“Ooh, let me check,” Jessica sniggered. She made me wait on the line as Jamie and I exchanged shy, adolescent looks. “Not bad at all! Go have fun. Do him, why not?! You’re single and in Paris—”
“London.”
“Oh, pardon me, you jetsetter, you. Same difference. How long has it been for you and George, anyway? I mean, since you last…you know?”
“Four months,” I whispered. Not counting phone-sex just the night before, that is.
“My God, four months?! Are you crazy or simply hormonally imbalanced? Because I’m not allowed to have sex and I’m going out of my skin…while my husband takes care of his need with some whore. Anyway, the point stands—you’re single and I need someone to at least tell me what good sex is like. Or any sex, really—”
“He’s married,” I choked out in Russian, my lips as still as a ventriloquist’s.
Jessica swallowed loudly, tears likely threatening to win over.
“Oh…well, you don’t owe his wife anything, right? Personal responsibility and all that…. Anyway, I will let you go now. I’m sorry I spent so much of your sort of hard earned money with this call. No Dr. and Mr. Kasun for you anymore, huh?” she giggled, unnaturally. “Get online and play a word already, won’t you? Javier is getting worried, so go on!” I heard my friend try to smile.
“I’m here for you,” I whispered, momentarily turning away from Jamie.
“No, you’re in London, silly. But you’ll be back here soon enough.” Somehow, this managed to sound like a threat. She hung up before I could argue or clarify.
“Coming?” Jamie asked my slouched back.
Chapter Twenty-One: Silly
I squeezed the tiny hotel shampoo bottle with all my might, watching the green liquid pool sluggishly into the palm of my hand. Slowly, I brought it to my hair and rubbed it in, my nails harsh against my scalp. The exercise chipped off some more of my spermatozoid-colored nail polish.
Sage and Wisdom were right—the bathtubs really were unnecessarily higher here in Europe; I didn’t remember that about Spain. I smiled, thinking of the girls as I threw my leg over the edge and felt my stomach drop, waiting to make contact with the floor. Not having to rush to vacate the bathroom for the first time in days, I slowly put on my pajamas and wrapped my wet hair in a towel. I methodically plucked my eyebrows before searching my chin for any stray hairs, struggling to find the one I’d felt under my finger the day before. Then, leaving the light on, I made three long leaps from the bathroom to my bed and planted myself between my laptop and phone, my legs in enough of a lotus position to satisfy George.
George….
I let my shoulders shudder at the same most recent memory of George that had been materializing before my eyes every time my mind was relatively quiet all day.
Having plugged eight letters into my handy cheat, I played an eighteen-point word in my Words with Friends game with Javier, and a twenty-eight point one with Jessica. After allowing myself a dopey smile at now being only a few dozen points behind my friends in Scrabble, I replied to my brother’s dry one-liner of an e-mail (obviously written on behalf of my mother), inquiring whether or not I was still alive. Once done with that, not five minutes later, I scrolled through my Instagram feed, “liking” all the photos my charges had snapped less than an hour ago. They posed in Trafalgar Square, took selfies in Covent Garden, their earlier exhaustion and malaise forgotten. I reposted one of the whole group at dinner. “London, baby!!” I typed for a caption, pausing briefly to contemplate the number of exclamation points appropriate for a teacher to use. I also saved the photo onto my computer in order to zoom in and take a better look at Jamie. He sat at the head of the table, looking pensive—a look that appeared natural on him. He rested his chin in the palm of his left hand, his long index finger mid-stroke of his own cheek. I sat just to the right of him, waving into the camera just a hair too aggressively, compensating too obviously. Across from me, Abbott was making his usual impression of the infamous “duck-face,” much to Stephanie’s (as well as his own) amusement. Veronika looked lonely without Paz, seated squished between Sophie and Ofir.
Though it was hard to convince myself to do so, eventually I closed my laptop and heaved it onto the ottoman next to my bed. I freed my hair from the damp towel, slid my feet underneath the blankets, and closed my eyes, praying for sleep without actually formulating the words. This neo-vacation simply had to be over.
