Chapter Thirty-six
Sean
It’s bad. And then it gets worse.
After our fight outside the storage room, Flora and I manage a few days of peaceful silence, no raised voices. Now she’s lying next to me in my room, and I push her hair back to kiss her neck. She lifts her eyes and says, “I love you so much, I’m falling apart.”
Oh no.
She pulls the duvet off and stands up from the bed. “I’m not cool anymore. I’m clingy, moody, and on the verge of tears all the time. When you’re not here, I mope around waiting for you to come back. You’ll stop loving me eventually, and I’ll die a slow, painful death.”
The changes she mentions are more obvious day by day, but I stay quiet for selfish reasons. I can’t lose her. “You’re still the same. Overly dramatic.”
She’s miserable. It’s a plain, sad fact. Despite my intensive watering, this jasmine flower is withering right before my eyes.
She runs her fingers over items from my desk, but her eyes don’t focus. “Are you getting tired of me?”
“Not at all.”
She picks up the postcard from the science museum. It reads Once upon a time you made a girl ridiculously happy.
“Flora, the best moments of my life have been with you. You’re everything I want.”
At this moment, she drops the line to break my heart. It’s not unexpected, but still hurts, and I let it sink in without defense.
“It’s like I’m channel surfing. Even when I’m watching one channel, I’m wondering what else is on and what I’m missing. I hate myself when I’m with you.”
What stings the most is that she’s not trying to hurt me. For a second, I’m too choked to answer.
“You feel like that because you haven’t found what you want to watch,” I say. “If you did, you’d be fixated. You wouldn’t want to miss a second. That’s how I feel with you.”
Her eyes lock with mine. Time stands still, until she throws her arms around me, her wool sweater rubbing against my face, and everything starts moving forward again at a mind-numbing pace. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
The truth is lying naked before me. She claims I’m her destination, but she prefers the journey. The trailer lured her in, but now that she’s discovered the movie isn’t as interesting as she anticipated, she’s forcing herself to sit through the whole thing.
“Please don’t break up with me,” she says between sobs. “You can’t break up with me because I said one stupid thing.”
Forever is no longer the dream. She should be set free, but I’m too weak to let go. I’ll wait until she’s ready to leave me. “I won’t break up with you.”
We’re a radioactive isotope destined to break apart. No matter how much energy I pour into keeping us together, the decay is inevitable.
“Let go on a trip together,” she says, voice still unsteady. “During Christmas. Three days together.”
“Anything you want,” I say.
* * *
Flora wants to go to Paris. Three days in Paris? Seriously, who does that? I suggest a road trip, hitting up delis, eating gas station nachos, and cranking the music. She says motel bed linens will give her a rash and that she can’t stay anywhere below four stars.
In the end, we settle on New York City. She might end up there for the next four years anyway.
She flops onto her bed. “You’ll come see me every weekend, right?”
“Of course.”
I’m going to lose that privilege, dear Flora.
For me, this trip might be the last good memory we’ll have together. Every second is a countdown.
She tosses me a list of luxury hotels to give the illusion of choice. Out of these, only the Four Seasons doesn’t have a minimum age requirement to check in, so that’s her decision made.
“I can’t afford it.” Not even close.
“I have a big allowance. I mean, huge. Rolling around in high-thread-count sheets won’t scald your skin, Sean.”
“I don’t feel comfortable spending your money.”
“Strictly speaking, it’s my parents’ money.”
“Wow, now I feel so much better.”
She folds her arms. “Why’s it fine for me to eat at your place all the time, but such a big deal for you to accept favors from my family?”
“That’s different. My dad’s cooking anyway, with or without you. You don’t eat much.”
“Well, I’m staying at a five-star hotel anyway, with or without you. You don’t take up much space.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“I’ll cover the hotel, and we can figure out the rest. Come on, let me spoil you.” She strokes my face, chuckling. “We’ll be together forever anyway.”
My stomach clenches. While I’m waiting for her to break up with me, there’s some secret bad news she isn’t aware of yet.
“Hey, I almost forgot,” she says. “I have your Christmas present ready.”
I pick up my backpack from the floor. “I brought yours too.”
“Can’t wait!” She grabs the gift Lindsey helped me wrap, tearing open the wrapper.
Her hands freeze. It’s a puzzle, the cover showing a black-and-white photo of an old couple standing on rainy pavement, facing away from the camera.
