Chapter 3 #3
“That seems unfair.”
“Somehow, I’ll pull through without an evening spent wondering whether that’s fireworks or gunshots for six hours straight.”
“But you like it there? Lucas said he thinks you’re doing some kind of cleanse.”
Lucas, Jasmine and I had gone out for drinks together when I told them I was leaving, and he had stared at me in silence for a few moments when I mentioned Newfoundland and then immediately pulled out his Google maps app to remind himself where it was.
“What am I supposed to be cleansing in this scenario?” I asked.
“Urban life,” she replied.
“I’m literally in a city.”
“Not a real city. St. John’s is the size of Hartford, Connecticut, isn’t it? No one ever says, I’m going into the city and means Hartford.”
“Well, tell Lucas I am cleansing all my negativity and I’ll come back in a Live Laugh Love t-shirt, carrying a golden retriever puppy that I’ve named Chastity.”
“We can’t be friends anymore if you do that, you know that, right?
” I laughed, but there was some truth to it.
We spent an awful lot of our time together venting.
“So,” she went on, “is it like Prince Edward Island? That’s my one reference.
I’m picturing you in a white farmhouse, wearing a wicker hat and reciting poetry. ”
“Just add tanker ships and a lively bar scene and you’ve nailed it.”
“Have you met Gilbert Blythe?”
“Definitely not.”
“Justin Trudeau is hot,” Jasmine said thoughtfully. “And Ryan Reynolds and Ryan Gosling. That’s it. That’s my entire knowledge of Canadian men. I know nothing about Newfoundland.”
“It’s an island.”
“See, the only islands I know are in the Caribbean.”
“Well, the food is expensive here. So I guess that’s one thing all islands have in common.”
“Tell me when you’re home so we can start planning things again.”
One of the things I liked about Jasmine was that our primary relationship was in person.
She wasn’t one of those people who stayed in touch via Facebook or Instagram.
She actually wanted to see people and give them hugs and get meals together.
The flip side was that she didn’t quite know what to do with our relationship now that I couldn’t meet up.
“I’ll let you know,” I said. “And I’ll let you know if I sleep with Justin Trudeau.”
“I would fly up to meet him. That’s something I would do for you, so let me know if you need that from me. Gotta go, I’m trying this new artisanal yogurt place with Lucas.”
“Artisanal yogurt?”
“It’s going to be so disgusting, but I have to prove that to Lucas because he’s convinced that probiotics will turn his life around.
When did gut flora become our new excuse for depression?
I thought we were still blaming it on our parents.
Okay, he’s calling me from downstairs, love you, bye… ” And her voice trailed away again.
I actually got a fair amount of work done, sitting curled up by the window with my wi-fi and my laptop, watching the container ships moving in and out of the harbor.
It was fun when Lisette came home and we ordered dinner together, and she made good on her promise of day-old muffins from the café where she worked.
It was on our final morning together that she told me the story of her duffel bag break-up.
He had been her first serious boyfriend, and she was with him from the time she was sixteen to the time she was twenty-five.
He didn’t start out violent, she said, but things escalated when they moved in together after she graduated from high school.
First, he separated her from her family to run a Christmas tree farm way up on a logging road in Quebec.
Then he started to get abusive, and her family tried to get her away, and in response, he moved them both to Newfoundland—to a small town up the coast—where he thought he could completely isolate her since her English wasn’t very good.
“Little did he know I was picking up tons of good English from watching Orange is the New Black.”
By the end, she wasn’t allowed to leave the house or speak to anyone or use the phone, until one day, when he was at work, she packed up her only bag and hitched a ride from a trucker heading to St. John’s.
She had been living out of a suitcase ever since, afraid to establish a permanent address in case he was able to use the internet to track her down.
“Lisette. That’s awful.”
“Well, you know, I learned a lot about Christmas trees, anyway.” She grinned brightly.
“So I ended up at the Catholic church here because I’m Catholic, you know, so I figured they had to take me, and they got me to a shelter, and they’ve looked after me since.
And the old ladies at the church like to feed me, which is nice.
And then Paul helped, once I met him. He and I worked together at a summer restaurant job for a little bit, until I got fired, but then we started the improv group together. ”
“Did you ever think about going home to your family?”
“My ex would look for me there. I email pretty often with one of my sisters and she says he has come by a couple of times asking about me. But eventually I think I just have to legally change my name and start living like a grown-up again. Rent an apartment and all that. I was never really on my own, so it’s been a lot to figure out.
Credit cards and bank accounts and all these things.
This is why I’m bad with dates and times.
I spent a long time where it didn’t matter what day of the week it was. Anyway. Enough about him, eh?”
“Well, I’m glad I got to meet you. And I’m going to miss having you around here,” I said. “If you need to stay another day or two—”
“No, no,” Lisette said. “Paul is happy to take me in now that he has the space. He’s been all alone since his divorce. And he doesn’t hit on me, which is nice. He’s one of the good ones, you know?”
“Maybe I will come to your next improv show.”
It popped out of my mouth before I could stop myself. Lisette has that effect on people.
“Paul’s coming by tonight,” Lisette said. “So you’ll get to meet him. He’s the best.”
Before I met Paul, I had a very specific image in my head of what he would be like: some goofy improv guy in a band t-shirt who precisely matched Lisette’s wild energy, the kind of guy who made dick jokes on stage and hadn’t been able to hold a steady job because of his weed habit.
As soon as Paul knocked on our door that night, I realized I’d gotten him very wrong.
Paul was tall, thin, and clean-shaven, and he wore a navy wool peacoat that made him look like an 1850s sea captain, or just like someone who might actually read books that weren’t sports biographies.