The quiet in the room was too loud. I had spent too much of my life in New York to take comfort in such silence. Even the footsteps out in the hall were only whispers, successfully absorbed by the stale carpet. Somehow, Paris hadn’t seemed so quiet by comparison. Perhaps it was the excitement, the anticipation of it all that buzzed louder in my head, then.
I only called Javier because I needed noise, I know that now; I knew that even as I dialed, and yet, sleepless and desperate, I dialed, nevertheless.
“De la manera que yo lo veo, en estos días solo hablas conmigo cuando no puedes dormer,” Javier said when he picked up. I could hear him trying to smile, but it was obvious that it was an uphill battle. As usual, he dropped most ‘s’ sounds, as well as many final syllables, but I’d grown to like that. Or maybe I’d simply gotten used to it—that melodic Andalusian Spanish.
“That’s not true, Javier! I don’t only talk to you when I can’t sleep,” I protested, unconvincingly.
“No, it’s okay. Glad to be of service.”
He said this in a manner so resigned, I couldn’t stomach contradicting him. Instead, I screwed my eyes shut and forced myself into small talk that I hoped would make me sleepy.
“How’s your mom?” I asked.
“Fine. And how’s your Portuguese roommate?” Javier wasted not a beat to ask this. He was probably in bed, too.
Jessica! Of course! She’d visited me in Spain that summer, flirting with Javier in her dreadful Spanish whenever she thought I was out of earshot. Now, fully aware of his feelings for me, she never missed an opportunity to taunt him.
“Jesus, he’s just a fellow teacher. We had to share a room in Paris—”
“Sounds exciting—”
“Well, we’re in London now. And not sharing anything.” This was meant to sound assuring, comforting, but it came out bitter. I hoped that bit was lost in translation.
“I’m silly, right, Helen? Tell me I’m being silly. I mean, you’ve never been less than honest with me—”
“Javier, I didn’t call you to listen to guilt trips. I can call my own mother for that…,” I tried chuckling, abandoning the thought.
“So, why did you call me this time? If you say it’s not because you couldn’t sleep….”
I opened my eyes and looked to the dark window. If I could hear so much as a whisper outside, I would’ve spared him.
“Okay, fine, I can’t fall asleep. And I wanted to talk to a friendly voice, I guess,” I sighed, stupidly. This was better than calling George in an hour of weakness, I had to remind myself.
“You’re cruel,” he said in his smooth English.
And so I was.
After we finally said our reluctant goodbyes and hung up, I curled up on my side and brought my knees into my chest. Having not spent a night truly alone anywhere other than inside my old walk-up since college, I squeezed my phone in my hand underneath the pillow and willed my eyes to remain closed, ignoring all anxiety bubbling inside my chest. I could feel no sleep within my grasp, Javier’s hoarse voice (and dejected words) only adding more fuel to the already uncontainable fire within. When I opened my eyes again and released my numb hand from the weight of my head full of still drying hair, I saw that a whole hour had passed since I began trying. There’d be no sleep at all, it seemed. Maybe ever. Frustrated, I threw myself onto my back and stared at the ceiling, barely making it out above me without my contacts, the light escaping from the bathroom of little help.
My heart flung itself against my ribcage when I heard a sudden knock on my door. With it at once in my heels
, I tried to silently tippy-toe to the peephole, pointlessly pausing with every inch gained. When I brought myself to look, I saw Jamie out in the hallway, his face unflatteringly magnified, as if in a fishbowl. I needed my girls to see this to realize what they actually looked like in their selfies. Maybe Abbott, too.
“Yes?” I inquired, peeking from behind the heavy door, my body still behind it, only my head sticking out. With the chain between us, I saw that Jamie was fully dressed but for his shoes, only his socks on his feet.
“Wisdom called my room about an hour ago, complaining of loud moaning and grunting coming out of Abbott’s room, or at least its vicinity. Try as I might, I can’t fall asleep now, given all the images this information gave life to,” he smiled, demonstrating with a shiver of his trim shoulders. “I was just wondering if you’re also awake. If you wanted to chat—”
I dry-heaved at the image he now gave to me.
