More voices from the hall below chase me farther away so I head to the unmarked door. I keep telling myself I’m not running away from anything. I’m just sparing the feelings of others.
Rusted metal forms a tiny balcony that doesn’t look very sturdy, and narrow spiral stairs wind upward along the outer wall of the building. My mother would have a heart attack at the thought of me climbing this rickety monstrosity. The thought spurs me onward.
At the top, the stairs open up onto a flat roof that’s been turned into a garden. Trees in huge pots line one side of the rooftop. Their leaves shiver in the soft blowing air. The space before me is covered with low wooden boxes that hold rose bushes, tons of flowers, or the spiky leaves of onions and feathery tops of carrots. One box holds wiry tendrils that spill out all over the place. I smell the perfume of the blossoms and the clean, earthy scent of wet soil.
I sit and look up at the rain-washed sky that glows as the sun sinks low. Then I lie down on the flat roof, actually lie down right on top of dirt and leaves and cigarette butts. And I smile like an idiot up at the blushing sky. This is what it’s like to truly be alone. Everything inside me feels new. Polished. Shining. I can almost forget my latest humiliation.
And in the space of one tiny heartbeat, I know that I can’t. Not really. I sit up and pick leaves from my hair.
It’s always going to be like this. How can I forget? It’s like there’s this room full of people, all talking and laughing and having a great time and I’m watching through a wall of glass, wanting to join them.
The sun goes down as I explore every inch, pick a hard green apricot, smell the roses, drop petals from the roof, and finally decide that I’ve wasted enough time.
Downstairs, I listen at Sylvie’s door to make sure the Americans are gone. They are. I pause with my hand on the knob and try to gather some courage. I hear my therapist’s voice in my mind. “Find your feet, Rosemary. Breathe.” It sounds so stupid, but sometimes it works. Thinking about my feet is supposed to make me forget whatever’s bothering me. It’s also a symbol for stepping forward and moving on from the crap that happened. Then I just breathe. Out with the bad air. In with the good air.
I find my feet. I breathe. And I talk in my head.
Goodbye, Gavin. Y’all don’t come back now, y’hear?
Sylvie meets me inside and enfolds me in a warm embrace. I hug her back, gratified and kind of shocked that she’s showing such affection to a stranger. To an awkward girl who behaved like a toddler. My hopes heave themselves back off of the floor inside me.
When Sylvie releases me, she says nothing. émile asks me if I’m still hungry, offers dessert, and that’s all. For a second, he looks at me like there’s something he wants to say, but he doesn’t. So I sit and eat chocolate cake with fresh raspberries, and I feel dumb. Lame for running off the way I did. I make myself a promise. This is the last time I run away from anything.
New home.
New family.
New Rosemary.
Five
Truth: Jada is my best friend. Yes, she was chosen for me, but I love her. She’s the real deal. This is no lie.
“Rosemary! How’s Paris?” Jada asks, squealing with glee. I can tell she’s turned up the volume on her laptop so I can hear her loud and clear. Even so, the synthesized voice Jada uses is almost drowned out by her very real giggles. Her voice is so loud I have to hold my cell away from my ear. Jada can laugh while she’s talking but still have all her words come out steady and clear. She’s got talent. Well that, and super-powered communication software that speaks for her.
Jada’s the only other person on the planet who knows I’m not in Paris. But she doesn’t know everything. I’m going to puke. I hate lying to my best friend. But I have to.
“Paris is amazing, J.,” I tell her, feeling my “fruits of the sea” swimming around in my gut while I play along with Jada’s little joke. “The Eiffel tower is way tall.”
Jada snorts. She only does this when she’s laughing really hard. She thinks she’s in on everything. She thinks we just pulled one over big time on both my Mom and Zander. She doesn’t know I’m pulling one over on her as well.
“Tall palm trees, too,” she finally manages to say.
My laugh is forced. I hope she doesn’t notice.
Jada’s at school, during free period. This is when we decided we’d call each other. I say something lame about how pretty the ocean is and switch topics in less than a heartbeat so she can’t ask anything else. I describe Gavin (coffee, pumpkins, and the heart of a viper). I tell her about the broken bottle and my cut hand, and then the disastrous dinner.