As I saw it, I didn’t really have much of a choice.
“I can’t,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
He closed his eyes, knowing what I meant. There was no need to elaborate, no more questions to be asked. Our vacation was over, and it was time for me to return to real life. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to get out of bed. I needed one more taste of the fantasy before I let it go forever.
There were so many things I wanted him to know. How much fun I’d had. How much I would miss him. How much he meant to me. But my mouth had trouble forming the words. So instead I kissed his body, slowly, tenderly, covering his chest, his stomach, the thin line of hair trailing downward from his navel. I let my actions speak the truth of my emotions, the feelings I wouldn’t allow myself to speak.
* * *
We packed our bags without a sound, racing against the clock, the mood too thick for mindless banter or clever commentary. Carson hauled his backpack to the hallway, while I lingered behind to do my usual last-minute check for items we may have forgotten. The bathrooms, the closets, the cushions of the sofa. Everything was empty. Finally, I pulled back the rumpled covers of the king-sized bed, expecting to find another sketchbook, but to my surprise, there was nothing.
Maybe he really does plan to keep those sketches of me. Or maybe he’ll meet a new woman and start a new sketchbook. Then my face will wind up abandoned in another set of sheets. He’ll move on. He always does.
I unzipped the front pocket of my suitcase and pulled out the sketchbook I’d plucked from the sheets in our Hong Kong hotel room. Flipping through the textured vellum, I relived the memories, the sights of the city drawn out in smudged graphite, our time together filtered through Carson’s eyes. When I found the scene from Victoria Peak, the view of the harbor from high above the skyscrapers, I took a long last look.
I don’t have room for this. I set the book down on the mattress, covered it with a sheet, and wheeled my suitcase out the door without turning back.
Not a word was uttered in the elevator, on the drive to the ferry terminal, or while waiting to board the tottering boat. Our usual repartee had vanished, as if a cord linking us together had unexpectedly snapped, breaking our connection, sending us soaring off in different directions.
As the ferry made its way across the water, I forced a conversation, afraid to spend our last moments together in silence.
“Where are you going next?” I asked.
“Not sure yet.” He was turned toward the window, looking at the horizon through the filthy, foggy glass. “I might stay put in Hong Kong a little while. See if that hostel still has vacancies.”
“Back to the snoring Aussies?”
“Maybe. Or maybe I’ll spring for a private room this time.”
“The Chrysanthemum Suite spoiled you.”
“Yeah.” He turned away from the window, searched my face. “I think I’m getting tired of all this running around. It might be nice to just sit still for a second.”
A vision flashed before my eyes: me and Carson, sitting still on Victoria Peak, high above the city. Wind rustling through the trees, sun beaming down on my face, his hand on my lap and my head on his shoulder. The universe has its reasons for bringing people together. Blinking once, twice, I cleared the image away, saw only Carson looking at me with expectation. I swallowed hard, unable to find my voice.
“Or maybe I’ll get restless and take off again tomorrow,” he said, turning back to the window. “I guess I’ll have to see how I feel when I wake up.”
With nothing left to say, I rested my hand in his lap, and we sat quietly until the ferry docked in Hong Kong. When the doors opened, we were swept away in the crowd of people streaming off the ramp and into the bowels of the subway.
“You don’t have to come all the way to the airport with me,” I said, but Carson ignored me and tapped his Octopus card twice at the turnstile: once for me, once for himself. At Central Station, we transferred to the Airport Express and spent most of the half-hour journey in uncomfortable silence. He fixed his stare at the scenery rushing by beyond the window, his chin resting in his fist. The whole ride, I touched him, caressing his arm or gently squeezing his thigh. Any small gesture to maintain physical contact while I still had the chance.
At the airport, the check-in lines for Cathay Pacific snaked around the terminal. I headed for the self-serve kiosk, proud of my ability to fit a vacation’s worth of clothing into a carry-on tote and a small rolling suitcase, eliminating the need to check a bag. The machine spit out my boarding pass in under a minute, leaving me free to go straight to security. Normally I’d have rejoiced at getting through the check-in process so quickly, but when I turned from the screen to face Carson, I wished I hadn’t been in such a rush.
“This is it,” he said. He scanned the security line off to the right before settling his eyes on mine. I saw what looked like panic flash across his face, the first trace of anxiety he’d displayed since that moment in Macau, just after the dealer waved his hands over the table, just before the dice revealed his fortune. A knot formed in my stomach and I could feel the bitter burn of my morning coffee crawling up my throat.
“You know,” he said, “it’s not too late to change your mind.”
“Carson, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
The knot in my stomach grew tighter. I had an overwhelming urge to bum-rush the security guard, barrel through the metal detectors, and hurl myself onto the next departing plane.
“Because I have a job to get back to,” I said.
“You don’t even like your job.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You told me the only thing you like about it is that it lets you travel the world. You don’t need your job for that. You can travel the world with me.”
He reached for my hand, and I pulled away. “I can’t just wander aimlessly around the world with you. I need to know where I’m going.”