“Come in,” I laughed, showing him in the general direction of my room. “It seems I can’t sleep alone in a hotel room, anyway,” I volunteered, joining him.
“May I?” He motioned to my messy bed; other than the dwarf ottoman, it was the only place to sit. Blushing, I nodded.
“I mean, it’s silly, but I haven’t stayed anywhere all by myself since college—”
Before I could share any more about my sleep preferences, I felt my phone vibrate, surprised to realize that it was still solid in my grip. George. Allowing him to talk his way between my legs from the distance of an ocean was a dangerous thing to do.
“Your fiancé?” Jamie stuck his strong chin out at my phone, its glare likely illuminating my face.
“I— I’m not engaged anymore,” I admitted as my eyes filled.
Jamie bit his lip. Though the stubble on his cheeks shaded him artfully, it left his full lips looking paler by comparison.
“I know,” he admitted with a smile that I couldn’t characterize—it was either embarrassed or arrogant.
“Oh?” I managed, as my phone pulsed another message.
He must’ve had just gotten out of the yoga studio, where he taught his daily workshop. His blender was likely waiting for him at home, smelling foully of various vegetables and protein powders.
Sometime when I wasn’t paying attention, my tears fell out of my eyes and rushed down my face.
“Oh shit, I’m sorry, I should not have said anything,” Jamie hurried to his feet to say as I fumbled to delete the messages with my thumbs. “Abbott told me you left your fiancé—”
“Paz said he told her, too,” I found it timely to note, whisking my tears away.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, he told me in strict confidence,” Jamie tried with a cautious smile. When I snorted in response, he looked relieved. “Back in New York.”
My fingers frantic, I deleted another message.
Wearing only my pajamas, my tangled hair heavy on my shoulders, I sat down on the bed and shut off my phone altogether.
“He keeps sending me these messages…. I tried to leave so many times, you know? I thought this would be it—my triumphant exit,” I reported with urgency that took me by surprise (I even pumped my fist in the air). I threw in a chuckle for levity. “I’m afraid he thinks it’s temporary again. It’s so stupid. It’s all my fault, really….”
Jamie sat down next to me and leaned his head to the side, thoughtfully. I saw his room card cut into the skin of his fingers.
“Just stay strong and stubborn. I know it may seem cruel, but it’s necessary,” he said. Likely seeing goose bumps begin to cover my arms (completely exposed in my tank top), he hesitantly put his arm around me, gaining ground carefully, as if gauging my reaction.
With a sigh that felt better than any drink could, I let my body lean on his, my head rotating to rest on his chest of its own volition. I breathed into his shirt as his fingers wrapped firmly around the flesh of my arm, his ring making full contact with my skin, but before I could do anything I’d have to regret later, I pulled away and shifted my weight backward until I hit the fort of pillows I’d earlier erected by the headboard. I nuzzled myself into the corner, leaving the rest of the bed for Jamie, who followed suit.
“Did you talk to your wife?” I asked, more as a reminder to myself than out of genuine interest.
“Not today, no,” he answered, quickly. “Abbott hasn’t talked to you about me yet?”
His eyes felt heavy on me, prompting me to look up.
“All he’s ever told me about you is that you are not too hard on the eyes.”
He laughed hard at that one; just threw his head back and laughed.
“Oh, Abbott,” he finally said. “Cheers to you, crazy old dude.”
His body next to mine felt solid. Swaying slowly, I leaned into him again.
“He’s not that old.”
Without a sound, Jamie raised his right arm and threw it around me once again, giving my shoulder another light squeeze.
“Mind if I turn the TV on?” he asked into the top of my head, his mouth warm on my hair.
“Sure,” I answered into the thin fabric separating my lips from his chest.
I heard the click of the flat screen mounted to the wall next to the window coming to life, its volume immediately reduced to near-mute. As it whispered, I finally let my eyes close for good that night.
