“So it’s not really about maternal longing,” Jay accuses. “It’s about conforming?”
“That’s cruel,” Kersti says, brushing warm tears from her cheeks, knowing, at last, that she’s not going to get her way. How can she possibly explain to him that her inability to conceive is just more proof of her inadequacy? The way it makes her feel is a perfect mirror of that overriding sense of inadequacy she always felt next to Cressida, especially after Magnus, and continues to feel to this day.
“Having a baby won’t change how Kersti feels about herself,” Jay tells Eva, as though reading Kersti’s mind. “Or how anyone feels about her.”
Kersti tunes him out and drifts off. I have to get out of here, she thinks.
“Because they’ve never accepted her, she refuses to accept herself,” he says. “Infertility is just the tip of the iceberg. We could have a happy life together without children if only she would just—”
“We’re going around in circles,” Kersti interrupts, reaching for her purse. “Maybe we do need some time apart to regroup.”
“Why can’t you let go of what they think?” he asks her.
She doesn’t bother answering him. She’s already working out a plan. Where she’s going next, who she needs to talk to.
“Kersti?” Eva says, drawing her back to the conversation with a tone one might use on a five-year-old. “Are you hearing what Jay is saying?”
“Yes,” Kersti says, standing up. “I’m hearing him.”
“Where are you going?” Jay asks her. “This was your idea—”
“You were right. It was a waste of time.”
“So now what? You’re going to take off again without telling me where you’re going?”
“I’m going to New York,” she says, leaving him there with a very bewildered-looking Eva Sepp.
As the front doors close behind her, she rushes away from the Estonian House, feeling more purposeful than she has in a long time.
Chapter 14
LAUSANNE—December 1995
When the students return from the Christmas concert at the church, they all gather in the dining hall for the traditional hot chocolate and spitzbuebli. It’s a magical night, with snowflakes like eiderdown dusting the pine trees and copper rooftops as they land. Kersti is standing by the buffet with Alison and Lille, all of them giddy and flushed from the cold, gorging on the jam cookies. Tomorrow they go home for the holidays.
In spite of the lovely night, Kersti still feels like she’s lost everything that mattered to her this semester—her best friend, her virginity, the guy she thought she was in love with. Gone. Cressida and Magnus are back together and Kersti has been unceremoniously relegated to the sideline. Every morning she wakes up with what feels like a vise tightening inside her chest. The weight of her hurt bears down on her, a burden that feels physical as well as emotional.
Magnus has gone back to calling her Kuusk and scribbling notes to her in French, but the flirtatiousness is gone. There’s a new dynamic between them—she’s his pal, his French buddy. His girlfriend’s best friend. Kersti has taken on the role of sidekick. He never acknowledged the night they spent together, the virginity he stole from her. If he does talk to her outside French class, it’s to ask where Cressida is, what does she want for her birthday, is something bothering Cressida that he should know about? Like that.
When Kersti sees them together, kissing between classes, holding hands and walking to his apartment on Saturday afternoons, the sting of their betrayal feels as fresh as if it’s just happened. It makes her feel worthless, deficient. She finds herself frequently asking the question, “What’s wrong with me?” And in the absence of any specific, concrete answer, Kersti concludes it must be everything. Before long, the question turns into a statement, uttered silently almost every day. Something is wrong with me.
She’s not even sure what hurts more—losing Cressida to Magnus, or the other way around. At times she feels more jealous of Magnus. He’s the one monopolizing Cressida’s time, her affection, her attention. Either way, Kersti feels abandoned, the fall semester marred by their rejection.
She’s almost relieved to be going home for the holidays.
“I think I’m going to spitzbuebli,” Alison jokes, reaching for another cookie.
“Me, too,” Kersti says. “I feel really spitzbuebli.”
“You look a bit spitzbuebli,” Lille says, just as Cressida arrives at the buffet.
“Are you guys spitzbuebling?” she says, without missing a beat. “I don’t want to interrupt.”
Everyone laughs, even Kersti.
“Can I talk to you, Kerst?” Cressida asks her. She’s wearing tall leather boots with a tweed miniskirt and a creamy turtleneck through which the lace of her bra can just barely be seen. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail that looks like a giant pompom, and her skin is glowing pink and luminous. She is dishearteningly beautiful, Kersti thinks, feeling crappier than ever.
“I know it’s been kind of tense between us,” Cressida says. “But I really miss you.”
“We share a room.”
“You know what I mean.”
“You’re always with Magnus.”
“Kerst, I’m sorry. I know I hurt you and I wish it hadn’t happened that way. I wish it had been anyone but you who got hurt. But I miss us.”
“Doesn’t seem like it.”
“Spend Christmas with me in Telluride,” Cressida says, clasping Kersti’s hands. “We can ski and hang out and rekindle our love—”
“You know I can’t,” Kersti says. “I have to go home.”
“Why? You had the worst holiday ever last year.”
It’s true. Kersti felt like an alien at the Estonian House Christmas party, and even more so with her family. She bought her sisters handmade Swiss chocolate snowmen and in return they gave her a package of airmail envelopes, a role of stamps, and bubble bath from the pharmacy.
“We’ll have so much fun,” Cressida says, still holding her hands. “I miss my best friend. I want to spend time with you.”
“What about Magnus?”
“He’s going to Gstaad.”
“Don’t you want to go to Gstaad with him?”
“No. I want to go to Telluride with you.”
Kersti has to admit she’s touched, even a bit flattered that Cressida is choosing her over Magnus. She dismisses the fleeting thought that Cressida has a way of making her feel special and shitty about herself at the same time. “My parents can’t afford to send me to Telluride,” Kersti says. “Why don’t we just talk after the holidays. Maybe we both need some space—”
“I don’t want space,” Cressida sulks. “We’ve already had too much space between us.”
Kersti can feel herself softening, her resentments and jealousy melting. In spite of everything that’s happened, she knows Cressida loves her. She can’t forget the way Cressida took her under her wing right from the start, stood up for her and made sure she was welcomed into the group. You’re the most normal, grounded one here, she once said to Kersti.