“It’s fine to want to know where you’re going. But wherever you’re going, it should be a place that makes you happy. Are you happy?”
His eyes settled on me like two blue laser beams. The heat was so intense, I had to look away.
“Are you happy, Sophie?” he asked again.
“I’m fine.”
“It doesn’t sound like you’re fine. It sounds like you’re afraid.”
Why did everyone think they knew me better than I knew myself? Elena, Grandma, and now Carson—a guy I’d met less than a week ago. I’d had enough of other people psychoanalyzing me, telling me how I was supposed to feel.
Tipping my suitcase onto its back wheels, I began to walk away. “I’m going to miss my flight.”
“Sophie.” Carson grasped my arm, his voice urgent.
“What?”
“How can I reach you?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “You don’t check your e-mail. You refuse to own a cell phone. Maybe carrier pigeon?”
“I’m serious. What’s your number? Or your address? This can’t be the last time we ever see each other.”
His gaze turned from steely to pleading. With a heavy sigh, I reached into my carry-on bag and unearthed a blue and gold McKinley business card with “Sophie Bruno” printed on the front.
“This is where I work,” I said, handing it to him. “My cell number’s on there.”
He held my card with two hands, staring at it for a long moment. “I’ll be in touch.”
I nodded impatiently. This good-bye was taking way longer than I’d hoped it would.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you, too.” The words took me by surprise as soon as they escaped my lips. Did I really just say that? Did I mean it? Does it even matter now?
Carson pulled me close and kissed me. A deep, openmouthed, all-consuming kiss. I fell into his arms, surrendering to his touch. For a second, I forgot I was in the middle of a crowded international airport. Instead, I was in Wan Chai, standing in a secluded corner of the waterfront promenade, with
the early morning bay breeze blowing through my hair and every skin cell tingling with desire. When he withdrew, I opened my eyes and a wave of disappointment crashed around me.
“Good-bye,” he said.
“Bye.” I turned and walked toward the security line with my head down, fumbling around in my purse for my passport, fighting off the stinging, swollen feeling behind my eyes. Deep breaths. Don’t make a scene.
I managed to crack a smile when I reached the black barrier tape, the security agent at the end of the line scrutinizing my face against my photo ID. When she waved me on, I turned around, longing for one last glance of his blue eyes, his sandy hair. But all I saw was an unattended self-serve kiosk and a mob of weary travelers.
Carson was gone.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I cried the whole flight home. I’m not a cry-in-public sort of person, but I couldn’t control myself. As soon as the plane picked up speed on the runway, a lump formed in my throat, growing tighter the higher we climbed through the air, until finally it burst and broke me down. Desperate not to attract attention from fellow fliers, I choked back my tears, closed my eyes, and dabbed at them with tissues. When I felt a spate of sobs coming on, I escaped to the privacy of the bathroom to set them free. By the time the plane landed at JFK late on Saturday night, my eyes were bloodshot, but the tears had mercifully stopped. In the cab on the way to my apartment, I drifted off. Upon reaching home, I dropped my bags at the foot of the bed and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
On Sunday morning, I lingered in the sheets, caressing the empty space beside me in my queen-sized bed. Before I met Carson, waking up alone had been the norm. In fact, it’d been what I preferred: the uncomplicated silence of solitude. Now the quiet felt endlessly gloomy, like a part of me had been left behind on the other end of the earth.
Watch out. You’re beginning to sound like Elena.
I tossed back the sheets and hopped to my feet, determined to transition out of my dreamy vacation mind-set and back to the rigors of real life. I made my bed, put on a pot of coffee, and tied my frizzy nest of hair up in a bun. Then I took a deep breath and knelt on the floor next to my luggage. It was time to put this trip behind me.
Unzipping my suitcase, I thought of how many times I had unpacked this bag, only to pack it again hours later. Dozens. Maybe even over a hundred. This time would certainly be no different. Because, in all likelihood, I’d be back on another airplane by sundown the next day, headed toward whatever big project I was assigned to. My flight was probably already booked, and our corporate travel agent was likely waiting for me to confirm receipt of the itinerary.
A twinge of disappointment rippled through me when I realized I could no longer ignore my phone. I found it in my tote bag, buried underneath ticket stubs and used tissues. The charger was sitting on my nightstand, where I’d left it before I took off for Hong Kong. I plugged it in and powered it on, and while the silver start-up circle spun on the screen, I marveled at how great it had been to unchain myself from it, how restorative the break from work had been. Whatever consequence I had to face for skipping that meeting with Martin Chu, it almost certainly would have been worth it.
When the home screen loaded, a voice mail alert flashed red on the screen. Assuming it was the travel desk with the details of my next international assignment, I pressed the call button and pulled a pen from my purse, prepared to jot down my flight number.
“Sophie? Are you home yet?”
I dropped my pen and pressed my fingers to my temples. The message was not from McKinley’s travel desk. It was from my grandmother.
“Call me when you get this. I thought you landed last night. Where are you? I’m very worried.”
