The Fortunate Ones
Page 47
“You said you weren’t going to ask me!” I cry.
“Stay.”
Tears cloud my eyes and I wipe at them, angry with myself for not keeping it together. “James.”
His name is a plea. If he keeps asking me to stay, I just might, and I firmly believe it would be the wrong decision. I’d be staying on a sinking ship.
A knock sounds on the break room door, and then Ellie’s voice cuts through our private moment. “Hey, Brooke. Sorry to interrupt, but Brian is looking for you. I think he wants to know where you want him to mail your final paycheck.”
I wipe at my eyes, trying to quickly put myself together before Ellie whips the door open and sees me having an emotional breakdown. “Yup. Got it!” I call back. “I’ll be right there.”
The conversation doesn’t feel over between us, but what’s left to say? We could go around in circles all day, crying and slowly tearing each other down until one of us caves, and it would have to be me. I’d have to give up the opportunity in Spain, and I can’t do it. It’s better that he came to see me at work, in this cold, sterile room where there’s no chance of us forgetting ourselves. I’ve been given an opportunity to leave this hellhole, to do what I love most, and he knows that.
I step back out of James’ arms and try a timid smile on for size. It feels tight and fake, but I hope he doesn’t notice. One of us has to be strong, and if he thinks I’m doing the right thing, he won’t try to stop me. My mask of resolve doesn’t have to be perfect, it just has to be enough.
His pointer finger hooks beneath my chin and he lifts gently until our gazes clash in an unspoken goodbye. The tears I’d momentarily capped start to spill down my cheeks again. James doesn’t wipe them away. Instead, he bends down and presses a soft kiss to my lips. It’s the only farewell he gives before he turns and opens the door. Ellie nearly topples into the space, most likely having been listening with one ear pressed to the door. James steps around her and turns down the corridor.
It’s the last time I’ll see him before I leave.
Had I known it at the time, maybe I would have done things differently. Maybe I wouldn’t have stood immobile in that shitty employee lounge, looking to Ellie to wipe my tears and solve my problems. She wraps me in her arms and I bury my face against her shoulder. I cry at the unfairness of it all, the choice that was forced out of me and the lesson that’s getting hammered home in the most unforgiving way: you can’t have it all.
James once asked me where I want to be in five years. Wherever I am, I hope I’m not looking back on this day, wishing I’d done something different, because if I had run after James and caught up with him before he left, if I’d jumped into his arms and told him I’d stay, maybe I wouldn’t have regretted it.
I’ll never know, and that’s what makes life worth living.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Spain is beautiful, hot, and sunny—the antithesis of how I feel inside.
It’s basically that annoyingly upbeat friend you want to deck in the face every time she comes around. To her, everything is great and carbs don’t matter.
I am not in the mood.
I arrive at the tail end of summer, when the days stretch out long and tourists are deployed in full force. I suppose I’m one of them, another newbie trying to learn the layout of the city as quickly as possible. Public transportation takes some getting used to, and I hate having to use my GPS to find my way. In those first few days, I get lost so many times that I vow to never leave the safety of Nicolás and Diego’s apartment until I have all the city blocks memorized 10 times over.
The culture shock is hard to overcome. Though I speak the language, Barcelona still takes some getting used to. There’s no Ellie to decompress with at the end of a long day, and even though we FaceTime each other constantly, it’s not the same.
I’m homesick and filled with niggling doubt over my decision to come, though I try to separate the two from each other. Even without James, moving to a new country would have still been a major adjustment. I try to give myself enough space to feel sad without allowing myself to get lost in the what-ifs.
I’m here now, and it’s time to get used to it.
The usual loneliness that settles in while traveling alone is relieved by the fact that I’m living with Diego, Nicolás, and the girls. We live in a three-story townhouse in the heart of the city, and I have the entire top floor to myself: a small bedroom, bathroom, and sitting area with a huge picture window. Most nights, Olive and Luciana wander up to see what I’m doing, even though their fathers implore them to give me private time. I don’t mind it though. I crave the company, and since they love to read so much, I try to join them whenever possible. We tear through books together, all of us a little intimidated by our new surroundings. They’ll be starting at a new school soon, and Luciana is worried she won’t be able to make friends. Olive is more concerned that she might have fallen behind other students in her class, so I asked her dads to pick up some workbooks early. Now, we work ahead together in the evenings to ensure she’ll feel extra prepared for the first day of school. Luciana, on the other hand, insists on taking “full advantage of the summer holiday”, which means anything but homework.
