I could visualize the trip I would take: I could go to the bank right now, empty out my account, and book a plane ticket to wherever was cheapest. I could make my way down the spine of South America, where beer was inexpensive and hammocks abundant.
But instead of ending the fantasy there—down on some beach in Punta del Este, Uruguay, playing barefoot soccer—I forced myself to continue. After the beach, after the beers, after the boys, I would have to return home, come back. Back. There would always be a back to return to until Gypsies & Boxcars was profitable and self-sufficient. And the back after any trip I took now would be a deep, deep hole. I would have made no true progress and would have to start saving money all over again.
And so I turned away from the voice, telling it to shush. I would go back to Long Island and move in with my mom and take the job with Bae. I would leave my money in my savings account because it was my “more marshmallows money.” I intended on keeping up with my goals for Gypsies & Boxcars—though losing this job meant it would take a lot longer to save for the relaunch.
So much for the schedule that Celestynka had made me. Regardless, I would do things differently this time in order to get to where I wanted to go—even if that meant staying still for a while.
I felt a mean little pinch in my chest when I thought that Lochlon would love this: He forecasted my return to office life with my tail between my legs. In fact, nothing would make him happier or more self-satisfied. I feared that he secretly thought that if he couldn’t live our dream life, then neither of us should.
I closed the wardrobe door, the clothes hanging like listless ghosts. I felt tears pooling. Even now, I couldn’t help but to think about Aston and feel that knee jerk of disappointment.
Just then, Mina’s door swung open. Celestynka stood at the doorway in a lime green miniskirt and high ponytail, her arms filled with aerosol cans and dust rags.
“Kika,” she said. “I did not know that you are back.”
“Hey, Celestynka,” I mumbled.
When she saw the look on my face, the cleaning products dropped in a free fall from her arms. “What is happening?” She dashed over to me. “You break up with Lochlon?”
I shook my head, and the tears ruptured in hot, splotchy-faced misery.
“So Lochlon is okay?” she asked, confused.
“Oh no, we did break up,” I added. But before she got a chance to say anything else, I spoke up quickly. “But it’s not that.”
Celestynka put her hands together to make a bowl shape and pleaded, “You no cry for Lochlon?”
Usually I corrected her English—she had gotten much better, but when she was emotional she regressed.
“No, I’m crying because . . . because . . . everything is messed up.”
“Tell me all,” Celestynka commanded, patting the bedspread beside her.
“The girls are being sent to boarding school in Switzerland!” I choked out. “But you cannot tell anyone,” I added, taking ahold of her wrists.
Celestynka pulled away and clutched her chest. “Why does Ms. Elsbeth want to send her babies away?”
“I don’t get it, either, but come September both girls will be shipped away, and I’ll be out of a job.”
Celestynka shook her head. “But this is no right. They have you leave America to work here.”
I sniffed back my tears. “Well, they’ll get me another job back home, in an office.” (This realization led to a fresh burst of feelings.) “But I’m just sad for the girls.”
Celestynka made a disappointed ticking sound.
“Oh, and also, Celestynka,” I added with a miserable sniff. “You should probably know that I’ve fallen for Aston.”
Celestynka jumped off the bed. “Aston! But this is wonderful! How—”
“No.” I wiped my nose on my sleeve, finally getting control of my emotions. “It’s not wonderful. Aston already has a girlfriend: that Chantelle Benson-Westwood with her fancy wardrobe and shiny Kate Middleton hair and shit-ton of money enough to buy—”
“Chantelle Benson-Westwood?” Celestynka repeated in perfect pronunciation.
I surveyed her. She was suddenly very clear-eyed. “Yes . . . how do you know—”
She shook her head into a motion blur. “I have Polish friend who is the child-minder for Mrs. Benson-Westwood.”
“Ah, so you, too, must know all about how perfect she is with her great media fortune and—”
“Chantelle is no right!” she said with real heat in her voice. “She has no great fortune, Kika. My friend, she tells me everything. Chantelle is bad, bad girl.”
“What are you talking about?”
Celestynka’s eyes bugged out like a cartoon. “They lose whole fortune! Is great secret, but my friend knows because they talk in front of her because they think she’s stupid and knows no English. They have no more money now.”
Celestynka let her knees release, and she thudded back down on the bed next to me, but I leapt up with a flourish.
“Oh my God,” I proclaimed. “You must be right, because Mina is in the same class as Chantelle’s sister, Peaches, and she told me that Peaches had to return her Louis Vuitton bags and her other fancy-pants crap. And she said they were selling her country estate.” Mina’s words came back to me gradually. But then I sat back down. “But still, even without money, as Elsbeth pointed out, Chantelle knows the right people—”
“Fuck that!” Celestynka interjected by stamping her fist onto her thigh.
For a moment, I radiated with nothing but pride as her English teacher: She had used the word “fuck” perfectly! I gasped in admiration and almost broke out into applause.
“Do you not see, Kika?” Celestynka then rattled off sentences in fast-moving, impending Polish, and then stared at me like she just straight-up forgot she was speaking in a language I didn’t understand.
“This girl, this Chantelle”—she said her name with scorn—“I am thinking she is only wanting to be with Aston for his fortunes.”
