Jutta and Tuule both look up from their computers. “Tere,” they say, at the same time. They both have the same haircuts—short bobs—and wide round faces, which make them both look about a decade younger than their forty-something years.
“Hi,” Kersti says, opting for English.
Her sisters still speak Estonian as much as they speak English. As with many second- and third-generation Estonians, their children’s first language was also Estonian. When Paavo Kuusk arrived in Canada with that first wave of refugees after the war, he—like the rest of his fellow countrymen—never stopped believing they would all eventually return to the homeland as soon as Estonia regained its independence from Russia. While they lived in Canada, which Paavo always believed would be temporary, he and Anni were diligent about raising their kids fully immersed in the Estonian culture, so that their generation could be wholly, seamlessly reintegrated.
It wasn’t enough that Kersti and her sisters spoke or understood Estonian as a second language, either; they had to be, first and foremost, Estonian. They were put into Estonian-immersion kindergarten, followed by Estonian elementary class every weekend until high school. After high school, it was Tartu College for Kersti’s sisters, which is affiliated with Tartu University in Estonia; her sisters were also members of the Estonian sorority in Toronto, where they met their future Estonian husbands, who of course belonged to the Estonian fraternity. Kersti escaped all that when she was sent to Lausanne, and later, when she married a Jew, her one and only act of rebellion against the family.
“What’re you doing here?” Tuule asks her.
“I’ve got an appointment at Family Services,” Kersti says, plunking down in one of the swivel chairs.
The office, like the rest of the building, is dreary and utilitarian: dim lighting, industrial carpet, fake chestnut-stained MDF furniture from Office Depot, and beige IBM computers from the year Paavo moved the agency here. He’s never believed in wasting money on prettying up a place or making it warmer or more hospitable, lest he should find himself feeling too comfortable. He’s lived his entire life in Toronto as though everything is temporary. Why spend money on a new couch when we could be moving back to Estonia anytime? Why get new computers? Why invest in a new kitchen floor? A bigger house?
And yet, even when Estonia reestablished its independence from the Soviet Union in 1991, Paavo did not return. Though he still claims he will go back there one day to die, the thought of gathering up the whole clan—daughters, sons-in-law, families of his in-laws, grandchildren, close friends—has proved too daunting. At eighty-four, he’s planted his roots too deep. The Estonian-Canadian community that grew up around him over the years has become his true homeland, more than Estonia ever could be again. He’s just too stubborn to admit it. And so he stays, secretly content in Toronto, not willing to invest in or commit to anything too binding that might anchor him here.
“What appointment?” Tuule wants to know.
“Counseling.”
Jutta and Tuule are quiet. Jutta pops the end of a croissant in her mouth. They don’t ask questions.
She leaves their office, feeling a little depressed. The whole building has that effect on her. She’s always found it to be gloomy and shabby, a statement in itself about its culture of impermanence.
She runs down to the second floor, where Jay is standing outside the Estonian Family Services office waiting for her. It’s been tense between them since she got back from Boston. He wasn’t very happy that she’d left without discussing it with him. She reminded him that he was the one who’d gone to a hotel. Other than that, they haven’t spoken much at all, other than to agree—reluctantly—on counseling.
Eva Sepp opens the door. She’s tall and broad, about Kersti’s age, with dirty blond hair and florid cheeks. The blue eyes are a given. She’s wearing a red acrylic sweater with black leggings that reveal thick, cross-country skier’s legs. Or so Kersti imagines.
“Tere,” she says, inviting them both inside.
Jay and Kersti sit down side by side on a green leather couch, separated by a box of Kleenex.
“What brings you here?” Eva asks, putting on a pair of bifocals and tucking her hair behind her ears.
“We’re having problems,” Kersti starts. “Due to my infertility.”
“Our infertility,” Jay corrects. “It’s our problem.”
“Okay, well, that’s very supportive, Jay,” Eva commends him.
“Well, it’s funny though,” Kersti says. “Because if it’s our problem, why is it your decision that we stop trying? I don’t get a say?”
“Are you kidding me?” Jay says, his voice rising. “We’ve been at this for years, Kersti. I would’ve thrown in the towel ages ago. When do I get to say stop? Or don’t I?”
Kersti snatches a Kleenex and blows her nose.
“I can already see this is a very emotionally charged issue for both of you,” Eva says.
Jay lets out an exasperated sigh. “Listen,” he says. “I agreed to come here for Kersti because I know this is a rough time for her. But—and I don’t mean to disparage what you do—nothing you say can convince me to use an egg donor.”
