When Paz suddenly declared that she was in the mood for some authentic sorbet, a few, including Sage, Wisdom, and my very own Veronika, claimed that they felt the same. I guess when you’re seventeen, a day at the Louvre and a walk up (or was it down?) Champs-Élysées, with a treat of Nutella crepes en route (not to mention a free, albeit unremarkable, dinner), is not eventful enough of an itinerary to justify turning in at nine.
“Guys, you’re free to do as you like but curfew is at eleven, and I’m not coming with,” Abbott said as he pressed the button for the elevator, Stephanie at his side. “At eleven, I will call every one of your rooms, so you better be all tucked in. That is unless you want phone calls to your parents made…for which they’ll pay, by the way. Levit, you in?” he nodded in my direction.
“No, I’m sorry, I’m pretty sure I’ve been running a fever since New York. I have a mug of tea with my name on it upstairs,” I replied, quickly and definitively, rubbing my upper arms as if visual aid was required to defend my case.
“Got it. Sola?”
Out of the corner of my eye I could see Jamie shrug.
“All right, well, you’re all big boys and girls. There is a café across the street, I think. If you’re not all back in two hours—”
“Wait,” I interrupted, hoarsely. “Shouldn’t somebody accompany them? I mean, their parents, had they signed off on our just letting them go—”
“Levit, I’m not here to babysit anyone. They know the rules. They know what’s what. If you want, you’re free to hold each one’s hand when they cross the street. I’m going up to take a shower,” he cut me off. His tone invited no contradiction. This was a new Abbott—an Abbott I’d never met, after many years of acquaintance. It was both startling and refreshingly sobering, almost arousing. I felt better for a split second, perhaps some self-preservation kicking into my bloodstream.
“Mr. Sola, you should come with us. Ms. Levit is right—you don’t want the likes of me going out all unaccompanied in a strange place, do you?” I heard Paz call Jamie behind my back. By the time I turned to look at Jamie’s reaction, I could only see him slowly shake his head, his lips pursed as if suppressing a smile, his hair masking most of his face. Paz stood next to him, looking completely cool and collected. If the girl were ever to teach master classes on self-esteem and confidence, I’d sign up.
Seconds before the elevator pinged, announcing its arrival, Abbott’s eyes shot briefly in the same direction. Hand in hand, Abbott and Stephanie got inside without saying another word, though I could see that Abbott was less amused by Paz’s behavior than Jamie. As if it were all timed specifically for us to be able to share another conspiratorial moment, Abbott had just enough time to wink at me before the doors closed.
“You guys, I’ll just go up to change my shoes, but let’s meet right here in ten, okay?” Paz immediately took to organizing her minions.
With a sigh too dramatic for the circumstances, I, too, reluctantly pressed the button for the lift (as we would have to refer to it once we’d reach England) a few useless times before it finally came back down to claim me. And just when I thought I could safely sink into a slouch in the privacy of the lacquered cabin, Jamie jumped in to join me.
“You’re right, no matter their age, I’m not sure if Abbott was this specific with the parents about the level of supervision, especially at night. Someone should go with them, so I’ll go. You sure you don’t want to come?”
Walking just half a step ahead of me, Jamie slid his keycard into the lock of our door, waiting to hear it click. He quickly flipped the switch inside and, in an instant, the light illuminated the room with its cold halogens—its one bed, its white sheets. As if on command, a bulky lump constricted my throat and my eyes filled. Like a coward, I made a quick turn for the bathroom to wash my face in an attempt to save whatever of it that I still had left as far as this man was concerned. I threw the tap aggressively to the max.
“No, really, I feel pretty sick, so I should stay back. I have nine more days of this fun, so I should be smart about it, you know,” I called over the running water. “I don’t know why I even came,” I scoffed, quieter, more for my own benefit than intending for the words to actually go the distance.