My mouth dropped open.
“You must tell him. You must,” she beseeched.
But before I could answer her, the door slung open again. This time it was Elsbeth.
57
“WHAT’S ALL THE racket in here?” Elsbeth challenged, filling Mina’s room with her noxious black mood.
When Celestynka saw it was Elsbeth, she made apologetic mumblings and lowered her head. Shimmying her hips to put her skirt back in place, she hurried over to collect her cleaning supplies, muttering, “Sorry, sorry, Ms. Elsbeth.”
“You ladies are being awfully loud when I’m trying to read,” Elsbeth said as Celestynka scurried out of the room. Elsbeth obviously had the problem with me, not Celestynka.
“Sorry, Elsbeth,” I said without meeting her eyes. I hurriedly stowed the rest of Mina’s clothing in her drawers. I wanted to get away from Elsbeth as soon as possible. Just as Celestynka had done, I scampered past. But Elsbeth shadowed me into the hall.
“Kika, a word, please.”
“Sure,” I said, entering Gwen’s room. “I’ll just unpack Gwendy’s clothing, and—”
“Sit. Please!” she ordered, exasperated at my flurry of movement. It sounded just like she was reprimanding a misbehaving dog.
I obediently folded down on Gwen’s bed.
Elsbeth pulled out a desk chair and sat, crossing her legs at the ankles. She expelled a saintly, long-suffering sigh before speaking. “Kika, I understand you’re not happy about the girls going away to school, but we have made our decision. This is the best option for later in life when they will use the connections—”
“They’re seven and thirteen,” I implored. “They have their whole life to network. Elsbeth, can’t you at least ask them? It would be different if they wanted to go, but they—”
She held up her hand. “Enough. That is quite enough.” S
he screwed her eyes shut and opened them a moment later as if resetting herself. “This is not up for discussion. All I want to know is if you can do your job until September or if this will continue to have a negative effect on it.”
Instinctually, I knew that whatever I said next was crucial. But I had to speak up for the girls. Elsbeth had to know this was wrong. Everyone else could coddle her, but I would not. I wouldn’t make this easy for her. I wouldn’t make this neat or tidy. So I spoke the truth, though every word was another shovelful of dirt that would deepen the hole to my own grave.
“No, Elsbeth.” I got the feeling she wasn’t told that very often. “It’s not okay. Of course this is going to affect my job. I can’t just pretend—”
“That’s all I needed to hear, Kika.” Elsbeth studied her lap. “I think it’s best if we went our separate ways.” She paused. “Of course we’ll give you a good reference, and Mr. Darling will make that phone call for you to make sure you have a job in New York . . .” She let her voice trail off.
“Oh, lamb. I know this isn’t ideal for you,” she said, for the first time sounding like herself. “But I cannot have you in my ear for the next few months trying to talk me out of this. It’s settled. Their tuition has already been paid, and all the arrangements have been made. Do you understand that, Kika?”
I stood, and my arms dropped to my sides in a rag doll flop. “No, Elsbeth. I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. And I never will.”
She toyed with her wedding band. “I thought as much. You’re welcome to stay for the rest of the week to get your plans sorted, but we’ve booked your plane ticket for Friday at seven P.M. Mr. Darling and I have agreed that this is more than sufficient and fair. We will tell the girls on Friday when they return from school—right before you leave, so as not to distress them sooner.”
I couldn’t say anything. She had cobbled together the whole plan even before talking to me about it. There was no detail left to grapple over. It was decided.
Elsbeth got up and walked out, but not before looking back at me with a look that proved she was sorry, though she’d never say it.
• • •
I WENT TO my room and lay on my bed and memorized the ceiling. It was officially done—and so much sooner than I anticipated. I remembered the promise I made to myself after I was fired from VoyageCorp to give this job my all. I guess my all wasn’t enough.
I thought of Bae Yoon at this moment. Wouldn’t she do everything in her power—including lying to Elsbeth about her feelings—to keep her job? To make herself relevant? To keep moving forward, progressing with that blistering speed that came so naturally to her?
But I was no Bae Yoon. I would always have to speak up with my true feelings. And that would be my downfall.
“Is everything okay?” texted Celestynka when she left the house, not daring to come by my room to say good-bye.
“Yeah, it’s fine. You didn’t get in trouble, did you?” I texted back. I couldn’t bear to tell her that I was leaving on Friday.
My phone buzzed practically right after I punched the “send” key: “All is okay. Ms. Elsbeth just tells me to chat less, clean more. I don’t mind. But you are all right? You will talk to Aston now?”
I thought to myself: He does deserve to know that the nasty Chantelle may be using him for his money.
“You must tell him the truth. Even if he is angry with you for it or does not believe you,” she instructed me as if she read my thoughts. “You also must tell him your feelings,” she added.
My insides cramped and quivered at the thought of seeing him again. Yeah, okay, I get it, I told my belly. I do like him. But what good is it now that I’m leaving?
“I don’t know. I’m getting cold feet,” I finally texted Celestynka back.
A few minutes later my phone vibrated with a response: “Put on socks, then! But after, you must talk to Aston.”
