Chapter 28 Sixteen Pairs of Sports Shoes and One Very Important Ping
I wake up the next day in the less familiar surroundings of Karim’s bedroom. It makes me realize how much time we spend at my place rather than his, and how one-sided at least some of this has been. I make a vow to myself to be more vigilant, to be more even, to be a better girlfriend. Not just for his sake but for my own.
It is also, of course, a room full of things I haven’t as yet counted, which is always a fun time for me.
I roll over to his side, already knowing that he has gone. There is a note there, and it makes me smile to see it. I love his little pillow notes.
I pick it up, see that he has gone to get pastries from the Polish bakery. Could he be more perfect? He has, though, signed it “King I-Love-You the First,” which balances out the perfection.
I get up and get dressed. I don’t keep anything here, at Karim’s, and I am punished for that oversight by having to wear yesterday’s clothes. It is nothing more than I deserve.
I mooch around his flat, not snooping but examining—the photos of his family, the hardback books that mainly seem to be biographies of sports people. The fridge magnet that says “I Heart Milk,” the collection of sneakers all neatly laid out on a shoe rack. Sixteen pairs, to be exact.
It makes me smile, seeing it all. All the tiny pieces of him, the little clues to his personality, the shards of his life all reflected in his home habitat.
I am rooting through his surprisingly large vinyl collection when he appears, wrapped up in a parka and holding a big paper bag.
He puts it down on the table and beats his chest like Tarzan.
“I am hunter-gatherer!” he says in a fake-macho voice. “I bring food for woman in cave!”
“For a hunter-gatherer, there’s a lot of Motown in this record collection . . .”
He dumps his coat and sweeps me up into his arms. He starts singing “It Takes Two, Baby” as he spins me around, and I laugh in a way I haven’t laughed before. I feel free, and light, and giddy. Like there is fizzy pop running through my veins.
He kisses me and sets me down, disappearing off into the kitchen for plates and coffee. He’s a hunter-gatherer with a very evolved coffee machine as well, which is a tribute to humanity’s progress.
“What shall we do today, Gemma?” he shouts from the other room. “Go to town? Go to the zoo? Stay in bed and feast? The world is our lobster!”
I am giving this some thought, and coming firmly down on the third option, when my phone calls out for attention. I haven’t looked at it since the day before, which is a testament to just how much this being-in-love thing has affected my normal routines.
I pick it up and first see a message from Margie.
Sorry if I was rough on you yesterday, kiddo. It might have been tough love, but it was still love. Let me know if you’re okay. xxx
I quickly tap a reply assuring her that I am, and see that I have another notification.
This one is different. This one wipes the silly smile from my face and demands my full attention. This one is a game changer.
I am distantly aware of Karim coming back through, of the clatter of plates and cutlery, of the sight of those mini jars of jam they always have at hotel breakfasts. Only distantly, though, because my phone has yet again become the center of my universe.
He stops, looks at me. Sees my expression.
“What is it?” he asks, suddenly serious. “Are you all right?”
“I think so,” I reply, looking up at him, feeling my face drain of color.
“It’s from the Adoption Contact Register,” I say, the words making it real. “She’s been in touch. My daughter. Baby. She’s asked for my details, and they’ve given them to her.”
“Okay . . . well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it? That’s what you wanted?”
I nod, because of course he is right. It is what I wanted, desperately. And yet now that it has happened, I feel terrified.