He sighs. “Yeah.”
“Ohmygod. Is that the mayor?”
A snappily dressed, elderly photographer is taking pictures of an equally elderly man with tipsy-red cheeks and a sober-looking, much younger partner.
“Yep,” Josh says, unenthused.
As we pass them, I follow Josh’s blasé lead, and I don’t turn my head to stare. Even though I want to. This evening will never stop being weird.
We wander, searching for his parents, but it’s a slow-moving process. Everybody seems to know Josh, and they all want to congratulate him on the re-election. Political lifers. Josh remembers the names of children and locations of vacation homes, and he introduces me to everyone. I munch on bland canapés. This is the type of conversation that he despises, but his distaste never shows. It strikes me that if he had the desire…he could be one of them, too. He’s a good actor.
It’s a little unsettling.
But not nearly so unsettling as the other type of partygoer who keeps pulling Josh aside. Society girls. The female version of him – always someone’s daughter – but with a drive that’s both alarming and intimidating. They laugh. They flirt. I eat more canapés. They tower over me. Even the ones who aren’t tall still manage to tower over me through their confidence alone. A brunette with an unwinterlike tan does a particularly swell job of pretending that I don’t exist. Her hand touches the sleeve of Josh’s jacket twice.
After the third sleeve-touch, Josh makes our excuses and steers us away. But even that doesn’t stop her from following him with her eyes as we move throughout the room.
Over an hour later, after emoting my most sociable holiday cheer during countless conversations in which I am invisible, we locate his parents beside a large copper…vat? I read the sign. Baptismal font. Unexpectedly, I’m relieved to see them. At least I know they won’t ignore me.
As Josh predicted, they’ve partaken of a few more glasses of wine. They’re relaxed and happy. Mrs. Wasserstein even compliments my shoes. But soon another stranger interrupts us, some famous journalist, and then the pushy brunette re-approaches Josh from behind. She stands in a way that forces him to turn his head away from us to hear what she’s saying, which means that I can’t hear what she’s saying.
The journalist envelops Josh’s parents in a conversation about tax incentives. They glance at me occasionally, including me in the discussion with their eyes, but I contribute nothing, feeling dumb and unimportant. The brunette laughs. Josh turns his head to shoot me an apologetic look. I smile as if everything were fine.
We’ve only been here for two hours, but I’m ready to leave.
A tapestry of a medieval lady snags my gaze. She’s giving me a distinctly incredulous “oh, no, this is not happening” face, and I’m grateful that someone sees what’s going on here. Even if she is woven.
Josh finally cuts off the brunette, and his father sweeps him back into their conversation. “I’m sorry,” Josh says, “but Isla and I are heading out.”
What now? I perk up.
The senator looks disappointed. “Come by the house for dinner this week,” he tells me. “I’d like to have a real chance to get to know you.”
I’m touched. And panicked to think about an evening with them unprotected by a public safety net. “Thank you. I’d like that.”
“Marvellous seeing you again.” Mrs. Wasserstein gives me a limp, one-armed hug. The words sound friendly enough, but the warmth in her action is debatable.
“It was nice seeing you, too. Thank you for inviting me.”
“Are you going straight home?” she asks Josh.
“Nah, we’re gonna get some real food first. But I’ll probably still beat you back.”
“Is Brian taking you?”
“I just texted him.” Josh holds up her phone and grins.
She snatches it back, but she’s smiling as she hugs him goodbye. “Pickpocket.”
“Warden.”
It’s the first Josh-like exchange that I’ve heard in a while. His mom is placated enough by his answers, so he puts an arm around my waist and guides me towards the exit. “It’s strange,” I say, the moment we’re alone. “The way you’ve been steering me around like this tonight.”
He yanks away his arm as if it’d been caught in a com-promising position. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“No, I know. It was the environment. It just feels…weird.”
“That whole scene is weird, right?” He gestures towards the fading laughter and string quartet.
