her. It’s our deal for the duration of the arrangement.”
“So go get her, take her to an emergency room and be with her. No one should have to go through this alone.”
I push him further away but he holds on to me.
“Will you wait for me?”
I avoid giving him a direct answer. Instead I say, “I’ll be with Chanlina. I’ll stay with her and if you need me to, I’ll make sure she gets safely back to school in Vientiane tomorrow.”
He kisses my forehead, and says, “Thank you.”
❦
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I WATCH HIM WALK OUT OF the bedroom, and I have this gut feeling that I’ll never see him again. I need to force myself not to reach out and hold him back. I cross my arms, and dig my nails in my own flesh.
Why did all the oxygen vanish from the room as soon as the door closed behind him? I can’t breathe. With my back to the wall, I slide down to the floor, wrap my arms around my legs, and rest my head on my knees.
My mind is reeling, and I hate myself for being so miserable.
I had to make him go, because it’s the right thing to do. Even if his marriage started out just as a way to get a visa, his wife is pregnant, and the child could be his. He needs to be with them.
I’m not really hung up on moral values and traditions, but there are basic rules; one of them is that you don’t sleep around with a married man whose wife is expecting a child. That’s a rule carved in stone that I will not break, despite the fact that the kid may not be his.
Knowing it’s the right thing to do does not help with the pain, though. I’m not even sure about the way I feel. Is this a big crush, or a crazy infatuation? I pray that this is purely a chemical reaction triggered by oxytocin, the bonding hormone associated with love making. If it is, then I’ll be okay tomorrow. Fat chance, though.
I wish there was some type of scaled ruler that I could use to measure the depth of my feelings for this man. I’ve never had my heart crushed before. How bad can this type of pain get?
I fall asleep curled up against the wall, and then wake up with pins and needles in my legs. The alarm clock on the bedside table glows in the dark: it’s past 5am. He’s not coming back; he’s staying with her. That’s good. That’s what I told him to do. So why do I feel like something’s been torn out of me?
I pull myself up from the floor, and make sure that the separation door between the two bedrooms is not locked on my side. That way, Chanlina can come in when she wakes up. Then, I drag myself into bed.
I’m so weary that I fall back in a dreamless sleep as soon as my head hits the pillow. It feels like it’s only three seconds later when Chanlina wakes me up.
“Are you alright, Jade?” She asks, sitting next to me on the big bed as she strokes my shoulder. My eyes open, and I look at the alarm clock. It’s 9:32am.
“Sure, baby. Have you been up long?”
“Yes, and I’m starving.”
“Okay, give me two minutes, and we’ll go down for breakfast,” I say, getting out of bed. My dress looks like a crumpled rag.
“What happened?”
I give her a quizzical look, and she shakes her head in exasperation. “Oliver’s not here, and you slept with your clothes on. Something happened.”
“Oh, right, sorry. I’m not awake, yet. There was an emergency. Oliver had to go, and I was too tired to undress. Let me hop into the shower really quickly, and I’ll go for breakfast with you.”
“Fine, but hurry; I’m hungry.” Her teenager pout is cute.
I step into the shower, and turn the cold water on full blast. Now I’m fully awake, and I’m wondering what more I can tell her. It all depends on how much she already knows.
I find the answer when I go back into the room, wiping my hair with a towel. Chanlina is reading something on her smartphone.
She looks up from the phone, and says, “So, you met Sirikit last night?”
“Yes. That’s when I found out that your father is married.”
“But it’s not a real marriage,” she says softly. Her tone changes when she says, “And, anyway, he married her before he knew you, so you can’t really hold it against him. Can you?”
I smile at her; she’s adorable when she’s defensive of Oliver, like that. I like that she’s loyal to him.
“He doesn’t love her,” she insists. “While I think—no, I know—he’s in love with you.”
Her statement goes through me like an arrow through a paper screen. It cuts straight through. I don’t want to hear it; I’ll go mad thinking of what a waste this has become. When I think about it, it tears me to shreds.
