We Came Here to Forget

by Andrea Dunlop

  Cali fills me in. I’d known about Gemma’s psychotic break, but what she’d been too ashamed to share was that, in a moment of the excruciating paranoia that had characterized her episodes, she’d packed her girls into the car and ended up nearly driving over a cliff with them. She’d come to with her children screaming from the backseat and the car teetering on the precipice of oblivion. Leaving London hadn’t been self-indulgence; she’d been protecting them.

  “And no one knew this?” I ask, feeling a pang of guilt. I’d conflated Gemma with my sister, but she was nothing like her. If only my sister had removed herself from her child.

  “Edward knew most of it.”

  “Well, I feel like an asshole now.”

  “Nah. None of us had the full story. She’ll understand.”

  We’re quiet for a moment as we stroll among the crypts. The Recoleta Cemetery is eerie but peaceful too.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything.”

  “You and Edward?”

  “Eh.” Cali smiles. “We made out a couple of times. Nothing major. I find him kind of sexy, to be honest, even though he’d make a terrible boyfriend.”

  “Yeah, I suppose he would.”

  “Better as a friend. And actually, speaking of Edward, I have something to tell you.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “I’m leaving Buenos Aires.”

  My heart drops through my stomach. The idea of being here without Cali is unfathomable, especially if I decide to stay.

  “Are you going home?”

  “Actually, I’m moving to Paris.”

  “Paris! Wow. Okay. Wait, what does Edward have to do with this? You said ‘speaking of Edward.’ ”

  “Oh, well, Edward knows one of the major donors to the Philharmonie de Paris. I know, la-di-da.”

  “Of course he does.”

  “Right? But, he said he can get me an audition, and I might as well take him up on it. I miss the cello too much, and I really can’t go back to New York. Maybe someday. But I’ve loved living abroad, I’m not ready to be done with the adventure. It’s been the silver lining of this whole thing. I probably never would have done it otherwise.”

  “Do you speak any French?”

  She shook her head. “No, but I’ll learn. I’m good with languages.”

  “You are. When do you leave?”

  “Friday.”

  “Wow, Jesus that’s fast. That’s great, Cali. I mean it sucks, I’ll miss you. But I’m really happy for you.”

  “Thanks, babe.”

  We stroll along one of the corridors of the cemetery. The skies are clouding a bit above us, and the shadows give even the most sparkling white tombs a sinister feel.

  “You know,” Cali says, “a lot of the people I met here, I don’t know if I’d have been friends with them in real life. But you I would have.”

  I reach over to take her arm.

  “Ditto. I hope your moving to Paris doesn’t mean we’re not friends anymore.”

  “Of course not!” she says, swatting me with her free hand. “I mean, shit, you can come with me if you want. Not that that’s necessarily what I think you should do. Even though it would be a lot of fun.”

  “Oh,” I say, smiling, my mind rushing forward. Did I want to go with Cali? Continue on with the adventure, without my little passenger? Though Cali wasn’t going to be a bartender in Paris, she was going back to the thing she loved. “And what do you think I should do?”

  “You really want to know?”

  “I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

  “I think you should go back home, maybe do that ski school thing. I didn’t tell you this, but once you told me your real name, I went and Googled the shit out of you. I watched a bunch of videos of your races. Girl, you’re incredible, and I think you love it. And, since I’m telling you what to do with your life, I think you should see where things go with Blair. Because I think you love him, and I know he loves you. So there. You asked.”

  I’m quiet for a long moment.

  “It’s not that I don’t want any of those things, it’s just that when I came here, it seemed like the only way out was to get as far away as possible. But now, I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing here. But going back is complicated.”

  “Maybe,” Cali says, squeezing my arm a bit more tightly in hers, “the only way out is back the way you came.”

  “And what about . . .”

  “That I cannot help you with,” Cali says. “I’m not sure if I ever want them, so I’m the wrong person to ask. You really do need to talk to Gianluca though, I think. For better or worse.”