58
I WAS ALREADY half seduced by spring in London, I realized as I closed my door with a clack and walked toward Aston’s house. Spring had come while we were away, and baby green and butter-yellow buds had begun to fatten up the trees. It’s too bad I’ll never see the season in its full glory.
The night before, I had decided I would tell Aston what I knew about Chantelle. I still wasn’t sure if I would admit to my feelings for him, though. I dragged my feet along the pavement.
The girls had just left for their early-morning choir practice before school, and the neighborhood was still wrapped in a thick quiet. God, I’ll miss it here.
Because I was looking up at the trees, I wasn’t watching where I was going, and I almost bumped into someone.
“Oh!” I stopped short.
When I saw who I virtually collided with, I was charged with an ache so potent that I staggered backward. I blinked a few times hoping she’d go away. But there she was, Chantelle Benson-Westwood. And she had just emerged from Aston’s front door at this early-morning hour.
Why? Because life’s like that, that’s why.
When Chantelle saw me, she smiled deeply. I pressed my nails into my palm, leaving a constellation of crescent moons in my flesh.
She flattened her hair and flashed me a long, proud look but put on a show of being embarrassed.
“Kika! My, my, I hadn’t the slightest idea that I’d encounter anyone at this hour of the morning.” She folded her coat over her body as if gift wrapping herself and then blotted the smeared mascara from under her eyes.
“I’m afraid you caught me on a bit of a walk of shame,” she confided with a nasty twinge.
The crescents grew deeper. “So the gossip rags were true,” I said with no inflection. I told myself that I wouldn’t believe that Chantelle and Aston were a couple until I saw it with my own eyes, but now I wished I had just believed it to have spared myself the agony of seeing Chantelle leaving Aston’s with a postcoital glow.
Chantelle nodded demurely. “Oh, so you’ve heard, then? Aston and I are a couple now.” She wiped the sides of her mouth in a sexual but restrained gesture that was not lost on me.
“Were you going in?” She motioned at his door. “You may want to give him a moment. He just went into the bath. We had quite the night,” she said with a hateful smile.
I flinched.
“Well, I think he’ll want to hear what I have to say,” I said, stalking past her, the gift of movement finally restored to me.
“And what’s that, Kiki?”
I knew she said my name wrong on purpose. I whipped back and fired: “I know you’re using him. I know there’s no money left!”
Chantelle didn’t speak for a moment, and we stared at each other in a showdown. But then she threw her head back and laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. The alarm clock–like cackles grated on my very soul.
“Deny it all you want. I know on good authority—”
She reeled in her laughter. “Oh no, dear, you’re quite right, the money is gone. I can’t believe you thought it was some big secret. Aston is well aware.”
I shook my head in confusion. “Well, he’s certainly not dating you for your sparkling personality, so what the hell is going on?”
Chantelle squished her eyes into vicious little slits. “What you don’t understand is that the Benson-Westwood family has been a member of the English aristocracy since before your silly little country even had a flag. Our name, our heritage, our lineage is something no one can buy, no matter what size the fortune,” she boasted. “What I have with Aston is a partnership: He has the means and I have the name. I don’t expect an American to appreciate the significance of this.”
She said “American” in the same way that stuffy intellectuals said “Kardashian.”
“I don’t believe you,” I said, but my words lacked the punch and gave me away.
She coolly shouldered past me and clacked down the stree
t. “It’s over, Kika,” she said, sliding on a pair of designer sunglasses in a melodramatic way. “As you Americans would say, ‘Get over it.’ Good effort, though. Let’s try and be friends, shall we? I’m practically your neighbor now,” she said cheerily as she stretched her fingers into cropped leather gloves.
I turned and watched her flounce down the tree-lined street, looking like she’d just won. (And hadn’t she?)
Was Aston really that shallow? Were she and Elsbeth right about his need to be with someone of proper breeding? I smacked Aston’s red door with the flat of my open palm, but Chantelle was right: He didn’t answer.
59
TRYING TO GET my shit together was a mini-tragedy. There was a lot of throwing of clothing and slamming of drawers. I spent the rest of the day in the special hell that is being made to leave before ready to. I felt like a thuggish bouncer was jostling me out of the VIP room.
I kept going back to Aston’s house, but he wasn’t there. Or maybe he was there, and he just didn’t want to see me. I distracted myself by taking a long, heated walk to Celestynka’s flat to say good-bye to her. But her weeping was more than I was prepared for.
“But Kika,” she said with black mascara tears, thankfully keeping her voice down because the babies were asleep. “This is not fair!”
I shrugged. No, it isn’t fair. But the world likes to screw with my best-laid plans. I didn’t bother to say this aloud, because I didn’t know how to explain it to Celestynka.
“I am so sad that my good news is no longer good enough,” Celestynka said, nursing a kiddie cup of iceless vodka.
I stared at the drink she poured for me in a cup decorated with clowns and considered guzzling it in one go. “I need some good news now more than ever,” I told her. “What’ve you got?”
“Well, because of your teaching, I received a job.”
I snapped awake. “You got a job?” I had recently helped her with her CV, but I didn’t realize she already interviewed and got the job.
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