I deflect the conversation, and ask, “What did he write?”
“He’s at the hospital with Sirikit. You’re taking me back to school tonight.”
“Yes, I told him that I would if he got stuck there.”
“Do you know what’s wrong with her? Is she sick?”
“I think she may have a serious medical condition that’s putting her life and her baby’s life in danger.”
“Baby?”
“Yes. She’s in an advanced stage of pregnancy.”
“Does Liam know?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because he has to be the dad.”
“It’s more complicated than that,” I tell her. “It seems that he’s not the only candidate.”
She looks at me. “Are you saying I could have a baby brother or sister? That the baby could be Oliver’s?”
“Yes, that’s the idea,” I say, trying my best to sound neutral, while my heart has climbed up into my throat. I’m not superstitious, but suddenly saying it out loud is almost making it true.
“How cool!” She says, bouncing on the bed for a few seconds. She’s all smiles until she looks at my face, and sees what this means for me. Her jaw drops, and the smile vanishes from her face.
“Oh, Jade, I’m so sorry.”
“So am I, Chanlina. So am I.”
❦
It’s been four weeks since I came back from Bangkok with Chanlina. I dropped her off at the bus stop for the ride that would take her back to Vientiane, where she goes to school.
Before I left her, I gave her a mental hug, and planted a seed of rebellion in her mind. I told her to never let go of her dream. If she wants to be a ballerina or a choreographer, then she shouldn’t apply to any old college that’s located next to her granny’s place; she should apply to the best dancing schools, and fight for her dream.
It’s been four weeks, and four weekends. The entire mine crew has been back four times—the entire mine crew, minus Oliver.
When they arrived on the first weekend, they tiptoed around me. After a few hours, they understood that I was not going to dignify Oliver’s absence with any questions, and they started behaving normally again.
Basically, that means that we acknowledge our mutual presences in the morning and at night, but there’s no small talk. I say hello, and they grunt back.
I overhear them talk about the constant rain, and the rising of the Mekong, and how difficult it’s been working in the mine. They have floods every other day.
Once in a while, I see Liam and Patrick shooting glances at me. Patrick looks like he’s bursting to tell me something, but he holds himself back.
I look at him and think, “speak now, or forever hold your peace.” I wish he would tell me whatever it is he wants to say. I want to know, but I’m too proud to ask. I telepathically call out to him. Come on, buddy, it’s now or never, because when you come back next week, I’ll be gone. It does not work.
Last week, I accepted the MedBits Institute offer; it’s the South Florida lab. I have a four months contract starting at the end of May.
The research facility is located in Florida, in Palm Beach County. The town is called Jupiter. Agatha jokes that I’m actually moving to another planet, and she’s not far off. Even if the Florida climate is similar to that of Southeast Asia, it may as well be another planet.
Over all, Agatha’s been very supportive. Once in a while, she does tease me about how nice it is to be on the other side of the tissue box. It’s not that she enjoys seeing me miserable, but she doesn’t hate it, either. She’s getting some sort of revenge on me.
I held my head up for the first week, and started to falter at the end of the second. It’s only after the third weekend that I went to pieces.
Of course, I realize I’m being totally inconsistent. I know I’m the one who pushed him away, and told him to stand by his wife, but still, it hurts. I hate that he gave up without the slightest fight. I’m not sure what I would have done if he had come back to me, all guns blazing. I guess I’ll never know, since he didn’t even bother to try.
How contrary can a girl be?
I do my job, and then I teach all the first aid skills I know to Cook and Vieng Neun. I’m leaving them with most of my medical equipment, and giving the heavy stuff, such as the antibiotics and steroids, to the local French doctor’s branch.