  Katie Cleary Is Out of Here

  EDWARD HOSTS a bacchanal that Thursday to send Cali off. I’d been feeling a bit queasy all week, and that day I wake and am so nauseated, the very thought of coffee makes me nearly retch. It’s as though the tiny cells inside of me are asserting themselves, in case I’d thought I could forget them. I decide I’ll go to the party early and leave early as well; I don’t feel I can miss it. I’ve been texting with Gianluca—who’s been hot and cold with me this week, in addition to being decidedly pouty about the fact that Cali is leaving. I know I need to talk to him, but when and how to do this I don’t know. Once I know how he feels there will be no going back.

  I realize I never pictured myself being pregnant. It wasn’t that I specifically didn’t want kids, but I always thought of them as a far-off abstract concept. And when I thought about kids, I thought about them as five-year-olds, old enough to run around with and teach to ski. But somehow I’d never really thought through what happens to a body when it’s invaded by a microscopic being siphoning resources from its mother to create itself inside of her. In addition to the gnawing churn of my stomach, my breasts ache, and I’m so tired I feel I could sleep for a thousand years.

  My focus on my body had always been on what it could do outwardly: namely how fast I could hurtle it down a mountain, how sharply I could execute a turn, how close I could push it to the brink without destroying it. If I’d given any thought to how I would feel about being pregnant, I would have thought that I’d have hated it. But even though I feel physically awful, I marvel at the idea that the beginnings of life are stirring inside of me.

  There’s something else I hadn’t properly examined until this moment: I assumed that it would be either hard or impossible for me to get pregnant. Even though I knew Penny had invented many of her pregnancy issues, the experiences had imprinted themselves on me nonetheless. When you believe something to be true in the moment, it’s very hard to go back and edit that memory according to facts you’ve learned later. Rather than canceling each other out, those two truths—the one you felt and the one you later learned—simply live uncomfortably side by side. And so even though I know that Penny invented and engineered Ava’s illnesses—that she likely caused her early entrance into this world as surely as she caused her early exit—the specter of the NICU and the ghostly, hellish corridors of Children’s Hospital haunt me still. It has always seemed to me that the world was a hostile place for a child, one in which first your body and then their own could inexplicably turn on them. And this paranoia lived right alongside another one: that every mother of an ill child must automatically be a danger to that child. When I saw sickly looking children with their mothers, I immediately searched for signs of Penny—the eerie calm, the showy ministrations, the blank wash of the eyes. Even with the Madres de la Plaza, with their resolute but hollow eyes, I had the horrible thought that they were performing their grief. And then there was a third, even more potent fear: What if I held inside me some latent gene that would turn me into Penny once I became a mother?

  These buried irrational fears, I realized, had been exerting their pull. If I kept the pregnancy, I would have to find a way to let them go.

  I come to the party early and pass on the wine, citing stomach trouble.

  “Is Gemma here?” I ask Edward.

  “She’s in the bedroom get
ting ready.” He smiles. “Go on back.”

  I knock gingerly at the door.

  “Come in!” I think Gemma won’t be nearly so cheerful when she sees it’s me. Sure enough, she catches sight of me in the mirror she’s looking into and slowly lowers her mascara wand.

  “Hello, Liz . . . er, Katie. What shall I call you now, darling?”

  “Liz. Not everyone knows.”

  For a moment, we stand like that, her back to me, as we face one another’s reflections.

  “Gemma,” I say, “I’m so sorry.”

  She turns around and comes swiftly toward me, taking me in her arms. “Oh no, I’m sorry. I feel like such an arsehole.” She has tears in her eyes, and, just like that, I do too. Another side effect: I’m as emotional as can be.

  We sit next to one another on the edge of the bed.

  “You’re not,” I say. “I leapt to judgment without even hearing the whole story. I completely overreacted.”