He smiled politely at me as he stepped in the open door, looking around as Lisette ushered him inside.
She had been sitting by the window for half an hour waiting for him, and then she had rushed downstairs to let him in as soon as she saw his car.
Now she introduced us. “Abigail, this is Paul. Paul, Abby is the angel from Brooklyn who let me sleep on her sofa the last couple of days.”
“It’s what we do in Brooklyn,” I said.
He looked me over with a smile, then walked up and shook my hand. “Thanks for taking in the stray.”
“It was an extortion racket to get free muffins.”
“Abby is going to come to one of our shows!” Lisette cried.
Paul looked at me, seeming to read my real thoughts about improv comedy in spite of what I thought was a convincing smile.
He chuckled and leaned over to say into my ear, “It won’t be as bad as you think, I promise.”
Was he flirting with me? No. He liked Lisette, surely.
“I’m sure it’ll be great,” I said.
“No, you’re not. But we’ll convince you.
” My heart sped up from how near he was standing, which felt ridiculous because Paul was so emphatically not my type.
He didn’t look cynical or world-weary. He looked cheerful and organized and polite.
If Lisette hadn’t mentioned his divorce, I would have assumed he had a wife at home, holding a beautiful baby in one arm and a charcuterie board in the other.
Lisette walked up to us. “I’m going to miss you. We have to hang out, yeah?”
“I’d love to. We’ll meet up for sure.”
“Okay. You have my cell number, right?”
“You keep texting me memes, so I must.” Lisette sometimes got bored at work and had been sending me gratitude memes that started out earnest and quickly turned extremely silly.
“And now I’ll get out of here and you can finally have some peace and quiet,” she said.
Paul was picking up Lisette’s massive duffel bag. He walked over to the door. “Anything else, Lisette? Anything you may have forgotten?”
“That’s it,” said Lisette. “My whole life is in that bag.”
Paul nodded, a quick flash of grimness on his face revealing that he knew Lisette’s history too.
Lisette gave me a massive hug, then turned to Paul. “We have to show her around. She’s only here for two months and she doesn’t have a car. So you’ll have to drive her around and show her the whole province.”
Paul caught my eye. “Sounds like I’ll have to.”
“Alright,” Lisette said to me, “I’m finally out of your hair, as promised, and you can have the whole apartment all to yourself!”
“You can stay for a cup of tea or—”
“Nope, I’m going! It’s American Independence Day, and you’re finally freeeeee!” Lisette turned and dashed down the stairs.
“Bye, rock star!” I called after her.
“Bye, rock star!” she called up at me.
I turned to see Paul smiling at me, a funny expression on his face.
“Well…” he began. I felt it, right then, the sense that he definitely found me attractive. It was something in his eyes—amused, wary.
“It was nice to meet you,” I said, trying to sound bright and cheerful instead of like a city-dweller who was terrified of being alone.
“It was great of you to do this for her.”
“My pleasure. She’s lovely.”
“Yeah.” He smiled ruefully and I felt suddenly afraid that I was misreading him. Was he secretly in love with Lisette, and that was the source of his half-hopeful, half-wary expression? Then he nodded and took the door handle. “See you soon, Abigail.” And he turned and left.
That night, I had a video call with Laura, who had begun to unpack as soon as her moving van finally arrived from New York.
She seemed cheerful as she held up her camera and walked around the small house that Nick had rented for them in Atlanta.
She showed me where Hannah was reading on a little twin bed, all curled up in pajamas after a bath.
Hannah waved to me and blew lots of kisses, and we promised to video chat for longer when Hannah was not supposed to be going to sleep.
Then Laura showed me where Nick was working in his ‘recording studio’—a small, repurposed office downstairs.
Nick turned and gave me a half-hearted wave before going back to restringing a guitar.
I knew I couldn’t manage much more than a half-smile, but I gave it with as much warmth as I could manage.
Then Laura walked back upstairs, entered her bedroom and closed the door.
“So, how are things really going?” I asked her.
“Fine!” Her brightness seemed to require some effort, but maybe that was my wishful thinking. “Just fine. We’re still getting used to everything. Hannah is taking swim lessons because there are so many pools down here. Her doggy-paddling won’t quite do it anymore.”
“And how are you?”
“Good, good. Just started looking for work down here.”
“And Nick?”
“We’re easing into it. But it’s going well. Things are fine, Abs. Why don’t you tell me about Newfoundland?”
“Well, this is my apartment,” I said, waving the phone in a slow circle. I had decided not to tell her about my decision to take in a tiny blonde woman for a couple of days. “Here, look at the view. I can see the waterfront.”
It was sunset, and a vibrant pink ray of light shot out below the clouds.
“That’s beautiful, Abs.”
“Yeah, well, Canada’s got a lot of the natural beauty. That’s what they say in the brochures.”
“You’re not actually going to move there, though, right?”
I hesitated, swinging the phone back toward my face. “I would have to look into visas and everything, but I could.”
Laura said nothing. Then she said, “I just think it would be lonely.”
“I’ve made a few friends already. They’re in an improv comedy troupe.”
“Good God.”
“I know.” I laughed. “These are the kinds of things that happen to me when I leave the borders of Brooklyn. I may even go to one of their shows.”
“Are you okay? No one has indoctrinated you, right? Blink twice if someone’s forcing you to learn to unicycle and start wearing pageboy caps.”
“This is just an experiment,” I said, feeling tempted to add, ‘like your life is right now,’ but I didn’t. No point in starting a fight.
“We miss you,” said Laura.
“I miss you, too.”
After we got off the phone, I had a horrible thought. What if everything worked out perfectly with Nick? Would I move to Atlanta? Or lose them forever?