I seldom go back to the cascade, anymore; the water got so high that it’s a bit dangerous. I guess I could handle it, as I’m a good swimmer… well, when no one startles me. The real reason is that even when I go sit by the riverbank to watch the water, it’s no longer peaceful and serene. Every drop of the cascade tears a microscopic piece of me away.
However, I go back today, as a small pilgrimage to a dead dream of mine. I look at the waterfall, listen to the gushing riverside, and cry a few more tears over what could have been, before I turn the page to get on with my life.
❦
CHAPTER NINETEEN
RIDING A BICYCLE TO WORK is a pleasure. Florida is flatter than the back of my hand; I’m gliding along in the warm breeze. The weather at the end of May is perfect; so perfect that, in the evening, it even gets a bit cool, and I can kill the AC and sleep with my windows open. Soon, the rainy season will come, and it will be as hot and stuffy as Laos. I’ll probably need to buy a car, then, unless I want to arrive at work as a wet rag, or get grilled by lightning. For now, though, the weather is delicious.
Today will be interesting, as I’m meeting my new teammate, Nathanael. He’s a French wiz with a passion for math, statistics, and programming. Before he starts teaching as a visiting professor at a New York university in the fall, he’s coming to assist the setting up of the research program as a favor to Doctor Michael Clark, the manager of the American branch of the MedBits Institute. Come to think of it, I don’t know what kind of doctor Michael is. I’m not sure if it’s math, or something else.
Nathanael is twenty-four, and he will be my roommate while he’s visiting Florida.
The MedBits Institute owns a few furnished condo units in a nearby town called Palm Beach Gardens. Some are occupied by summer interns, and they are stacked two per room, as in a college dorm. Others are rented to the new employees while they get their bearings.
I scored a two-bedroom unit, which will be rent-free, as long as Nathanael stays with me. Afterward, I’ll pay rent. I have a weird status, since I’m not an intern, but I’m not a permanent hire; well, not yet. If the first program works well, we could extend to other projects.
The condo boasts a few tennis courts, a gym, and a very long swimming pool, in which a Jacuzzi is nested. Next to the swimming pool, there are the usual chaise lounges, as well as a deck with tables, chairs, and two professional-sized barbecue grills. It’s the central meeting place for those who live here, and about ten percent of the units are owned by the MedBits Institute.
The great thing about this condo is that it’s well-located; it’s close to many stores, as well as to the research facility, which I can reach in fifteen minutes without breaking a sweat. Well, the no sweat part is due to the lovely month of May. I’m sure that in August, I’ll be soaked with sweat, and drenched with rain.
As I chain my bicycle to a palm tree, I look around the brand new building. Everything is so sparkling clean and perfect that it’s unreal.
Outside, the bushes are so cleanly cut that, on the first day, I had to crush a leaf between my fingers to check that it was a real plant. Inside the facility, it’s a Hollywood version of what a lab should look like. The administrative offices have enormous windows with slightly tinted glass to protect the staff from the sun’s rays.
My name is on the door of one of those lovely cubicles; there’s a desk and a computer, but I doubt that I will ever use them. I walk by it without stopping, and reach the manager’s corner office.
Michael’s already started the meeting. I look at my watch: I’m thirty minutes early. Obviously that was not early enough.
On the first day on the job, Pamela, Michael’s assistant, told me that he has serious issues with working schedules.
“It doesn’t matter if you stayed ’til midnight to finish a project the night before,” she told me. “If you’re supposed to come in at 9am, you have to be there at 8:30am, and if you can’t be there at 9am, then you’d better call in sick.” Watching me roll my eyes in exasperation, she added, “Welcome to corporate life.”
So, here I am at 8:30 am, late for a 9 am meeting.
I symbolically knock on the glass door, which was left open, and walk into the office. Across from David, there is Pamela, who glances at her watch, and shrugs. As she does, her long dark hair moves around her like it has a life of its own; I wonder how she does that. Her tiny frame amazes me: she only occupies half the chair.