In the corner, there’s a corner of the Eiffel Tower.
It’s an antique shot from the midcentury.
Flora sniffles, and her voice catches. “Thanks. You remember I told you how Jeremy didn’t let me join in his puzzle time. We’ll go to Paris together someday.” She pulls me close, wrapping her arms around me. I let myself briefly entertain the slim possibility of that happening.
When we break apart, Flora says, “Ready for yours?”
Her smile is bright as she pulls out a Louis Vuitton paper bag from her closet. I offended her when I had to return the duffel bag she gave me last Christmas, but I hide my disappointment this time. “Wow,” I say, keeping my tone light. “Louis Vuitton keeps coming back to haunt me.”
My fingers meet something soft. A scarf—thick, knitted wool, blue with a touch of gray. It’s full of holes.
“I knit it myself.” Flora swallows. “I restarted three times, but I finally accepted this is the best I can do. As my dad would say, don’t let perfect be the enemy of good. It’s supposed to be the color of your eyes. But they’re nicer, of course.”
I run my fingers through one of the holes, unable to utter a word.
“The holes were unintentional.” She fidgets, then snatches the scarf from me. “Gosh, what was I thinking? You’re too cute to be caught dead wearing this. It’s against every fashion rule in the universe. I’ll buy you something else.”
The lump in my throat slides down and my voice comes out scratchy. “I love it.”
This is exactly what I want. I lean in to hug her, trying to keep my emotions in check as I speak into her hair. “Thank you. Seriously. This is the best present I’ve ever gotten.”
“You like it more than Louis Vuitton?” She laughs. “Honestly, the best part of the gift is probably the paper bag.”
I bury my face in her neck, holding her as tightly as possible without hurting her. “I mean it. Thank you. I’m going to wear it every day in New York.”
“Oh no, you’re not. Don’t embarrass me like that at the Four Seasons.”
* * *
I lie to my parents, telling them a bunch of us are going on a trip together. They buy it, for some reason, but Lindsey catches on immediately. She even offers to lend me the prize money she won in an essay contest. I take her up on it—every bit of help counts.
Our vacation is the wealthy version of New York City, and even though Flora’s been here eight billion times like she claims, she’s still enchanted—by the city itself, the holiday decorations, the high-end department stores and their elaborate window displays, the aroma of roasted chestnuts from street vendors, the constant hum of the streets, the fineries in life.
She’s happy, and I remind myself to gasp in amazement every now and then, even if she’s just trying on shoes.
But to be fair, it’s not all about money.
We go to MoMA and make out on the deserted stairs.
We take a walk in Central Park, breathing in the crisp winter air, and end up in a small-scale snow fight.
We have incredible coffee in Williamsburg.
At night we sit by the window, watching the city unfold below us, and she looks at me with such quiet love, saying we should do this every year.
We take a bath together, the steam clouding the windows as she kisses me everywhere.
How can this end? I wonder in a daze as Flora leans in to wipe cream from the corner of my mouth. We’re having cupcakes in a park, and she’s sweeter than the red velvet cake. How can something I treasure so much slip through my fingers like this?
Flora and me, we’re so good together on vacation.
It’s easy when we’re planning parties, flying paper airplanes, on that overnight date at her lake house, when the world feels like it’s all ours.
It’s easy when we’re spending Christmas in this fabulous city.
But then reality plods in, and our love loses its invincibility in the harsh light of mundaneness.
We’ll go back home eventually. And that’s when we’ll be torn apart.
She brought her camera with her, and I take pictures without thinking—clouds, piles of snow on the curb, the cracked bricks of a nearby building, the reflections in windows, fire escapes casting shadows on the streets.
Each minute is carved into my memory. But mostly, I take pictures of her laughing.
It’s the best view in the city.
When our vacation ends and we part ways—Flora to St. Barts, me to Tampa, Florida—to catch the next segment of our vacation, I kiss her like it’s the last time.
“Why do you look like you’re about to cry?” Her eyes twinkle as she tugs her luggage behind her, her coat unbuttoned and flapping. “The Four Seasons is sensational, right? You’ll never be able to enjoy anything else again.”
“Yes, I’ll never be able to enjoy anything else again,” I repeat, looking at her. This is my perfect ending with her in New York.