54. Surprise
Summer
I got a job. I also found a friend. Penny may have talked me into too many date scones since then, not to mention a few beers, but it was great to remember how to laugh, and how to immerse myself in work, too. And to feel that extra layer of skin slowly growing back.
I told myself every day that Roman had been a straw clutched by a drowning woman, that what had felt like an overwhelming pull toward him had merely been a desire to feel alive again, to feel something again. At night, though, I couldn’t deceive myself. I’d wake up crying from a barely remembered dream, undefended in the dark, and think, I should call him. What am I holding back for? In the morning, though, I’d remember him saying, “I won’t wait for you.” Could I survive another loss right now, when I was barely getting my feet back under myself? Worse—could he? I couldn’t lie to myself that it hadn’t mattered to him. That final afternoon, making love with our eyes and our hearts open … it had mattered. And when I’d run away, it had mattered more. If my heart was fragile, so was his, no matter how it looked to anyone else. His shell was thick because what was inside was so tender. I knew that, because however unlikely it seemed, I knew him. Partly because I knew myself.
I knew what it was to be hurt, to be betrayed. To be abandoned. The last thing I wanted was to inflict that on Roman. Maybe later, I promised myself on every one of those mornings. When I was sure I’d be offering him a whole person. A healed person. That if he gave me his heart, I’d have the courage to take it and hold it safe, and to give him mine in return.
You think that’s crazy after only a few weeks together. After making love exactly twice. That I was rating the stakes much too high. The problem was—it didn’t feel crazy. It felt true. And as for the idea that it had been my sex drive, and maybe my life force, finally reawakening, and it meant I should put myself out there again? I didn’t want anybody else. I knew the difference now between “good enough” and actually good. I wanted Roman.
And, all right, I was probably still scared to try. And scared he’d say no.
On this Friday morning, nearly two months after that day in the café with Penny, autumn was threatening to turn to winter outside the little caravan. The wind was colder today, and there was a promise of rain in the air. Delilah stuck her head out the caravan door, then stuffed her rain jacket into her backpack, and I asked, “Want a ride?”
“Nope,” she said. “I’m taking the bus. Riding the bike is good for my endurance and leg strength and everything, but in the rain? Not so much.”
“Hence,” I said, “the ride.”
Delilah took a last bite of toast. “I’m working on my independence. That’s because I’m leaving in exactly nine days. To tell you the truth, I’m kind of sick of waitressing. I mean, it’s fine, but …”
“But you don’t want to do it forever,” I said. “Even in New Zealand.”
“I need to find something to do that’s more like what you did,” she said. “At least once I’m a year or so into college and can actually get a job like that. I always thought, ha, Summer, grinding it out, taking it all so seriously, but you know? I’d kind of like to have a job that doesn’t suck. Not that being a server in New Zealand is terrible, it’s just … I kind of don’t want to just survive anymore. It’d be nice to feel like I’m, quote, getting somewhere, unquote.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Me too. You know—” I hesitated.
“Come on,” Delilah said. “Spit it out. I’ve seen you naked every single day—which is seriously discouraging, by the way. Let’s have some naked minds, too.”
“You could stay a while,” I said. “Get a tourist visa and spend a month or so getting a jump on the coursework for your fall classes, maybe. You’ll have calculus and chemistry right off the bat, and here you are where I can help with the calculus and Daisy can help with the chemistry. And you have worked hard all year. Maybe you deserve a vacation. It’ll be the South Island in winter, of course, but still.”
“Are you saying that,” Delilah asked, “because you think I can’t make it alone, or because you don’t want to be alone?”
“Ouch,” I said, and then, because I was trying not to lie to myself these days, “Probably a little bit of the second. I’m not worried about the first one, because you have figured out the getting-someplace-better deal, thanks to our fabulous working holiday.”
“You say that,” Delilah said, “but come on, be honest. Doesn’t part of you worry that I’m going to blow it?”
“Are you worried that you’re going to blow it?” I asked. “That’s what matters. Who cares what I think?”
“Maybe a little,” she admitted. “I’ve been out of school for a year, and the thought of all those student loans is pretty scary.”
“Except that I’ll be helping,” I said, “now that I’m getting back into the black again. Six figures gives me a whole lot more wiggle room, assuming I make it through my trial period.”
“Ha,” Delilah said. “Like that’s not going to happen.”
“Life can throw things at you,” I said. “But if all goes well, I should be able to pay for all of it next year. If, of course, you prove to be a good investment.”
Delilah rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. Like I’m not motivated. And it’s not six figures after taxes.”
“Not that far off. And once I finish paying Roman back for the truck, I’ll have a lot more. I just wish he?—”
“Yeah, well, he’s not going to let you pay back everything he paid for it,” Delilah said. “You already dumped him. Leave the guy some pride. Even I know that, and I know just about nothing.”