“My role is not to convince you of anything,” Eva says neutrally.
Jay turns to face Kersti, his expression softer, desperate. “I’m here to say this one more time. I’m not using an egg donor. I want us to go back to how we were, no more trying to have a kid, or else—”
“Or else what?”
“Kersti,” Eva says softly. “What would it take for you to accept that you may not be able to have a baby?”
“Nothing,” she says unequivocally. “Do you have children, Eva?”
“Yes,” Eva admits. “But that’s not—”
“Would you have been able to accept not having children?”
“I can’t speak to that.”
“Not being a mother makes you no less a woman,” Jay intervenes, trying—and failing—to console her.
Kersti turns on him, wanting to choke the pedantic tone right out of his voice. “How would you know?” she snaps.
“I don’t think any less of you,” he says.
“What about what I think of me?”
He looks confused. Eva is leaning back in her chair, watching the scene unravel. Watching them unravel.
“There are certain expectations I have to live up to,” Kersti says, looking back and forth between them, shredding the Kleenex in her hand. “As a woman, as an Estonian. And if I don’t, then I feel bad about myself.”
“That’s fucking ridiculous,” Jay mutters.
“No, it’s not,” Eva says sharply. “I completely understand that, Kersti. I do.”
“Whose expectations are they?” Jay wants to know.
“Everyone’s!” Kersti says. “My mother, my father, my sisters, women. Estonians.”
“Estonians,” Jay repeats, with a disgusted eye roll.
“You know I’ve never fit in with them,” she reminds him. “I’ve always felt like an outsider in my family and with the other Estos. All I have to do is have a baby and carry on the great Estonian legacy to set things right, and you want me to accept that I can’t? You want me to just move on and give up on the one thing every woman on the planet should be able to do?”
“You’ve had three novels published, for Christ’s sake! That’s not enough of an achievement for you?”
“It sounds to me like this is about belonging,” Eva gently interjects.
“That’s part of it,” Kersti acknowledges.
“So it’s not really about maternal longing,” Jay accuses. “It’s about conforming?”
“That’s cruel,” Kersti says, brushing warm tears from her cheeks, knowing, at last, that she’s not going to get her way. How can she possibly explain to him that her inability to conceive is just more proof of her inadequacy? The way it makes her feel is a perfect mirror of that overriding sense of inadequacy she always felt next to Cressida, especially after Magnus, and continues to fe
el to this day.
“Having a baby won’t change how Kersti feels about herself,” Jay tells Eva, as though reading Kersti’s mind. “Or how anyone feels about her.”
Kersti tunes him out and drifts off. I have to get out of here, she thinks.
“Because they’ve never accepted her, she refuses to accept herself,” he says. “Infertility is just the tip of the iceberg. We could have a happy life together without children if only she would just—”
“We’re going around in circles,” Kersti interrupts, reaching for her purse. “Maybe we do need some time apart to regroup.”
“Why can’t you let go of what they think?” he asks her.
She doesn’t bother answering him. She’s already working out a plan. Where she’s going next, who she needs to talk to.
“Kersti?” Eva says, drawing her back to the conversation with a tone one might use on a five-year-old. “Are you hearing what Jay is saying?”
“Yes,” Kersti says, standing up. “I’m hearing him.”
“Where are you going?” Jay asks her. “This was your idea—”
“You were right. It was a waste of time.”
“So now what? You’re going to take off again without telling me where you’re going?”
“I’m going to New York,” she says, leaving him there with a very bewildered-looking Eva Sepp.
As the front doors close behind her, she rushes away from the Estonian House, feeling more purposeful than she has in a long time.
Chapter 14
LAUSANNE—December 1995
When the students return from the Christmas concert at the church, they all gather in the dining hall for the traditional hot chocolate and spitzbuebli. It’s a magical night, with snowflakes like eiderdown dusting the pine trees and copper rooftops as they land. Kersti is standing by the buffet with Alison and Lille, all of them giddy and flushed from the cold, gorging on the jam cookies. Tomorrow they go home for the holidays.
In spite of the lovely night, Kersti still feels like she’s lost everything that mattered to her this semester—her best friend, her virginity, the guy she thought she was in love with. Gone. Cressida and Magnus are back together and Kersti has been unceremoniously relegated to the sideline. Every morning she wakes up with what feels like a vise tightening inside her chest. The weight of her hurt bears down on her, a burden that feels physical as well as emotional.
