by Jessica Pan
We cook dinner nearly every night. He’s teaching me the basics. And after dinner, Sam washes the dishes and I dry them with a dish towel. He’s a little shocked at how undomestic I am, but I tried to explain how none of my friends are. You aren’t. Astrid definitely isn’t. Paige is good at drawing houses, but not cleaning them. We all have our different talents, but live in rooms covered in clothes piles that reach our knees.
Sometimes I look at Sam chopping tomatoes in my sunny kitchen in Australia, and I can hardly believe that we are leading this low-key, coupley life when just a few months ago, I was his boss and he was my intern in Beijing, and not a soul in the country knew we were a couple. Ten months ago, we were on our pretend honeymoon in Malaysia, frolicking on the beach. I feel the urge to write a flow chart of how I got from Point A to Point B just to try to make sense of it all.
I have never felt this settled before. Yesterday, I saw a baby cactus, and I had to buy it. I had to have it right then. I brought it home, and Sam and I decided it was definitely a male and named him Brian Flanagan, because we felt like Brian Flanagan was the name of a scrappy guy. One small cactus against a big world. It’s also the name of Tom Cruise’s character in Cocktail. It was all very symbolic.
I can’t seem to get enough of Sam. We bicker sometimes, but it’s the first time that I’ve ever been in a relationship where I feel that, no matter how big the fight is, it won’t lead to the end of us. We’ve already survived one of the worst I can imagine.
You always said we had to be honest, so I feel like I should tell you that sometimes we write entire e-mails that only consist of rows of xoxos. Please slap me in the face with a fish. We have a Sunday-morning routine, which involves mochas and newspapers and discussing ideas for my news articles. It does not involve teary good-byes.
So, I lead a boring, coupley life. Finally. I had one brief panic-stricken moment after we spent seventy-two hours together nonstop where I told him I needed to go for a run. I just needed to be alone with my own thoughts. I put on my shoes quickly and sprinted through the park thinking, “I am a stallion! I cannot be tamed! I want to roam free!” An hour later, panting, I walked in the door and found Sam in the kitchen, cooking dinner. He smiled at me and kissed me even though I was sweaty. Then he told me he had a great idea for a feature article for one of my assignments. I actually can’t imagine my life without him now.
Sometimes I remember that I almost lost all of this. That’s also when I decide, okay, maybe I’ll shave my legs today. Better not push my luck too much.
Anyway, what’s going on with Josh now? Have you met his girlfriend? Are you positive you aren’t attracted to him? You definitely sound more than a little enamored. Send me a photo of him so I know if you are actually just friends, or you are “just friends” and he looks like a Calvin Klein underwear model. You’re talking an awful lot about him....
Love,
Jess
APRIL 5
Rachel to Jess
Pass this message on to Sam: Living with you is like living with a cat. Sometimes the cat wants to play with you and it’s super fun, but when the cat doesn’t want to play with you, you have to leave it the hell alone. Also, it sleeps during the day in short bursts and prowls at night. Does Sam realize this?
Honestly, I don’t know what’s going on with Josh. I’m trying to figure this out.
I can ask him anything about men. Anything. Having no brothers, I am definitely lacking in knowledge about how men think. I asked him what his first sexual experience was, and he told me (although he did add in that he didn’t remember some parts of it—is this even possible? I could reconstruct mine second by second if I ever had to). He doesn’t hide anything. In fact, we talk about sex all the time, because he’s so open, which makes me open. He doesn’t have defense mechanisms the way other people do.
Josh is the first guy I’ve ever been this comfortable with. He’s always bringing me things, like coffees or chocolate. We laughed so hard because a French bulldog snorted all over us in the park and walked away when we offered him part of our sandwiches. This led to a routine where he brings me coffee and I pretend to be a French bulldog who hates generic coffee. And I feel like I can tell him anything.
And sometimes when we sit on the steps during lunch, I lean on his shoulder.
Is this what dating somebody should feel like?
I don’t have any photos to send you, but Josh is cute—losing some hair, which doesn’t seem to bother him much. He has the perfect build, though, and really pretty green eyes with brown flecks.
Sigh. That does sound like I love him, but he still lives with his girlfriend.
Last night, my closest friend from work, Anne, and I went over to his place for his housewarming party. I was a little nervous to meet his girlfriend, Sylvia—the girl who has the perfect Pisces. From Josh’s description, I was imagining a waiflike French beauty.
Anne and I were full of hypotheses on the way up to his apartment. We rang the bell. Sylvia answered the door.
And, she just looked like a normal girl! Very long brown hair, normal green eyes, average size, jeans and T-shirt. I thought we were going to walk in on a young Carla Bruni with pouty lips and legs up to her eyes. Instead she could have passed for some girl at Brown during finals week.
Of course, I had nothing to say. “I’m Rachel. And so...you’re half-Portuguese! Do you...go to Portugal often?...I like to talk to your boyfriend about sex?”
There were also several French couples there, meaning that Anne, Josh, and I were the only Americans at the party.
The party’s background was bad French pop, six simultaneous French conversations, and Sylvia on the phone to someone in loud Portuguese.