  “Well, of course you did! I’d heard of the story, but I confess I brushed up on the details after the other night. My dear friend,” she says, taking my hand. “I don’t know what to say. Only that I’m so sorry for everything that you and your family went through. I don’t know how you survived it.”

  “Some days, I’m not so sure I have.”

  “You’re incredibly brave. For testifying. I admire you so much. I want you to know.”

  I smile weakly at her.

  “And I should have just told you that I had kids. I feel so wretched about leaving them behind in England while I go walkabout. I just couldn’t fathom that anyone would understand.”

  “I would have. I mean, I do understand. Cali filled me in. You’re trying to protect your kids. You don’t need to explain yourself.”

  “I’d like to, if it’s all the same. If you wouldn’t mind me bending your ear?”

  “Happily.”

  “After the episode in the car, I was terrified. My doctor put me on lithium, but it zonked me out. I sought a second opinion, and my new psychiatrist—a more sensible lady doctor—prescribed an antidepressant and told me I needed to find a way to recuperate or I’d never get back on my feet. I tried to talk to my friends, tried to talk to my family, but they were no help. They didn’t think I should leave Thomas, but he was cruel to me, albeit in a most subtle British way. For years, I’d felt like a piece of furniture. He belittled me and when I’d told him I thought I might be depressed—before the breakdown—he said I was being self-indulgent.”

  “Jesus.”

  “I just had to get away so I could regain my strength and stand up for myself. Otherwise, he’d steamroll me in a divorce. But now I fear I’ve made a mess of things, especially bringing Anders into all of this. I never meant to use him, I thought we were just having fun. I suppose the fact that he needed me so much should have been a tip-off. But if I’m honest that was part of the appeal.”

  No one wants to be the one who takes a fling too seriously, I think, as I suddenly realize that’s exactly what I’ve done.

  “I think you’ve done a brave thing coming here,” I say. “If your friends don’t understand, get new friends.”

  “Can I take you back to London with me?” She laughs.

  “Nah, I think I need to go home. I need to face my real life too.”

  “Oh, Gianluca is going to lose it that we’re all leaving him at once. Anders wants to come to London too.”

  I’m frozen for a moment, thinking about the infinite possibilities a new life brings with it. I’ve never asked them, of course, but I suddenly wonder if my parents regret having Penny. And do we wish she hadn’t had Ava? There are no answers to these questions. Maybe life goes in a thousand directions and we never know which, and regret is always wasted on things we had no control of to begin with.

  “Ooof sorry,” I say. My stomach, which I’d thought was settled, flips over again, and I beeline for the toilet. When I’m finished retching, I come back to the bed and Gemma is smiling at me.

  “Ugh. I’ve just had a terrible stomach bug all day.” I sense I’m not fooling her.

  Gemma nods. “For what it’s worth, Liz. Whenever you decide to have kids, you’ll make a great mom.”

  Before I can catch myself, I blurt out, “Do you think so?”

  “I know so,” she says. “Now, come on, we don’t want to miss the party.”

  Just like that, it’s our last night together and it’s bittersweet. Whatever I decide, I need to get in to see a doctor, and it really can’t happen here. I’d looked at flights that afternoon; already I have one foot out the door.

  I find Gianluca in the television room at the back of the house, curled up on the couch, talking so closely to Sandra that their foreheads are almost touching. They both startle when I walk in, making everything look that much worse. I know this isn’t news you tell someone in the middle of a party, but I feel I can’t live with it another moment.

  “Hi, Liz,” Sandra says. “G and I were just talking about you.” I look at him askance. “With Cali leaving, Anders needs a new partner,” Sandra adds. “And you’re so tall! And your tango is pretty good.”

  Coming from her, this amounts to a compliment.

  “Um, thanks.” The thing I’ve been wanting; right at the moment, I no longer want it. “Gianluca, can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “Off I go,” Sandra says, bouncing up and gliding out the door on her long, storky legs.

  “Hey, Tiger,” G says, leaning over to kiss my cheek.

  “You okay?” I ask. His face is wan, his eyes hooded.

