Chapter 25
Everything felt difficult. In the last month, she’d tried to find an apartment, but nothing suited.
They all seemed to be different versions of the same white box, and only the quality of the appliances differed.
Anything that she could afford overlooked something sad, like an Aldi parking lot or another block of the same square, industrial-looking apartment buildings.
The city was lovely, especially the old town and along the lake, but she hadn’t been prepared for the weather to be thirty degrees colder than it was in Baia Santa.
She spent the first morning researching outdoor gear stores and ended up at the Transa outlet to buy a fleece jacket, but for some reason, she still couldn’t get rid of the chill.
She should have been excited, feeling triumphant at getting herself here with all the elements in place.
But something was wrong. She didn’t feel successful. She felt alone.
It started to creep in the day after she arrived.
Ottavio had sent her the photos from her citizenship ceremony that morning, and she hadn’t even wanted to look at them.
Instead, she found herself looking down at her watch all morning, waiting until an appropriate time to call Vilmari in New York.
At two PM on the dot, she opened WhatsApp.
“Is it too early?”
“No. I was up trying to finish an article before my deadline at noon, but I need to recaffeinate. Talk to me.” Vilmari turned back to the kitchen.
“I think—” She broke off, the idea sounding ridiculous in her head. “I might be lonely?”
“Aww, Lor, that’s adorable! No, seriously. What’s happening?”
“I am serious. I feel weird here.”
“Oh, Mami! In that case, don’t worry! You haven’t had a chance to meet people yet. You just need some time! That’s what you would tell me.”
She looked down, feeling ridiculous. “It isn’t what I expected. I thought this would be easy, you know? I thought it was only paperwork.”
“Lora, I believe in you. And I went along with your plan because it looked like it made sense. Go down to Italy, get a document, move to Zurich, the end. But life doesn’t happen on paper.”
The chill lingered long after she ended the call with Vilmari.
It crept up her back and across her neck as she went out to walk along Bahnhofstrasse in search of a hot tea.
Colpo d’aria. Who knew? she thought as she pulled on her scarf to better cover her neck.
She’d peeked into shop windows that dazzled with jewels and couture, trying to keep her mind off the uneasiness that seemed to be surging in her chest. On a tram back to her hotel, she had mindlessly opened Instagram and was greeted with a post about the lunch specials at Giada’s café.
The photo showed a plate of trofie being held in someone’s hands, but Lora had recognized the small G tattoo next to the thumb and knew that Vivi had posed for the shot.
Another photo posted by the city’s official account showed the side of Andrea’s face as he greeted a group of engineers by the Catalano Bridge.
Then there was Ottavio’s daily shot of someone getting the superstar glam treatment from the throne-like chair in his salon.
This time it was a uniformed Luca, red-faced and actually grinning with a freshly trimmed coiffure.
If she had to see one more pic of something charming from Baia Santa, she was going to throw her phone into the Limmat River.
She’d put it back in her bag and stared out at the city until she arrived at her stop.
She crossed the hotel room again and sat down at the desk, letting her eyes fall over the last part of her presentation.
The final stage in Maslow’s hierarchy, self-transcendence, is said to only be achieved when an individual is capable of integrating the inner sense of self with the external world, not only in the present but also in harmony with the past. Beyond a tangible outcome, self-transcendence represents an equanimity in perspective where the individual is no longer bound by personal, physical, psychological, or emotional obstacles.
Instead, they seek to continually learn, engage in connection, hone a purpose, and pursue deeper relationships.
In short, though Maslow believed that interconnectedness was critical to a sense of fulfillment, I hope to demonstrate in my research that this may be a luxury that modern life cannot afford.
She stared at the words she’d written at the beginning of the summer and felt the cold chill again.
The last sentence stood out as if in bold font, and she read and reread it, the cursor blinking after the period like a beacon.
Her finger drifted to the keyboard, landing on the delete key, and she pressed it over and over until the whole sentence was gone.
Lora arrived at the university building and found the window-lined room where Dr. Bruker and Dr. Hess already sat behind a long table facing the rows of seating.