Josh and I ended up in a corner together, controlling the music, as we got drunk and sang along to old pop songs and fought over his iPod. Sylvia remained in the opposite corner with her friends while occasionally glancing at us.
Josh and I sang along some more. We drank together. We laughed a lot.
I walked home thinking, “I had no idea this was possible! I have such a great connection with this guy and I love how we can just be friends and his girlfriend doesn’t care. This is just a really great friendship.” I couldn’t wait to see him the next day.
When Josh walked into work today, I said, “Last night was really fun.”
Josh smiled halfheartedly. “I know. I had fun too, but that’s the last time that’s happening.”
“What? Why?”
“Let’s just say that Sylvia is not happy with—” He gestured between us.
“But Josh, that’s ridiculous! There’s absolutely nothing between us! Just air! Less than nothing! No air!”
[Thinking: “PICK MY FORTUNE COOKIE!”]
“Maybe when you get a boyfriend you’ve been dating for a year or more, we can all hang out in a group. Until then, though, we can’t hang out at all anymore socially. We’re just colleagues.”
I didn’t know what to say. It hurt. What was I thinking? Of course you can’t be friends with guys. Guys with girlfriends are supposed to have inside jokes with their girlfriends. They are supposed to talk about sex with their girlfriends. They are supposed to bring their girlfriends coffee. They are not supposed to do those things with some random woman at work.
Oh, fuck. I am Trash Can Callum. I AM TRASH CAN CALLUM!
He is you. Sylvia is Sam.
Oh God. And now I must mean less than nothing to him, as Callum did to you. Just a mere distraction he seriously regrets.
The only way he can save his relationship is to drop me.
I feel stupid. I feel like if it had stayed a little more on the correct side of the line dividing platonic men and women, I wouldn’t have lost my friend. We shouldn’t have talked about sex. We shouldn’t have had inside jokes. We shouldn’t have gotten drunk together at the party. And I am old enough to kn
ow better.
I’m going to go fall into a trash can now.
Seriously. If you need to find me, look for the green bin next to the American Prep center with smoke coming out of it.
Love,
Trash Can Rachel
APRIL 13
Jess to Rachel
No! You aren’t Trash Can Callum. First of all, until now, you’ve never deliberately fallen into a trash can! Second of all, Callum really did seem to be trying to break Sam and me up, and I think you just slowly found yourself growing attached to Josh, especially after being burned so badly by Olivier. It’s just too bad that he was already taken.
Please get out of the trash can.
So what’s going to happen with Josh now?
I wish I could come rescue you, but I flew into Texas a few days ago and am back in my old bedroom. After I arrived in Amarillo, I was immediately swept up in the wedding madness. I don’t know how weddings always manage to do this. They seem like such simple affairs. A white dress, some friends, some vows, cake. Done.
Then the groom’s sister misses her flight and has to catch a late plane the night before the rehearsal dinner and, as maid of honor, you find yourself in an SUV with four other bridesmaids at 3 A.M. on the way back from the airport driving along dirt roads when a DEER REPEATEDLY DARTS IN FRONT OF THE CAR and you nearly kill half of the bridal party by swerving into a ravine.
It doesn’t help that I haven’t driven a car in years. I kept trying to remember if it’s more likely for a buck to crash through my windshield or wound passengers with its antlers if they puncture the roof of the car.
Anyway, we all survived.
There are twelve bridesmaids. Twelve. I kept trying to get Paige alone, but her peppy friend from summer camp always showed up right when I was about to get five minutes alone with her. The three of us ran wedding errands while my thoughts alternated between those of a sane twenty-five-year-old and those of a crazy woman about to throttle the summer-camp friend.
Can’t believe Paige’s name is changing....If this stupid camp friend calls her Paige Bear one more time, I will push her out of my car. It’s my car. I must have rights....I wonder if I need note cards for my speech. Wait, did the camper just ask if she could give a speech at the wedding too? That’s it. I’m going to push her out of my car at the next stoplight. She’ll be fine. Campers are very resourceful.
Okay, maybe it’s mostly the crazy woman in my head.
God, weddings make me emotional. What’s it like in non-wedding land? Remind me what that place is like. Right now, I’ve already been in Texas long enough that I’m carrying around a gallon of iced tea in a Styrofoam cup everywhere I go and considering the benefits of a fake tan.
Love,
Jess, Who Is Barely Keeping it Together
APRIL 14
Rachel to Jess
I feel like you should embrace the chance to be as crazy, emotional, vulnerable, and nostalgic as you want, because there are so few times in life when we can get away with it without feeling awkward or being judged. However, this is also a special occasion, and you don’t want it colored by memories (or photographs) of your wild descent into kray kray. So keep it together a little bit.
I walk by French weddings all the time, and now they make me think about you and Paige and how different her ranch-formal wedding is from these quiet ceremonies in the district hall. At my sister’s wedding, which was in a big garden in Madison, we had to wear pastel green, and I had to hold her bouquet in 105-degree heat—nobody tells you how heavy those bouquets are, but if I were you, I would start building my upper-body strength now. In all of the pictures, you can see my wrists drooping.