Honestly, in those early weeks, I use the two of them as a shield against the homesickness. As long as I’m focused on Olive and Luciana’s troubles, mine can take a back seat, and maybe if I can stay distracted long enough, they might eventually disappear altogether.
If my sadness is obvious to others, Diego and Nicolás do a good job of respecting my privacy. It’s not until one night over dinner, a few weeks after our arrival, that Diego asks me point blank if I’ve left someone behind in the United States. I shake my head hard, trying to keep my focus down on my lap. They don’t push the subject, instead quickly shifting to discuss some presentation Diego has coming up at the university. I finish my food quickly, push away from the table, and escape to the third floor.
Luciana finds me sitting on the foot of my bed, staring out the window that faces the market across the street. Even at night, it’s packed to the gills with tourists and locals browsing the various stalls.
She stands at the door, toeing the threshold, too scared to invade my space until I give a silent nod of approval. She runs over and leaps onto the bed, scooting close until her hip presses against mine. Her short legs can’t reach the floor and I glance down, admiring her glittery Toms.
When she speaks, I’m surprised to hear such profound sadness in her tone. “You know, I miss my boyfriend too.”
Her admission catches me so off guard that I’m helpless to quell the burst of laughter that spills out of me.
She shoots me a death stare. “What’s funny?”
“No.” I wipe the smile off my face. “Nothing.”
It’s not. Luciana might be young, but she’s perceptive and thoughtful. If she cared about a boy back in the United States, she likely carried those feelings across the ocean with us.
“Tell me about him,” I ask, tapping my shoulder against hers.
For half an hour, she goes on and on about a boy named Collin who was the nicest person in her class back home. Her dads don’t want her dating yet, of course, BECAUSE SHE’S NINE, so she and Collin had to “just be friends at school”. I expected her relationship obstacles to pale in comparison to what I’m dealing with, but to hear her tell it, it’s pretty close.
“My friend Valerie likes him too, and the day I left, she told me she was going to marry him.”
Damn, nine-year-olds are savages.
“What did you tell her?”
She shrugs. “That it was Collin’s choice to make. If he wants to marry her, then that would be okay. As long as he’s happy.”
“Even if that means you lose him?” I push.
She looks up at me like I’m an idiot. “Ms. Brooke, I can’t expect him to wait around for me forever. I mean, we’re almost 10 years old.”
Touché.
“Do you want to talk about what’s going on with you now?” she asks with kind, gentle eyes. “Maybe I can help.”
“Stay.”
Tears cloud my eyes and I wipe at them, angry with myself for not keeping it together. “James.”
His name is a plea. If he keeps asking me to stay, I just might, and I firmly believe it would be the wrong decision. I’d be staying on a sinking ship.
A knock sounds on the break room door, and then Ellie’s voice cuts through our private moment. “Hey, Brooke. Sorry to interrupt, but Brian is looking for you. I think he wants to know where you want him to mail your final paycheck.”
I wipe at my eyes, trying to quickly put myself together before Ellie whips the door open and sees me having an emotional breakdown. “Yup. Got it!” I call back. “I’ll be right there.”
The conversation doesn’t feel over between us, but what’s left to say? We could go around in circles all day, crying and slowly tearing each other down until one of us caves, and it would have to be me. I’d have to give up the opportunity in Spain, and I can’t do it. It’s better that he came to see me at work, in this cold, sterile room where there’s no chance of us forgetting ourselves. I’ve been given an opportunity to leave this hellhole, to do what I love most, and he knows that.
I step back out of James’ arms and try a timid smile on for size. It feels tight and fake, but I hope he doesn’t notice. One of us has to be strong, and if he thinks I’m doing the right thing, he won’t try to stop me. My mask of resolve doesn’t have to be perfect, it just has to be enough.
His pointer finger hooks beneath my chin and he lifts gently until our gazes clash in an unspoken goodbye. The tears I’d momentarily capped start to spill down my cheeks again. James doesn’t wipe them away. Instead, he bends down and presses a soft kiss to my lips. It’s the only farewell he gives before he turns and opens the door. Ellie nearly topples into the space, most likely having been listening with one ear pressed to the door. James steps around her and turns down the corridor.
It’s the last time I’ll see him before I leave.
Had I known it at the time, maybe I would have done things differently. Maybe I wouldn’t have stood immobile in that shitty employee lounge, looking to Ellie to wipe my tears and solve my problems. She wraps me in her arms and I bury my face against her shoulder. I cry at the unfairness of it all, the choice that was forced out of me and the lesson that’s getting hammered home in the most unforgiving way: you can’t have it all.
James once asked me where I want to be in five years. Wherever I am, I hope I’m not looking back on this day, wishing I’d done something different, because if I had run after James and caught up with him before he left, if I’d jumped into his arms and told him I’d stay, maybe I wouldn’t have regretted it.