They greeted her, and Dr. Hess made introductions to the department’s administrative assistant and two other graduate students who would be sitting in to assess her proposal.
“Please sit, Dr. Brooks. We’re looking forward to hearing your research plans.
Innovative thought like this is at the heart of what the university hopes to support.
We cannot ignore the pressures and realities of modern society, especially as technology continues to alter our methods of interaction and—” said Dr. Bruker.
“I, for one, am thrilled to have research that takes us in a different direction! It’s very exciting,” added Dr. Hess.
“Yes, thank you,” Lora said, opening up her laptop.
It was time. She was prepared. She had everything she needed.
As she pulled her notebook out of her bag, a hard metal object dislodged from the bottom, rolled across the table, and crashed down onto the tile floor with a spectacular clang, where it bounced and skidded mightily under a media table.
Ivo’s ring, it seemed, had a mind of its own.
“Excuse me,” she said, jumping out of her chair to chase it.
She made her way over to the table and stooped low in her skirt to try to look under it, but she couldn’t see a thing.
Standing again, Lora tried to move the table over, but it wouldn’t budge.
Sweat, the kind that came straight from the fiery hells of cortisol, prickled at her underarms.
“Can we help?” asked Dr. Bruker. He stood and waved at one of the graduate students, recruiting him to save Lora from bellying down on the linoleum.
“I can’t seem to—” she said, walking around to the back of the table.
It was flush to the half wall that separated the seats from a raised dais.
Could the ring have continued to bounce?
She looked around as the student, wearing jeans and therefore much more agile, kneeled down on the opposite side of the table.
“What was it exactly?” Even Dr. Hess had hauled herself out of her chair and was wandering around the open floor space, searching.
“A ring,” Lora said, her temples throbbing.
“A silver-and-turquoise ring. I don’t know how it could have—” Goddamn it, Ivo, what do you want?
She moved along the far wall of the room, scanning along the gray baseboard, until finally she saw something shiny tucked behind a radiator.
“I think I found it!” Lora bent down again, feeling under the metal leg and clasped her fingers around the ring.
She stood, looked down at it, and shook her head.
“Well, that was exciting!” said Dr. Bruker, making his way back to the table. The student peeled himself off the floor, and Dr. Hess plopped herself back down on her chair.
“What a start!” said Dr. Hess. “Who knew such a small thing could create such a big disruption.”
But it wasn’t a small thing. She looked back up at the professors sitting across the table and felt a tumbler on some lock in her head click into place. She took a deep breath.
“Yes,” said Lora, sliding the ring onto her thumb. She looked down at it, still hovering by the table. It wasn’t a small thing at all.
“Is everything all right?” asked Dr. Bruker, the 11s between his brows showing concern.
“I think so,” she said. It would be OK, she told herself, projecting into the future while she sat still.
She had the hotel for two more days and her apartment in Bushwick for two more months.
There was some savings in the bank and time to regroup.
Vilmari would probably even pick her up from the airport when she called to tell her what had happened.
“Unfortunately, I regret that in conducting my initial research this summer, I may have disregarded several factors without deeply considering their importance to the overall model. It was not intentional, though through observation and anecdotal evidence, I believe that I may have made a mistake.”
“A mistake?” asked Dr. Hess.
“Yes,” she said, her voice sounding gravelly in her own ears. “My hypothesis may be incorrect.”
“Dr. Brooks, this is not a thesis defense,” said Dr. Hess. “It’s just a formality. In fact, postdoctoral candidates generally tell us what they are doing and we let them get back to it. You came all the way here to tell us that you are wrong before you start?”
“I think so,” she said, looking at the screen again.
“This is most unusual. You do understand that we will have to pass this spot on to an alternative qualified candidate,” said Dr. Bruker.
“I do. Though I’d like the chance to reconsider my hypothesis and perhaps resubmit a proposal at a later date.”
“I’m sorry, to be clear—did you not just spend two months in Italy to get citizenship so that this program would be feasible for you?” Dr. Hess tapped the papers in front of her.
“I did.”
“And what happened?”
“I don’t feel that I can ethically take on research that may not only be incorrect but could imply something that I can now see might be harmful.”