~ ~ ~
When my eyes reluctantly fluttered open, the light outside was that of those early morning hours when it looks like the day is physically battling the night. You, of course, know that, slowly but surely, the day will gain on its captor—the night; you already know that the sky will eventually glide open to reveal a weary shade of blue. Still, you have to bear witness.
Indeed, the day was winning right before my very eyes—the night looked just about ready to forfeit, drizzling a few tears of exhaustion on its way off the battlefield. I did my best to keep my eyes open, to not miss any of it, but the tree outside made it difficult to see anything of real value.
Jamie’s chest firm underneath my cheek, I threw my leg atop of his, wrapping myself around him fully and primitively. Changing my mind if only for a second, I briefly considered rolling off of him and onto my back, but I stayed put, the warmth of his body intoxicating. He smelled vaguely of sweat and deodorant. My eyes shut again, I tried to visualize him without having to move, half afraid that I’d see green eyes, blond hair, and a chiseled six-pack in my mind’s eye. To my relief, instead, I pictured black, limp hair, a dangerously defined cupid’s bow, and the darkest eyes I’d ever seen.
It was then, in that moment, that I knew that it was really over—there really would be no more George. No matter the midnight self-pleasuring under strict dictation, it was over. I would not be able to so clearly visualize this other man in my arms without having to even look at him, otherwise. The acknowledgment of it all felt like a revelation, even if it was an under-slept one. My heart skipped a beat as I felt a giddy chill fill me. I could actually afford to be stubborn now, I realized. There truly would be no going back.
“You asleep?”
Jamie’s whisper tickled my scalp. My fingers gripped his ribcage from the surprise of it.
“No,” I unstuck my tongue from the roof of my dry mouth to answer. “I’m guessing neither are you?”
“I don’t know yet.”
My eyes burning from the short night of rest I’d afforded them, I closed them again, inching slowly back toward sleep that I felt was still within reach, waiting patiently somewhere nearby to be reclaimed. When, some unidentified amount of time later, a rapid tapping on my door woke me up with a start, it ripped me right out of my first genuinely peaceful and satisfying slumber in days.
&n
bsp; The adrenaline of it shot right through my body, and before I even knew it, I was climbing over Jamie, my limbs uncooperative. Startled by the sudden commotion, his eyelids flew open and our eyes met. My body hovered over his with no exit strategy.
The two of us sharing a heavy, wakeful daze, Jamie raised his face toward mine. The promise of his mouth left the loud knocking on the door to grow increasingly faint, like a distant reality in deep, delicious sleep. My pulse, on the other hand, was deafening in my ears. Slowly, I let myself meet him half way and our lips finally locked—the fluffed butter of his and the thin strips of mine united for a couple of seconds before the knocking grew loud and insistent again.
“Levit, it’s 8 o’clock! You are holding us up. You know bloody well we don’t wait for anyone on this trip,” Abbott screamed when I finally opened the door a few inches to peek outside. “Jesus, is Jamie in there with you?” he asked, quieter, likely reading the frazzled and excited expression on my face. “I just banged on his door, but I guess he’s been banging elsewhere, eh?”
Instinctively, I let my fingers graze over my mouth.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t sleep very well. Fifteen minutes and I’ll be downstairs, promise,” I swore, avoiding Abbott’s eyes. I tried to cover my chest, which was too exposed for the light of day, not to mention—Abbott. I felt him taking in my hardened nipples under my camisole.
“Uh-huh, right,” he nodded, the corners of his mouth drifting up. “And tell Jamie the same thing. I can’t go with three chaperones. All the damn kids showed up for once. It’s too much!”
Chapter Twenty-Two: Invincible
The cobblestones outside seemed to be simmering while our bus stood purring at a light on the “wrong” side of the road (at least according to Sage). Unlike Paris, however, London was charming in the rain; its sidewalks, as its habitants, looked comfortable in it even. It was as if it were all designed specifically for this weather, along with its humidity and moisture. The glistening of the water left this city radiant.
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