When I came back out into the room, my face patted dry, I saw the Eiffel Tower shine unexpectedly brightly in our window. Shimmering, it made the room look somewhat warmer. Somehow, without my noticing it, some of the tears I thought I’d washed away found their way out of my eyes and onto my cheeks. I quickly whisked them off.
“Jesus, you really are sick. I’m sorry if I’m adding to your misery. Honestly, I can talk to Ofir and whoever his roommate is, I don’t remember, and stay there.”
His eyes on me, his gaze probing, I felt more tears pool.
“Oh, no, don’t be silly. We’re adults. And Abbott is right about it not being a good idea for us to share rooms with students, no matter the gender or the age. Though I’m sure Paz wouldn’t mind if you roomed with her,” I laughed as I tried to wipe my nose, discreetly. With the tears filling my eyes, Jamie went in and out of focus.
“Oh my goodness, that girl! I’d never even met her at school before, but we land in Paris and boom, she can’t seem to unstick her tits from my arm,” he laughed, a faint trace of a blush on his olive cheeks visible even to my watery eyes. “Brrr,” he added with a shudder.
“You didn’t seem to mind very much from where I was standing,” I noted, my eyes on his hands as they traveled to his pockets. His wedding band stuck on the stitching, they remained awkwardly at his hips.
“You can’t be serious! I know you don’t know me, but if you think that that’s my type, that I’d do something like that, then what hope is there for our budding friendship,” he shook his head as he stepped back, pretending to suddenly search for something in his bag, which was still on the bed.
“You’re right, I don’t know you, but never mind what I think. I’d be more concerned with the principal, Mr. and Mrs. Terranova, and your wife,” I chuckled through a suffocating flush, quick to snatch a tissue from the desk by the window just in time for another sneeze. My mouth outrunning my brain, I had no endgame.
I could hear him breathe, his eyes lost somewhere in his duffel bag.
“My wife? My wife is surely of no concern to Paz. And she shouldn’t be of concern to you, for that matter.”
He sounded certain.
“How about to you, then?” I allowed myself another pointless question, trying to breathe evenly against the thumping inside my chest. “Should she be of concern to you?”
There was no answer but he appeared to be smiling when he finally looked up, having retrieved nothing from his bag, as expected. He looked somewhere beyond, through me—perhaps at the sparkling pile of metal in the distance.
“Okay, well, I’ll go meet the restless bunch. I’ll make sure we’re all back by eleven. And I’ll do my best to be quiet in case you’ll be asleep by then, which I’m sure you’ll want to be.”
My throat swollen, I continued to stand frozen in place until Jamie finally walked out of the room. The lock clicked loudly when the door eventually closed shut behind him, its volume harsh against the tomb quiet of the room, as if to mock my solitude.
Chapter Ten: Ingrate
I cheat at Words with Friends. Have I mentioned that before?
Well, I do. I literally switch between the app and my browser, looking up the most valuable letter combinations. Chuck it to my pathological fear of failing any more than I already have in life. But it never seems to actually matter, and that night, as virtually all others, I was dozens of points behind both Jessica and Javier. I played my standard “qi” in one game, and my beloved “uts” in the other, earning myself very little dignity. I no longer even put much effort into the whole thing, but I didn’t have the guts to stop cheating altogether either.
The sound of an incoming call on Skype startled me. My eyes shot to the lower right-hand corner of my small screen while my trembling index
finger instinctively rushed to minimize the window with the Scrabble cheat, as if conditioned, ashamed. When I saw that it was George calling, my pulse grew painful inside my temples and my fingertips went numb. Before I knew it, I let myself miss the call.
It was, what, 4 P.M. in New York? Or was he still in Arizona?
Trying to gather my scattering thoughts, I made myself take a few cleansing breaths that would make even George proud. I then took a sip of the tea I’d made for myself before setting up camp atop of the hotel blankets after my lengthy shower. The tank top I was wearing in combination with pajama pants left me shivering with the surge of adrenaline, so I hopped out of bed to snatch my still damp hotel-issue robe from the hook in the bathroom. Before I could so much as wrap it around myself and slam my laptop closed, like I wanted to, George was calling again.
