“He told me to go to the floating market. In . . .” she trails off, squinting at the receipt the man handed her. “It’s called Khlong Lat Mayom,” she finishes, hardly stumbling over the words. “He said it’s a little outside the city, on Bang Lamad Road.”
“Can we get there by tuk-tuk?” I want to know.
“He says taxi’s best and super cheap.”
“Taxi it is,” I say.
We flag a taxi and slide in the back. Aubrey directs our driver toward the market. He nods and she relaxes in her seat, glancing over at me. A look of understanding passes between us; for a second, it’s like she can see into my soul.
“When this is over for us, and we’re safe and free of this nightmare, I’m going to art school.”
“What?” I laugh. As far as I knew, Aubrey was going to enter some kind of preprofessional program in the Honors College at Georgetown.
“I can’t do it right away,” Aubrey continues. “But I think I’m going to switch my major to art, then maybe transfer to SVA next year if I can.”
“That’s amazing,” I tell her, and I mean it. “That’s what you really wanna do, yeah?”
“Yeah,” she says. “And I guess I just realized while I was here, I’m sick to death of doing what other people want me to do. And of having this predetermined plan all the time. That’s how I wound up with Charlie in the first place. I figured my parents would like him. I’m not always right, I guess. Since then I’ve figured out that I need to do the stuff that makes me happy. I need to let things unfold on their own. Charlie didn’t get that, and neither did my parents.”
“What makes you happy?” I want to know. “Besides graphic novels, I mean.”
“I’m still figuring it out,” she says. “I’m not totally sure. But I won’t ever know unless I try some things.”
“What about Adam?” I’ve been wondering about this for a few days, but haven’t wanted to ask. Part of me still wants to know what Adam’s larger role in all of this was, if he had one.
“I’m not sure,” she says carefully. “But if I had to guess, I think I’m going to let that go.”
“After all that,” I say. My voice is flat.
“I think Adam isn’t right for me either,” Aubrey says. “I thought it could work because he made me happy in ways I didn’t expect. He made me feel cared about in a way that Charlie didn’t.”
I nod. It sounds reasonable. As usual, Aubrey is way ahead of me in terms of seeing inside herself.
“What about you?” she asks, as the cab pulls up at the marketplace. “What’s waiting for you back in Boston? You’re off to Rhode Island in a couple weeks, right?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it that much. I’m excited to go back to school. I’m excited to meet people. I wasn’t doing that as much before, because I was so focused on Charlie.” I pause, thinking hard, wondering how exactly to articulate what I’m feeling. “I don’t have anything I’m passionate about like you do with your graphic novel thing,” I tell her. “I like music, but I have no musical talent. It’s not like I can pursue that as a career.” Aubrey nods like she gets it, so I take a breath and continue. “I think for whatever reason, it’s enough for now that I just feel okay about being back and being on my own.”
“Without Charlie, you mean,” Aubrey finishes for me.
“Yeah. I guess I haven’t experienced me without Charlie for a long time. And it’s enough to get to do that. I feel okay about it.”
“That’s great,” Aubrey says. I can tell she means it. It’s not, like, a major step for other people, maybe . . . being without a boyfriend. But right now, for me, it means something that I’m not scared. I want to figure out what I’m like without him, put more time into the friendships I have managed to hold on to. I think about how, when I get back, I’ll give Carey a call. Maybe go out to Paris to visit him over fall break. Aubrey reaches over, takes my hand in her own, and gives it a squeeze. “We’re going to get out of this,” she assures me. “Tomorrow at this time, we’ll both be safe at home.”
I blink back tears. All this time she’s been trying to point me toward the future so I won’t focus on the danger that we’re in right now. “Aubrey,” I say, forcing myself to give voice to what I’m feeling, even though it makes me nervous in a way I’m not used to. “Thank you.” The words sound stiff, like cardboard—a pale imitation of what I’m feeling inside, which is intense and powerful. Still, she seems to understand. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to. At moments like this one, I’m beginning to see, words aren’t important.
27
Aubrey