“You seem comfortable in it, though. If I didn’t know any better, I’d never guess that you hate it.”
“Well, I do.” He sounds defensive.
“I know. I’m only saying that you’re a good actor.”
Josh shoves his hands into his pockets, and the museum’s dim light catches the sheen of the tuxedo stripe on his pants. “I don’t think that was a compliment,” he says at last.
“That’s not what I meant.”
But…it was. And Josh knows it. For some reason, now that I’ve started, I can’t hold back. “The whole thing reminded me of Televised Josh. You, looking so polished. Speaking in that voice. Standing so straight.”
Josh opens the museum door for me. His teeth are gritted.
“Knowing all of these people and things that I don’t.” Shut. Up.
“Yeah, because they’ve been a part of my life for, like, ever. I’m not gonna be a dick in front of the people who keep my dad in office.”
“I know! And I know you’re a part of this life, so you have to act like that—”
“I don’t have to do anything. I choose to be a decent person.”
It’s a sword through the chest. I’ve gone too far. I’ve gone way, way too far. “I’m sorry. I don’t…I don’t know why…”
“Forget it.” But his head is turned away from mine. He’s scanning the line of cars for Brian, but, really, it’s an excuse not to look at me. I can’t blame him. Why couldn’t I keep my stupid insecurities to myself?
It’s freezing, and I wish I’d brought my winter coat. For the first time ever, either Josh doesn’t notice that I’m shivering or he chooses not to offer me his jacket. Not that he should have to give it to me. It’s my own fault for leaving my coat behind during the excitement of his arrival at my house.
“I’m sorry,” I say again.
He shrugs.
“Do you still wanna get something to eat?”
“Of course.” Josh sounds surprised. He pulls his hands from his pockets and crosses his arms. After a minute of uneasy silence, he uncrosses them and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, too. For bringing you. Not that I didn’t want you here,” he adds quickly, “but because I knew it would suck. These things always do. Not that all of that sucked,” he adds again. “Twenty minutes of it were fantastic.”
“You don’t have to apologize.” I stare at the pavement. “You have this big life that I’m not a part of. And I wanted to see it.”
Josh’s frown deepens.
I open my mouth to try again when a black town car pulls up to the kerb and flashes its lights. The wind turns abrasive as we hurry towards it. The locks pop, Josh opens the back door, and we slide inside.
“Sorry I’m late,” Brian says. “I wasn’t expecting you for at least another hour.”
Josh shakes his head. “No problem. You know how these events are.”
“Do I ever.” Brian grins at us in the rear-view mirror. “You’ve got ninety minutes before curfew. Can I take you somewhere else?”
Josh leans forward in his seat. “You know that café on Amsterdam? Kismet?”
Brian snorts. It tells me that he already knows the story. “I think I can find the place.”
“Thanks.” Josh sits back. And then he turns to me with a sudden alarm. “Is that okay? Sorry, I’m still in stupid party mode. I didn’t even ask. I know we’re going there for New Year’s, but I thought an early visit would be nice. For nostalgia’s sake.”
“
No, it’s perfect.” I force a smile. “Thanks, Brian.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” he says.
But the feeling inside the car is not perfection. There’s no hand holding. We’re quiet and ill at ease. As Brian merges into traffic, he tries to lighten the mood. “So, Isla. Did you get to see any of the museum?”
It’s a leading question. Clearly, Josh tells him a lot of things. “I did.”
“Aaaaand?”
I force another cheerful smile. “It was a beautiful gift.”
He pumps his fist. “Nice.”
“Went off without a hitch,” Josh says. “Thank you, Chuck.”
“Thank you, Chuck!” Brian repeats.
They discuss the plan, some last-minute part of the arrangement with Chuck that Brian hadn’t heard yet, and I squirm in my seat. How many people knew about this? Has Josh done this sort of thing before? The less private it gets, the more uncomfortable I feel.