“Well, don’t you look like shit,” he greeted when our images appeared on our respective screens. In spite of myself, I patted my head for flyaways. “Are you sick?” he asked when I sniffled.
“Yeah, a cold. No worries, though—I can’t get you sick now. Can’t interfere with your workout regimen,” I laughed before blowing my nose with enthusiasm. “Why are you calling?”
“Oh, just, you know, I miss you,” George smiled into the camera. The angle made his face appear even longer than it was in reality, his forehead comically wider. The adult acne on it seemed redder for some reason. Still, even with the horrid lighting, he somehow managed to look roguishly handsome. Behind him, I saw my old apartment’s version of a kitchen. He was home. “I don’t think I can live without you.”
My stomach turned as another blanket of chills quickly made its way from my heels to my skull.
“We’ve been down this road too many times, George. Enough is enough. This isn’t a drill,” I said just to be able to hear myself say it out loud.
Our quasi-breakups were precisely why, after the third failed attempt, I’d stopped making my friends and family aware of my plans ahead of time. Vlad was the sole exception because of his handy SUV; as a result, my brother had long ago stopped taking me seriously. If I gave in even one more time, so would I.
“I know you believe that, but I also know that you can’t really stay away. We belong together, you and I!” he exclaimed, empathically. “I, for one, just can’t stop thinking about you, Helen. Your neck, your back, your belly button, for God’s sake,” he groaned, biting his lip, his eyes squinting, seductively.
“Stop it, George!” I snapped just as I began to feel some heat between my legs.
“Your lips, your tongue…,” he continued anyway. “Helen, I know, I know I can be difficult. And I know we have different interests and outlooks on life—or rather, I have interests and you hate it all out of principle. But I’m not making you do forty sun salutations every morning, and I’m not asking you to bench your body weight, so what’s the issue? Why can’t we be together, exactly? What was wrong with the way we were?”
He seemed earnest, frighteningly sincere.
“Really George? Seven years together, five breakups, and biannual explanations of those breakups, don’t you forget, and you’re still confused?”
My fever likely breaking, I was suddenly drenched in sweat. I slid out of my robe and heard George suck in air in appreciation. He bit his lip again.
“Oh God, I want to touch you right now. Those breasts—”
“You really want to know why? Because you lecture me like a little girl when I contradict you in public, for one thing. You’re one step away from giving me one of those ‘fundamental Christian household disciplinary spankings’ with your ‘head-of-household’ crap.”
Through my rapidly filling eyes I saw him lick his lower lip. I think he mouthed the word “spankings.”
“There’s more?” he smiled.
“Because the one time my period dared to be three days late, you yanked my arm so hard, you left it bruised for a week. As if I were the one who was opposed to using condoms in the first place—”
“I just want to be one with you! Not to have any artificial barriers between us,” he moaned. “And you could go on the pill, you know—”
“Because you never miss an opportunity to retell the same lame stories about all the Jewish girls you’ve ever encountered and deemed stupid, expecting me to laugh,” I continued, undeterred. “Like the one about some girl you knew who wouldn’t drive the Audi her parents got her for her eighteenth birthday because it’s German. That’s your idea of a ‘stupid Jew’ story?!”
I was speaking quickly, without stopping to breathe. My voice threatened to break somewhere around the mention of my late period.
“You know, I can write you up a properly formatted list. That way you’ll be able to refer to it any time you find yourself wondering why it is that I finally left once and for all.”
George sighed and scratched his head.
“Jesus, it’s not like I beat you or anything. You make me sound like an abusive hick, I swear to God. I may get carried away here and there, but…. And all the money you owe me?” he sneered, folding his arms across his hard, powerful chest.
I blew my nose again before I could allow myself the laugh this joke really deserved.
“If your mother deems it appropriate, she can bill me. To you my friend, I owe nothing,” I explained as collectedly as my tightening diaphragm would allow. “So why are you home? Shouldn’t you still be in Arizona pretending to meditate?”