I’ll never know, and that’s what makes life worth living.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Spain is beautiful, hot, and sunny—the antithesis of how I feel inside.
It’s basically that annoyingly upbeat friend you want to deck in the face every time she comes around. To her, everything is great and carbs don’t matter.
I am not in the mood.
I arrive at the tail end of summer, when the days stretch out long and tourists are deployed in full force. I suppose I’m one of them, another newbie trying to learn the layout of the city as quickly as possible. Public transportation takes some getting used to, and I hate having to use my GPS to find my way. In those first few days, I get lost so many times that I vow to never leave the safety of Nicolás and Diego’s apartment until I have all the city blocks memorized 10 times over.
The culture shock is hard to overcome. Though I speak the language, Barcelona still takes some getting used to. There’s no Ellie to decompress with at the end of a long day, and even though we FaceTime each other constantly, it’s not the same.
I’m homesick and filled with niggling doubt over my decision to come, though I try to separate the two from each other. Even without James, moving to a new country would have still been a major adjustment. I try to give myself enough space to feel sad without allowing myself to get lost in the what-ifs.
I’m here now, and it’s time to get used to it.
The usual loneliness that settles in while traveling alone is relieved by the fact that I’m living with Diego, Nicolás, and the girls. We live in a three-story townhouse in the heart of the city, and I have the entire top floor to myself: a small bedroom, bathroom, and sitting area with a huge picture window. Most nights, Olive and Luciana wander up to see what I’m doing, even though their fathers implore them to give me private time. I don’t mind it though. I crave the company, and since they love to read so much, I try to join them whenever possible. We tear through books together, all of us a little intimidated by our new surroundings. They’ll be starting at a new school soon, and Luciana is worried she won’t be able to make friends. Olive is more concerned that she might have fallen behind other students in her class, so I asked her dads to pick up some workbooks early. Now, we work ahead together in the evenings to ensure she’ll feel extra prepared for the first day of school. Luciana, on the other hand, insists on taking “full advantage of the summer holiday”, which means anything but homework.
Honestly, in those early weeks, I use the two of them as a shield against the homesickness. As long as I’m focused on Olive and Luciana’s troubles, mine can take a back seat, and maybe if I can stay distracted long enough, they might eventually disappear altogether.
If my sadness is obvious to others, Diego and Nicolás do a good job of respecting my privacy. It’s not until one night over dinner, a few weeks after our arrival, that Diego asks me point blank if I’ve left someone behind in the United States. I shake my head hard, trying to keep my focus down on my lap. They don’t push the subject, instead quickly shifting to discuss some presentation Diego has coming up at the university. I finish my food quickly, push away from the table, and escape to the third floor.
Luciana finds me sitting on the foot of my bed, staring out the window that faces the market across the street. Even at night, it’s packed to the gills with tourists and locals browsing the various stalls.
She stands at the door, toeing the threshold, too scared to invade my space until I give a silent nod of approval. She runs over and leaps onto the bed, scooting close until her hip presses against mine. Her short legs can’t reach the floor and I glance down, admiring her glittery Toms.
When she speaks, I’m surprised to hear such profound sadness in her tone. “You know, I miss my boyfriend too.”
Her admission catches me so off guard that I’m helpless to quell the burst of laughter that spills out of me.
She shoots me a death stare. “What’s funny?”
“No.” I wipe the smile off my face. “Nothing.”
It’s not. Luciana might be young, but she’s perceptive and thoughtful. If she cared about a boy back in the United States, she likely carried those feelings across the ocean with us.
“Tell me about him,” I ask, tapping my shoulder against hers.
For half an hour, she goes on and on about a boy named Collin who was the nicest person in her class back home. Her dads don’t want her dating yet, of course, BECAUSE SHE’S NINE, so she and Collin had to “just be friends at school”. I expected her relationship obstacles to pale in comparison to what I’m dealing with, but to hear her tell it, it’s pretty close.
“My friend Valerie likes him too, and the day I left, she told me she was going to marry him.”
Damn, nine-year-olds are savages.
“What did you tell her?”
She shrugs. “That it was Collin’s choice to make. If he wants to marry her, then that would be okay. As long as he’s happy.”
“Even if that means you lose him?” I push.
She looks up at me like I’m an idiot. “Ms. Brooke, I can’t expect him to wait around for me forever. I mean, we’re almost 10 years old.”
Touché.
“Do you want to talk about what’s going on with you now?” she asks with kind, gentle eyes. “Maybe I can help.”