There’s something I shouldn’t say, but for some terrible and unknown reason, I have to say anyway. I should save it for a more appropriate, less emotionally stressed day. I should save it for when we’re alone. I shouldn’t ever say it. Don’t say it.
“Rashmi likes ancient Egypt, doesn’t she?” I ask.
Shit.
“What?” Josh’s response is sharp as his attention snaps from Brian to me.
“I— I mean, in your book. Her rabbit, Isis. And then she goes to Brown to study Egyptology.”
“Yeah, she goes to Brown because she goes there. Those things are true.”
“And there’s that drawing of her as an Egyptian goddess.” I can’t believe I’m saying this out loud. And I’m saying it in front of Brian. I don’t know what’s happening, but something inside of me has short-circuited. I’m freaking out. The Egyptian thing is a coincidence, I know this, but I can’t stop. “Was that how you knew about the temple?”
His brow furrows in angry confusion. “Huh?”
“The Temple of Dendur. Did you ever take her there?”
Josh gathers himself. “First of all, I like the reflecting pool. I wanted some time alone with you tonight, so I chose – what I thought was – the museum’s nicest room. Second of all, no. I did not take you someplace where I previously made out with my ex-girlfriend. Or whatever else it is you think we might have done in there.”
“Well, I know that much. If you’d done anything more, I would have read about it. Very graphically! In your graphic memoir.”
Time stops.
And that’s when I know that I’ve just said the worst thing that I’ll ever say in my entire life. And I’ve said it to the person whom I love the most.
Josh’s voice is deadly quiet. “Anything else you’d like to share with me right now? Any additional criticisms of me or my work?”
I want to speak. I want to apologize. This isn’t about his ex or his work. I have no idea why I just said those things. I’m confused. I’m not sure why I feel this upset, why I’m picking fights about things that don’t even matter.
Brian glances at me in the rear-view mirror, and his expression is unbearably strained, as if he’d jump through the car window if he could fit through the hole.
“No. Really,” Josh continues. “As long as you’re finally opening up to me, why don’t you go on? Tell me what else is wrong with my book.”
I’ve backed myself into the furthest corner possible. “Nothing is wrong with it.”
“But there are things you’d change?”
“No! I mean, yeah, but…small things. You know?” Stop talking. “It’s not a big deal. All books require a little bit of editing.”
The street lights cast Josh in shadow. I can’t see his expression, but it doesn’t feel nice. He remains silent. Waiting.
“Okay.” I gulp. “Well. There was this one flashback that was in a weird place. When you get your tattoo? That scene…it just didn’t flow with what came before and after it.”
“All right.” It comes out like ice.
“And your parents. They were, like, this big deal in the beginning, but by the end, it was like you didn’t even have parents. They completely dropped out.”
“Because they live in another country.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t in your life any more. Even if it’s their absence that matters, it’s still something that should be acknowledged.”
His jaw is clenched. “Anything else?”
“Um.” My voice lowers to a near whisper. “There were a lot of drawings of Rashmi. In the middle.”
“Shocker.”
“No,” I say quickly. “I mean, there were a ton of one-page panels that were just…there. Completely unnecessary. They didn’t contribute anything to the story.” I can’t believe that I’m saying this – all of this – aloud. A good girlfriend would keep her mouth shut. “And then sections of your junior year were really crowded. You needed more variation between the panels. More space.”
“More space.”
“Um, yeah. Spaces. Breaks. For the reader to contemplate things. To figure out what’s important, on their own.”
“Spaces,” he says. “To figure out what’s important.”
“I’m sorry.” I’m drowning in a river of my own making. “I didn’t say anything earlier, because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. It’s great, I promise.”
“You’ve used that word to describe it in the past. And yet, I still don’t believe you.”
“I’m sorry.” I say it again, my voice desperate.
“Are you sure you aren’t just pissed off? Maybe because it isn’t about you?”