  “I’m sad about Cali. And Anders maybe now too, but I’m trying to convince him to stay.”

  I nod. “Yeah. I’ll miss her too.”

  “Just don’t you get any ideas.” He says this casually, and I realize how certain he is that he’s got me under his thumb. He gives me just enough line before pulling me back in each time, but he doesn’t think it will be enough for me to leave him until he decides.

  “I’m not sure how long I’ll stay, to be honest,” I say, sitting down on the armrest of the couch.

  “What the hell, Liz. Are you being serious?” I’ve caught him by surprise.

  “I was never planning to move here. You know? I’ve just been through a lot. I need to get my life back on track at some point.” Ah, god, tears already. My hormones are making everything a nightmare. Horribly, G rolls his eyes.

  “You know, you can’t keep playing the victim forever, Liz. You need to grow up. Everyone goes through hard things, okay?”

  I’m stunned by his vitriol. The moment I hint at the fact that I might leave, he starts acting like a cornered animal.

  “Thanks a lot, G,” I finally whisper. He looks regretful but says nothing. I stand to leave.

  “Where are you going?” he asks, reaching up to take my arm and gently pull me back down next to him. “I thought you had something to tell me, or was that it? That you’re leaving too.”

  I sit for a long moment as the options reel through my brain. Tell him, don’t tell him. Stay. Go.

  “Why didn’t you ever mention that you have kids?”

  He’s taken aback, and for a moment, I think he’s going to deny it.

  “Because it doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

  Tell him, I think, knowing I’m chickening out.

  “Okay, but it’s a big thing to leave out, you know?”

  “It’s not like I keep it a secret,” he says. “But we’ve talked about this. I have to maintain a certain image for the studio.”

  “Were you married?”

  He looks at me, annoyed, as though it’s none of my business.

  “For a while. She wanted children, and I thought giving them to her could make it work. It did not. The whole thing was a mistake. I’m not cut out to be a father, I should have known better.”

  “We saw you in Colonia. We were on a visa run,” I say at last. “I’ve been wanting to ask you about it. You looked really sweet with them.”
>
  “Well, yes, I love them of course. And don’t start thinking whatever it is you’re thinking about me. I take care of them, I send them money every month. It straps me. Why do you think I live in that tiny flat?”

  “But you wouldn’t want . . . I mean you don’t want to get married again or . . . ?”

  He looks at me strangely. And then his face softens. “Oh, Tiger. You know I think you’re an amazing woman but . . . I can’t . . .”

  He thinks I am asking him something I’m not, and yet he’s answered my question all the same. I need to leave before I burst into tears. There is no good outcome to be found here.

  “You know,” I say, “I’m going to head home, I think.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m not feeling so hot.”

  “Okay, well listen. I think Sandra is right, we should try you out with Anders. Why don’t you come to team practice on Monday?”

  All I can do is nod. By Monday, I’ll be long gone. I hug Gianluca, and take one last deep breath of the skin on his neck.

  “Goodbye, G,” I say, my voice muffled.

  “Goodbye,” he says, “for now?” He pulls back and looks at me. Despite everything, I kiss him.

  Epilogue

  ONCE AGAIN I’m on a flight leaving Buenos Aires and what lies on the other side is uncertain. What I do know is that when I land this time, it will not be to the news of the worst thing that’s ever happened. That moment has come and gone. All there is to do now is carry on and put years between me and it: to let those memories be crowded out by different ones, so that eventually they take up less of my soul.

  My parents will be waiting for me on the other end. I don’t know how they’ll react to what I’m going to tell them, but I know that they’ll support whatever I do next. We are all we have now. Or not quite all. I’ve e-mailed Blair to let him know I’m en route. He offered to be at the airport when I landed, but I asked if we could wait a day or two. I love Blair; I have always loved Blair, I realize now, having made it through to the other side of hell. But I need time to figure out what this means in my new life, time to be able to trust myself and my own decisions after this mess with G.