She hung up abruptly, most likely to continue pacing around her kitchen in a full-blown panic. Immediately, I dialed her number. It only rang once.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Gram.”
“Oh thank God, you’re home! When did you land?”
“I got in really late last night.” In truth, I’d arrived right after sundown. I just hadn’t been willing to face real life yet. And nothing was realer than Grandma’s inquisitions. “I only woke up a few minutes ago.”
“How was your flight?”
“It was fine. On time, no bumps.” Though there were a few tears.
“I was so worried with you being alone that whole time, and so far away. I’m so glad you’re safe. And home.”
I cradled the phone in the crook of my neck and turned my attention to removing dirty clothes from the suitcase, methodically sorting the laundry into piles of light, dark, and dry-clean only. The orderly task gave me something to focus on aside from Grandma’s worry.
“I’m fine, Gram.”
“I saw your idiot friend yesterday,” she said.
“Who?”
“Elena. She was over at her mother’s house with that loser boyfriend of hers, packing up a truck. Made a racket outside all morning. Is she moving in with that jerk?”
“That was the plan.” But I didn’t think it was going to happen so fast.
“Shacking up together, and they’re not even married. It’s disgraceful.”
I balled up a pair of dirty jeans and flung them in the dark pile, suppressing a sigh of aggravation. My grandmother was the first person I called after arriving home from the most momentous, life-changing travel experience I’d ever had. And she’d yet to ask me how it went, what I did, if I had a good time. Instead, she decided to rag on Elena for her choices in life and disparage her boyfriend, whom she’d only met once.
“Well, she seems really happy with Roddy,” I said. “They’re definitely in love.”
“Love,” she snorted. “That’s a laugh. Is love a good reason to have left you all alone?”
I plucked my lemon-yellow sundress from the suitcase, recalling the last time I wore it in Macau. Holding hands with Carson, following him through the sunny streets toward the beautiful ruins, where he asked me to stay with him. An invitation to travel indefinitely, with no boundaries and no rules. Just a chance to chase down happiness, and I didn’t take it. I had a home; I had a job; I had other plans. Were these all good reasons for turning him down?
“I wasn’t exactly alone,” I said.
“What are you talking about?”
“I kind of met someone while I was there.”
“What do you mean, ‘you kind of met someone’?”
“I met a guy.”
I didn’t know why I was telling her this. She wouldn’t be happy for me; she wouldn’t understand. She would only be judgmental, and I would only be upset. But I couldn’t stop. The words just flowed from my heart to my mouth, with no filter.
“Oh God.” Her voice was morose and foreboding, as if I’d just announced a natural disaster instead of a romance. “So, what, are you moving to Hong Kong now?”
“No!” I said. “It wasn’t anything serious. We were just having fun.”
“Yeah, I know what ‘fun’ means, Sophie. I wasn’t born yesterday. You better not wind up pregnant. You’ll ruin your life.”
I bit my tongue and counted silently to five. If I didn’t, I’d say something I’d later regret. I knew exactly what my grandmother was implying. That my mother ruined her life by having me and ran off when she couldn’t take the pressure. That if I wasn’t careful, I’d end up exactly like her.
“So who was this that you met?” she asked.
“His name is Carson.”
“Does he live in Hong Kong?”
“No, he was traveling. He’s from San Francisco.”
“What does he do for a living?”
To my grandmother, this was the most important question of all. The question by which she would determine Carson’s worth as an individual. And I knew how she’d feel about the truth. Better make up some lie. Like he’s a doctor or an investment banker or something.
“He’s an artist.” Nice going.
“Is he famous?”
“No.�
��
“So he’s broke.” It was a statement, not a question. She’d already drawn her conclusions about him. I furrowed my brow and scolded myself for confiding in her. Why can’t I ever keep my big mouth shut?
“No, actually,” I said. “He’s got plenty of money. He paid for a really beautiful suite for us in Macau.”
“Macau? I thought you were in Hong Kong.”
It was clear that my big mouth had a mind of its own. “We were only there for a couple of nights.”
“Isn’t that the city with all the casinos?”
“Yes, but there’s more to it than—”
“So he’s a gambler, too? Sounds like a dream.”
“It was a dream.” My voice boomed, unintentionally, and the sound made me flinch. No matter how annoyed or frustrated my grandmother made me, I never raised my voice to her. Deep breaths. She only does this because she loves you.
“I’m sorry,” I continued. “I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just that first you were worried about me traveling through Hong Kong alone. But now I told you that I was actually with someone—someone who treated me wonderfully, by the way—and you have nothing but negative things to say.”
“Because you should be with someone who deserves you, Sophie,” she said. “Someone who’s worth being with, someone with a bright future. Not some flighty artist with a gambling problem. Not some nobody.”
“You don’t know the first thing about him.”
“Do you think you know him so well? When did you meet him, a week ago? Gallivanting around in a foreign country, playing blackjack and drinking and doing God knows what else? How do you know he was telling you the truth?”
“It was just…I had a feeling about him. I felt like he was being honest with me.”
The Wild Woman's Guide to Traveling the World Page 10
