Chapter 3
“Hope you get some rest,” Andrea had said to Lora before he and Nico turned to head back down the stairway, which probably meant that exhaustion had turned her eyes into doughy puffs.
Beatrice was not able to offer Lora and Vilmari a cold drink, much to their disappointment, but she had made up for it by turning on the air-conditioning unit in their cottage before their arrival.
Lora hadn’t realized how tired she was until she sat for a moment on the double bed with the crisp white sheets and her mind almost instantly went to static.
Vilmari was already snoring softly over in her bed by the time Lora found the energy to pee before slamming her face into her own pillow.
She dreamed jet lag dreams—running to catch someone or something slightly out of reach, feeling she’d lost something important, all of it blending together until her alarm went off.
She lay in bed, groggy, listening to Vilmari humming in the shower, and asked herself for the thousandth time if she was committed to this area of research, if it had to be Zurich, and if there was any other option than this that would satisfy her.
But the answers were always the same. Yes, she was committed to researching what people needed to succeed in a world that was becoming increasingly isolating.
She had thrived on her own and couldn’t subscribe to the idea of that being a negative thing.
Yes, Zurich was the right place because there were two professors there who were ready to support the kind of work she wanted to do, despite the fact that it might shred typical familial and social structures.
And no, there was no other option that would satisfy her.
Well, not really. Ever since Dr. Bruker from the University of Zurich sent her an email suggesting that she consider taking on a research project there, she’d fallen in love with the idea of doing the postdoc in Switzerland.
It just sounded amazing. The whole idea felt cultured, intellectual, and about as far away from everything that she knew as possible.
I’m moving to Switzerland. She’d practiced saying it in her head so that she’d be ready to brandish it when necessary.
If someone asked what she was going to do next, if her ex-boyfriend kept trying increasingly assertive ways to get her back, if she had moments of self-doubt or felt lonely or couldn’t get the memory of growing up sweating in South Florida out of her head: Switzerland. I’m moving there. No, really.
“Well, you look amazing.” Lora propped herself up on her elbows and gave Vilmari an exaggerated once-over as she finally stepped out from the bathroom with a little spin.
She wore a long white maxi dress trimmed in marigold-colored flowers, her wavy dark brown hair cascading down her back.
Pulling up the hem, she showed off a pair of flip-flops.
“There’s no other way these feet are making it down those stairs.
I’m carrying my heels, then I’ll shove the flip-flops behind the cactus at the bottom of the steps for when we get back.
I’m not about to show up to a party in rubber shoes.
Do you think I’ll be underdressed? If these are yacht club people, I’ve seen what J.
Lo wears on hers. This is not it,” she said, looking down at her dress.
“I think we’re fine. We’re tourists. We don’t have to get it perfect.” Lora rolled off the bed and hunched over her suitcase, pulling out a midi-length black silk dress. She stood, holding it in front of her pajamas. “What do you think of this?”
“It’s gorgeous. But wow, how amazing that you’ve really gone out-of-the-box on the color on this one. So unlike you.” Vilmari widened her eyes in feigned shock.
“It’s practical, I won’t get sick of it, and it will never go out of style,” said Lora. “You know how I get with color.”
“I do. I still remember the night you made me lend you a blazer because you thought your gray blouse was ‘too bright.’ Are you getting in the shower or what?”
“Getting! Going!” Lora laid the dress across her bed before taking her turn in the bathroom.
She finally emerged, minus the brain fog and airplane funk, and slid into the dress.
It was only after stepping in front of the mirror that she realized she hadn’t worn it since the trip to Cayman Brac with her ex, Charlie, last spring.
Her expression darkened. She was still angry with herself for allowing that relationship to get away from her.
It was completely out of character for Lora in the first place.
He’d convinced her that his privilege was only useful to him in that it helped him to help other people, and she’d been charmed by his tales of working on pro bono cases and championing various charities.
She still couldn’t believe she’d been so blind.
For instance, she’d thought it was perfectly reasonable for Charlie to spontaneously suggest a trip to the Cayman Islands while he was supposedly in the middle of one of the most important cases of his career.
Over breakfast on the first day of the trip, he mentioned that he was taking a quick flight to Grand Cayman for a meeting, but would be back before dinner, and she should charge anything to the room and relax.
She was stunned. Wasn’t this supposed to be a romantic getaway?
Vilmari had texted her that she should spite-charge both lobster salad and a bespoke pedicure to the room, but she only fumed through that Alison Espach novel everyone was talking about and drank too many glasses of hibiscus tea.
She couldn’t have known how lucky it was that she had been too furious to ask Charlie about the meeting.
Lora swept her hair into a low bun and turned around to check out the look from the back. She’d worn it down with this dress last time because Charlie liked it. But he also liked loud Kiton suits and those god-awful $900 trail shoes from Hermès, so maybe a little change-up was a good thing.
“Beautiful, as always.” Vilmari nodded while putting in a pair of hoop earrings.
“Thank you! Good call on the flip-flops, by the way, those stairs feel like they’re infinite. Of course I don’t love the fact that I was too tired to argue about letting them carry up the bags,” Lora said, pulling her own sandals out of her suitcase.
“They were being considerate, Lor. It wasn’t a referendum on our core strength.”
“I know, I know.” Lora rolled her eyes.
“I’m not going to complain about the fact that we seem to have made a couple of new friends. Plus, I didn’t mind walking up those steps behind Senor Tennis Balls.”
“I don’t think I would call them friends. The mayor is the one who actually confers citizenship when it’s all over. I don’t need to be buddies, I need him to wave the magic citizenship wand or whatever they do.”
“Does that mean he’s the one who gets to decide if you qualify?” Vilmari asked. She leaned into a mirror on the wall and slicked on a deep rose gloss.
“No. Wait. ‘Qualify’? You make it sound like I am entering a beauty pageant.”
“Oh, do you think that would help your cause? Ladies and gentlemen of Italy! I present to you—Miss Vero Beach, Florida! And tonight, for the talent portion of the show, she’ll eat an entire chicken tenders sub from Publix! I don’t know how well that will go over with the Italians, though.”
“I’m more talented at eating one of those subs than I am at speaking foreign languages. Did you see the look on the mayor’s face when I tried to ask him a question? Ugh. But it’s not about qualifying, per se. It’s about getting the right documentation in the right order and having it all approved.”
Lora had done extensive research on the citizenship process, and although it was incredibly difficult to understand, she was confident that trying to accomplish her goal in Italy would be infinitely easier than trying to manage everything from the States.
With her postdoc starting up in September and her first grant request due by October 1, she figured that a June visit to Italy would give her more than enough time to get it done.
When she told Vilmari her plans, her best friend put in for two weeks of vacation and paid for both of their plane tickets.
It would be their last hurrah for a while since Lora would be in Switzerland for at least two years, possibly three.
Even if Vilmari couldn’t be there for the whole process, Lora was grateful for the time they would get to spend together.
“And you’re sure this is going to take just a few weeks?”
“How could it take longer? The only document I don’t have is the birth certificate, and it looks like we’re going to find that as soon as tomorrow morning. What could possibly delay things?”
“I hope you’re right. I also hope you’re ready because I’m starving. All that talk of chickie tendies got to me.”
“I’m ready,” said Lora, slipping on her flip-flops. She grabbed a pair of heeled sandals from her suitcase and found the room key on a dresser. “Let’s get to the yacht club, darling.”