Next to her is a very skinny guy with a mop of black curly hair, and shiny blue eyes. He seems as mesmerized as I am by Pamela’s hair. This man is so skinny that he could share Pamela’s chair with her, and there would still be room left over. He’s also very pale, like someone who never goes out in the sun. When he gets up to greet me, I think that this is what the hybrid child of an Alaskan crab and a spider monkey would look like. I suppress a giggle, and push the image of their mating rituals to the back of my head. One day, I will need to get a grip on my imagination.
As I shake his hand, he introduces himself. “Hello, I’m Nathanael. Call me Nat; everyone does. You must be Jade! I’m very happy to meet you.”
His French accent is thick, but he’s still perfectly understandable.
“Nice to meet you, Nat,” I say. His eyes are like two sparkling blue pools, and I wish that I could look through them, all the way to his brain, to see what makes it different and so special.
Nathanael is a genius, and that’s not a figure of speech. He has such mind-blowing intelligence that he’s a possible candidate for the next Fields Medal, which is the equivalent of the Nobel Prize for mathematicians.
Working with him should be amazing. Well, I personally expect him to be as exasperated by my questions as I was by the first year biology students when I assisted a professor last year. I know I’m very smart, but Nathanael is in an entirely different league. He’s a modern Newton or Einstein. He has earned the respect of the entire scientific community.
“I’m very happy to be given this opportunity to work with you,” I add. This scores me points with Michael, who acts as if Nathanael’s brain is a mere extension of his own, or that it brushed off on him, because they were dorm buddies in an Ivy League school. He conveniently forgets that Nathanael is about ten years younger than he, but, then again, soon no one will pay attention to that. When we reach fifty, no one will care what age we graduated.
“Now that we’re all here, let me show you the lab,” says Michael as he gets up.
The men walk out together; Pamela and I follow at a slower pace. Pamela has stiletto heels that click on the tiles, and slow her down a bit. I�
�m slower just because I’ve got shorter legs than all of them. Pamela takes advantage of the distance, to whisper to me.
“Oh my God, he’s so cute.”
“You think?” I ask, surprised. “He makes me think of Inspector Gadget, complete with a set of extendable arms and legs.”
Pamela laughs. “Do you think the rest of him is in proportion, or extendable, as well?”
“Oh, Pamela, you’ve just destroyed one of my childhood icons! Yuck; now I’ll never be able to look at the cartoon again without the image of an extendable penis popping into my brain.”
She giggles, and, at the same time, looks at me intently, trying to figure out if I’m serious about not seeing him as sexy.
Her hands fly to my arm, and the contrast in our skin tones strikes me. She’s like milk chocolate laced with caramel, whereas I’m pale as a ghost.
Pamela decides that I am seriously not interested, because she says, “You really don’t have the hots for him? That’s great! As of today, Jade, you and I are BFFs. I know I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer—actually, I think I may be a little dull, there,” she points to her temple with a perfectly manicured finger, “especially when I am compared to the rest of the staff—but I have other assets. Some can be best admired in a tiny bikini; others can be appreciated at a dinner table. So, if you don’t mind, this weekend, I’ll come do my laps in your pool, and then I will prepare you a meal.”
“Sure, why not?” I say, not really paying attention to her chatter. My mind is in overdrive; I’m thinking about all the questions I have for Nathanael. I wonder if he’ll have enough time to address them all before he has to go.
“Fish, or meat?” she asks.
“I don’t know, beef and chicken maybe,” I answer, and then it dawns on me that she’s being serious. She’s coming to my place to show off her body, as well as her cooking skills, to Nathanael.
Instead of fighting her to keep some privacy, I go with the flow. After all, the pool is certainly big enough for the two of us, and I’m going to get a good meal out of this. If she wants to seduce him with food, she has to be a decent cook; he comes from France where cooking is an art form. Maybe her cooking won’t be good enough to impress him. She’ll just have to rely on her endless sculpted body, complete with the upper add-on rack.