I did get to walk down the aisle with a very handsome best man; however, he was the brother of the groom and had been married for ten years, with two children. I am not going to tell you the fantasies that came to mind when I saw the pictures of us together after the wedding, but I think you can imagine them. We made a very cute couple.
Okay, in my mind, we are married.
DON’T FALL IN LOVE WITH THE BEST MAN.
Anyway, while you’re in sunny Texas, I’ve been walking to school in the rain, even though it takes me about an hour. I get to pass through tiny winding passages and Notre Dame, climb bridges over the river, and remind myself that I really am here, but not for long. I still live in Paris. For now.
I had just gotten back into my apartment after one of these wanders when the phone rang. I answered it and heard a faint English accent on the other line. I could barely make out the words until I finally heard:
“Rachel? Rachel? It’s Robert here! From UCL!”
And that’s how he told me that I’d been accepted into their doctoral program! He said my topic fits exactly what they are looking for and that he’s interested in my research and that he’d love to see me in London in September!!
Finally, some relief and validation after all of these months of writing film essays, going to lectures, and loving what I was studying but not knowing if I had a future with it. I have two months to decide whether to accept his offer.
I would love to live that life, of a London doctoral student, but the programs, along with the living expenses of living in London, will put me two hundred thousand dollars in debt. All of this talk may be moot. I’m putting off this decision until I find out about funding.
I have five euros in my bank account. My ten thousand dollars in insurance money got me through exactly one year in France, and it’s been paycheck-to-paycheck from teaching ever since.
I wish I could talk to somebody here about it, but Sasha’s away for a few weeks. Everywhere people and friendships are changing. I’m starting to wonder how many friends I’ve made here will still be friends for the long haul. How many places can you leave people behind and still expect to keep in touch with all of them? Even without going anywhere, I’ve already managed to lose Olivier and now Josh.
It’s created a big void in my life, so instead of spending six hours a day thinking about Olivier or loitering around cafés, I’ve started writing my novel again. I’ve missed writing and I’m actually beginning to enjoy the time alone. Kind of. Rewatching The West Wing helps too.
So, did you make it out of the wedding alive? Did the summer camper?
Love,
Rach
APRIL 15
Jess to Rachel
I survived the wedding. It was so hot that the cake melted. It was an outdoor morning ceremony, and I wore a short black satin dress while standing next to Paige during her vows. She stared into her fiancé’s eyes, and so did I, because I had the second-best vantage point.
I think I was looking for some sort of sign about my own relationship with Sam. Do grooms have some sort of magic quality that unmarriable guys lack? I didn’t have much time to mull this over, because even though I tried my hardest to will them not to, my eyes welled up and the tears had free rein to pour down my face because my hands were clutching two bouquets. My heels began to sink into the grass. The entire wedding party now has sunburns across their cheeks and shoulders.
That’s all I can really remember about the event, even though it was this morning. There’s been so much buildup, and once it was official, the rest of the day was a blur spent under a tent in the shade, poking at wedding cake and drinking warm champagne during toasts.
I should raise a glass as a toast to you, as well, because you’re in! I knew you’d get into London. They say that education debt is the best kind of debt (they is universities). I know you think you aren’t ready to leave Paris, but if there’s nothing left for you to do while you’re there, then it makes sense to move on. At least, that’s one of the reasons I left Beijing after two years. That, and Sam.
Other than my parents, most of the men and some of the women at the wedding wore cowboy boots, and I spent a considerable amount of time avoiding the
dance floor because I did not want to be cajoled into dancing the two-step in public. I watched Paige dance with her dad and then her husband, and I even let her summer-camp friend sit with me for a while.
Paige seemed really happy. I’ve met all of her previous boyfriends—knew her when she had her first kiss (at hunting camp), first boyfriend (he was the worst), first breakup (he cheated on her), and all the boyfriends in between then and now, actually. It’s exciting being part of the wedding and seeing up close how in love she is, but also, it feels surreal to see her in a wedding dress after all these years. Does everyone feel a little bit sad at their oldest friend’s wedding? Because I do.
I wished that Sam was there, but I was also glad he wasn’t, because I don’t want to invite any questions about our own future. He makes me happy, but is that the only requirement? How does everyone at their own wedding always seem so sure? As much as I love Sam, weddings feel so definitive. So final.
Last night on the car ride with Paige to the ranch, she and I were finally alone. I asked her how she knew, how she really knew that Henry was right for her to marry. She’s a serial monogamist and has had three or four serious boyfriends. Why not them? She said, “I think that we can be happy with any number of people. It’s also about timing and finally being willing to settle down with just one person.”
This didn’t seem like enough, so I asked, “But how do you know which one to choose?”
She thought about it and said, “You know when you can imagine being as happy with someone else, but you can’t imagine anyone making you happier.”
And then she turned into the side road that leads to the ranch and the barn, where I put on a pair of cowboy boots and gave my rehearsal dinner speech in front of one hundred people and thirty-five mounted deer heads. (I’ve repressed the entire memory of this because I hate public speaking so much. It helped to focus on the deer heads.)