“I didn’t really—” I started to say, but she wasn’t listening. She plowed right ahead. “And, what? You keep living in this very small caravan and owning exactly five work outfits, if you wear the same pants twice, so you can send me to college and I won’t have to worry my pretty princess head with student loans, because I’m somehow more fragile than you? I don’t care what you promised Aunt Iona, that’s not happening, and I’m not more fragile than you, or all that much dumber, either, so knock it off. I may have been a little less serious than you—all right, a lot less serious than you—but, hey, I’m nineteen, and I did have you and Aunt Iona propping me up for almost my entire life. That doesn’t mean I need you to prop me up forever. Look at me. I have two feet to stand on and everything.”
“Wow,” I said. “Where did all this come from?”
“I don’t know,” Delilah said, “maybe my life? Your example? Everything?”
“That’s great,” I said. “Seriously.” I tried not to think, She doesn’t need me, and panic about it, and went on, “And I don’t mind this place, as long as Daisy’s willing to keep renting it to me. If she’s not, I’ll move. But it’s cozy, especially being in here reading at night when the rain’s beating down on the roof, and I do have those laundry privileges. I like cooking dinner for the family some nights, too, and helping Frankie with her homework.”
“Oh, yeah,” Delilah said. “Because who needs more than a hundred square feet? And it’s so much better to be an outsider than to live with, you know, actual people you love. Which is why you don’t want me to stay, except, whoops! You do!”
“I’ve come to appreciate simplicity,” I said a little stiffly.
“That’s great,” Delilah said, “if that’s the only choice you have. I refuse to be the person who sticks you with this much ‘simplicity’ for four more years, though. If you want that, have a kid. I’m going back to Seattle before everybody gets out of school and snatches up all the summer jobs, and I’m getting a room in somebody’s terrible apartment and calling it paying my dues. Thanks to you and our enforced austerity program, I’ll be glad it isn’t a tent.” With that, she picked up her backpack and headed for the caravan door—all two steps of it—then turned and said, “But I’m leaving you to wash my plate so you know you’re still more mature. You’re welcome.”
I was still laughing when she left.
But how much was I going to miss her?
That afternoon,I was buried deep in unraveling some old code that had more knots than Delilah’s little-girl hair—and possibly wondering why none of those first four firms had hired me, since, wow, was I ever needed here—when I surfaced to the sound of my phone.
“Summer,” the woman at the front desk told me, “there’s somebody here to see you.” Her voice lowered. “A man.”
Roman, my stupid brain immediately thought, before I could bring it back in line. “Who is it?” I asked.
“He didn’t say,” she said. “Just that it’s personal.”
Right. Now my heart was really pounding. Maybe because I’d lied a little bit to Delilah and I was longing for connection?
No. Because I was longing for Roman. I was almost ready. Maybe. If he wasn’t with somebody. If he …
Stop it. I ran my hands over my hair, considered asking Sam, my neighbor in the bullpen of an office, whether I looked OK, reflected on the confused stare he’d give me from the depths of his twenty-four-year-old soul, reminded myself that the ladies’ toilet was out by the lifts and there was no hope there, pushed back my chair, and walked what felt like a thousand meters to reception.
It was a man. Just not the one I wanted to see. In fact, my heart took a major dive.
No, it wasn’t Felipe. Felipe, unless he’d escaped, was still in prison. It was, in fact, Philip Crawford, my UK divorce solicitor. Fortyish, graying, handsome, and smooth. I could see why Amy had been excited, I guessed. She didn’t know how relentlessly unemotional Philip was. That “gray rock” technique they teach you, where you don’t react to anything a person says? That was Philip. The original gray rock. Protective carapace or original packaging, who knew.
“Hi,” I said, shaking hands. “This is a surprise. I’m guessing you’re not in the country on holiday and popping in to catch up.”
He didn’t smile, of course. He never had. “Is there somewhere we can talk?” he asked, in his ultra-posh accent.
“Sure,” I said. “Let’s go for a coffee.”
“I don’t need coffee. A conference room is fine.”
I had to smile. “I want a coffee, though. You’re in New Zealand. Embrace the vibe. I’ll even buy.”
He stared at me. Well, I’d changed. I wasn’t shattered anymore.
When we were sitting in The Perc after a dash through the rain—it did have the best scones in Dunedin—and I, at least, had my latte in front of me, I said, “My divorce was final almost a year ago, so I can’t imagine why you’re here, but I’m prepared to be shocked. Shoot.”
He said, “HMRC have found the money.” His Majesty’s Revenue and Customs, he meant. The tax authority.
All right. I was shocked. “Really,” I said, holding it together with an effort. “That’s … unexpected. And you couldn’t call me with this news?”
“I couldn’t find you. You’re not on social media, or accessible via the usual search engines. My assistant looked in the UK and the States, but we didn’t think of New Zealand at first. Let alone here.” He sent a meaningful glance around the slightly shabby café and the casually dressed pedestrians outside. London it was not. “Took her weeks. If you were here because you’re hiding, it seemed unlikely that you’d respond to a voicemail. It’s a bit complicated as well. Better in person.”
“Ah.” I took a sip of coffee. Oddly, my heart rate wasn’t speeding up that much. I’d swear that I wasn’t numb anymore, so why not? “Well, here I am. Explain why I should care.”
He did.
How ridiculous and how strange to be surprised at anything which happens in life.Marcus Aurelius. Again.
Well, this was going to put my stoicism to the test.