“I’m back early. Had to make sure you weren’t bluffing,” he hissed too close to the microphone of his laptop. “I need some alone time anyway,” he added, slowly leaning back in his chair.
He must’ve heard me scoff.
“What’s so funny?”
“You came back from a yoga retreat for some ‘alone time?’ Isn’t all your time ‘alone time?’” I couldn’t help myself. “My ‘alone time’ is my commute,” I mumbled at quarter the volume. Even with an ocean between us, I didn’t want to poke the bear.
Before I could qualify my remark with a giggle, I heard a familiar growl come out of my speakers.
“Fuck you, Helen!” he suddenly screamed. “How long are you in Paris for, huh? Don’t think I don’t know that you’re really going to Seville! To be with that Hector beau, of course,” he added with a chuckle bordering on hysterical.
“I’m not going to Spain, George. And his name is Javier.”
“Like I’m stupid enough to believe—”
“No, really, it is—”
“Shut up!” he shrieked. “You cheated on me with the dwarf once, how do I know you’re not going to cheat on me again?”
“I never cheated on you, George,” I tried calmly, knowing that it was all in vain. The train was derailing for good. I was happy to be far enough away to not get hit by any flying debris. “And he’s not short—” I stopped myself there. Javier’s height was irrelevant.
“You screwed that troll after we met—”
“We weren’t together then. And we aren’t now! We—”
“Like it matters!” he hissed through his teeth. “You ran back to me, Helen! You ran to me! That’s what matters. Remember that. Always. But now stay as far away from me as you possibly can, you hideous bitch! You stupid ingrate! You can die in Paris for all I care! Choke on the smog, get hit by a car, I don’t care! Just disappear!”
Feeling my heart tumble awkwardly down my body, I opened and closed my mouth a few times without being able to produce a sound that wasn’t monosyllabic. Of their own volition, my hands snapped my laptop shut.
Cold again, I pulled my robe back on and fell back onto my three skinny hotel pillows. With rigid collectedness, I used the top covers to erect a partition down the center of the bed, leaving Jamie the side that his bag had claimed earlier. My arms too cold and stiff to feel like my own, I moved my computer onto my side table.
Numb and breathless, as if I’d just suffered the indignity of a physical slap, I turned to lie on my right side and saw my reflection in the mirrored
closet doors. Blinking hard, it was only then that I noticed that I was crying.
At once, I sat up with a jolt and clumsily wiped my face with my forearms. I reached for my phone. There were no new moves in Words with Friends, and my social media offered little by way of distraction. I could call Javier, I considered, dismissively. Staring at my phone’s large screen without a plan, all I could hear were George’s parting words echoing in my head.
“Hello?” I suddenly heard my mother’s perennially worried tone. My thumb must’ve touched her number without first consulting my brain.
“Hi, mom,” I said when, eventually, my hand delivered the phone to my ear.
“What’s wrong? Are you crying?” she asked in Russian.
“Nah, I’m just tired, I guess. And sick. Don’t mind me, I’m whiny,” I tried to laugh, speaking English.
“It’s normal to feel like that when you go so far away. You’re a little homesick,” she diagnosed, using English herself for once. “You were the same way when you first went away to Spain that summer in college, remember?”
She was right—I was.
My first night in Seville was hell. I had missed my connection in Frankfurt on the way over and was exhausted by the time I ever set foot on that Spanish tarmac. On top of that, despite my diligent studies, I understood only about every tenth word that the members of my host family were trying to say to me that evening. I’d hidden away in the bathroom to call home after dinner, pretending to have caught a cold on the plane, refusing to admit that I wasn’t congested but instead crying like a preschooler. When I think back to that night, I can still hear my Spanish parents snigger on the other side of the bathroom door. Only Javier didn’t laugh.
“Plus, you actually are sick this time. And I told you not to go—it’s harder to be sick away from home,” my mother diagnosed. She was back to Russian in no time.
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