“No!” The shame is overwhelming. “I wasn’t even in your life until this year. I know that. I know I’m not an important part of your story.”
For the first time in several minutes, Josh is thrown. “What do you mean, you’re not important to my story?”
“I haven’t been around that long. And you had this whole life before me, and you’ll have this whole life after me—”
“After you?” His voice gets an octave higher. “What do you mean after?”
“Vermont. Your school. Your future.”
Josh is baffled. “But…you’re coming with me.”
“Am I?”
“When Dartmouth accepts you—”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” I say.
He punches his fist against the seat. “Stop saying that. Why are you always putting yourself down? You’re gonna get in. There’s no way that you’re not getting in.”
“Tell that to Columbia.”
And now he’s thrown again. “What?”
“I didn’t get in.”
“What? When? Why didn’t you tell me?”
I can’t look at him. My failure is humiliating. “A few days ago.”
“I’m so sorry. God, I wish you’d told me. I had no idea.”
“I got a letter from la Sorbonne, too. Accepted.”
Josh deflates with visible relief. “That’s great. You deserve it.” But there’s sadness, too, as his posture sinks further. Because if I attend la Sorbonne, there will still be an ocean between us. “So what if Dartmouth does accept you? Where will you go?”
“I don’t know.” And I realize I’m crying. “I haven’t decided.”
“But…I thought…I thought we had a plan.”
“No, you had a plan. You have plans.”
Josh shakes his head in disbelief. “What are you talking about?”
“You know exactly who you are.” Tears stream down my cheeks. “You know how to be yourself, but you also know how to be a different kind of yourself on television and in society. And you’ve always had a passion for art, and you’ve always known where you’re attending college. You already even know what kind of apartment you’ll rent when you move there! Not to mention what kind of car you’ll drive, what kind of cat you’ll adopt, and how you’ll spend your weekends in the woods. I don’t know any of that. I’ve never cared about anything like you’ve cared ab
out your work. I don’t even belong to a single country. I’m nobody. I’m nothing.”
“Isla…” My words have stunned him again. He has no idea what to say.
“And you’re right, maybe I am upset about your book for selfish reasons. I know you haven’t had the time, I know it takes months for you to draw them, but…eight pages. I was only eight pages.” My voice cracks, hollow and desperate. “I thought maybe I’d finally learn something if I could see myself through your eyes. But I wasn’t even there.”
Josh strains against his seat belt. He reaches for a hand, but I pull them both into my lap. “You’ll be in it,” he says. “Of course you’ll be in it.”
“I used to think so.” My chest is splitting in two. “Don’t you see? Don’t you get it? I’m a placeholder.”
“What do you mean?”
He’s trying desperately to get me to look at him, but I can’t. I’m in agony. “Your friends left school, and I was there, but I wasn’t enough to keep you there. You had to keep breaking rules. And then you left me.”
“It wasn’t like that. You know it wasn’t like that!”
“No,” I say. “It was. You tried really hard for a really long time to get expelled, because you couldn’t admit to your parents that you didn’t want to be there. Your plan just succeeded at the wrong time. And now that you’re gone – now that you’re here, and I’m not – sooner or later, you’re gonna realize that I was only a distraction. Something to keep your mind off your misery. Something to keep you going until the next phase of your very carefully planned-out life could begin. But I no longer believe that you’ll actually want me there. And” – I swallow loudly – “I don’t want to be around when you discover it.”
Josh is reeling. “Wh-what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I don’t see myself in your future.”
“Isla.” His voice shakes. “Are you…are you breaking up with me?”
And there it is. The question that, once spoken aloud, is always inevitably its own undoing.
“You don’t love me like you think you love me,” I whisper.
Now he’s crying, too. “Why are you doing this?”
My entire world is crumbling, but I have to finish the destruction. I have to destroy what’s left of my heart before he can do it for me. “Because if it hurts us this much now,” I say, “I can’t imagine how much it’ll hurt when you come to this realization yourself.”