Magnus has gone back to calling her Kuusk and scribbling notes to her in French, but the flirtatiousness is gone. There’s a new dynamic between them—she’s his pal, his French buddy. His girlfriend’s best friend. Kersti has taken on the role of sidekick. He never acknowledged the night they spent together, the virginity he stole from her. If he does talk to her outside French class, it’s to ask where Cressida is, what does she want for her birthday, is something bothering Cressida that he should know about? Like that.
When Kersti sees them together, kissing between classes, holding hands and walking to his apartment on Saturday afternoons, the sting of their betrayal feels as fresh as if it’s just happened. It makes her feel worthless, deficient. She finds herself frequently asking the question, “What’s wrong with me?” And in the absence of any specific, concrete answer, Kersti concludes it must be everything. Before long, the question turns into a statement, uttered silently almost every day. Something is wrong with me.
She’s not even sure what hurts more—losing Cressida to Magnus, or the other way around. At times she feels more jealous of Magnus. He’s the one monopolizing Cressida’s time, her affection, her attention. Either way, Kersti feels abandoned, the fall semester marred by their rejection.
She’s almost relieved to be going home for the holidays.
“I think I’m going to spitzbuebli,” Alison jokes, reaching for another cookie.
“Me, too,” Kersti says. “I feel really spitzbuebli.”
“You look a bit spitzbuebli,” Lille says, just as Cressida arrives at the buffet.
“Are you guys spitzbuebling?” she says, without missing a beat. “I don’t want to interrupt.”
Everyone laughs, even Kersti.
“Can I talk to you, Kerst?” Cressida asks her. She’s wearing tall leather boots with a tweed miniskirt and a creamy turtleneck through which the lace of her bra can just barely be seen. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail that looks like a giant pompom, and her skin is glowing pink and luminous. She is dishearteningly beautiful, Kersti thinks, feeling crappier than ever.
“I know it’s been kind of tense between us,” Cressida says. “But I really miss you.”
“We share a room.”
“You know what I mean.”
“You’re always with Magnus.”
“Kerst, I’m sorry. I know I hurt you and I wish it hadn’t happened that way. I wish it had been anyone but you who got hurt. But I miss us.”
“Doesn’t seem like it.”
“Spend Christmas with me in Telluride,” Cressida says, clasping Kersti’s hands. “We can ski and hang out and rekindle our love—”
“You know I can’t,” Kersti says. “I have to go home.”
“Why? You had the worst holiday ever last year.”
It’s true. Kersti felt like an alien at the Estonian House Christmas party, and even more so with her family. She bought her sisters handmade Swiss chocolate snowmen and in return they gave her a package of airmail envelopes, a role of stamps, and bubble bath from the pharmacy.
“We’ll have so much fun,” Cressida says, still holding her hands. “I miss my best friend. I want to spend time with you.”
“What about Magnus?”
“He’s going to Gstaad.”
“Don’t you want to go to Gstaad with him?”
“No. I want to go to Telluride with you.”
Kersti has to admit she’s touched, even a bit flattered that Cressida is choosing her over Magnus. She dismisses the fleeting thought that Cressida has a way of making her feel special and shitty about herself at the same time. “My parents can’t afford to send me to Telluride,” Kersti says. “Why don’t we just talk after the holidays. Maybe we both need some space—”
“I don’t want space,” Cressida sulks. “We’ve already had too much space between us.”
Kersti can feel herself softening, her resentments and jealousy melting. In spite of everything that’s happened, she knows Cressida loves her. She can’t forget the way Cressida took her under her wing right from the start, stood up for her and made sure she was welcomed into the group. You’re the most normal, grounded one here, she once said to Kersti.
Cressida needs her. Deep down, Kersti knows that.
“Come to Telluride with me,” Cressida pleads. “I’ll buy your ticket. You can go home first and then come to Colorado on the twenty-sixth. We’ll spend New Year’s together and then fly back to Lausanne.”
She has it all worked out; she always does. And she is utterly seductive.
Chapter 15
NEW YORK—October 2015
Kersti glances out the little egg-shaped window at the glistening tarmac where a steady drizzle has been falling since late afternoon. The sky is already dark as the plane begins to roll out. She’s always enjoyed flying at night, something about being cocooned in blackness, like soaring into space. She was able to book a last-minute flight and was out of the house before Jay got home from work. They haven’t spoken since their disastrous counseling session.
When the plane smooths out at its flying altitude, Kersti reaches into her purse for the stack of mail she grabbed from home and quickly shuffles through the magazines—Vanity Fair, British House & Gardens—finding the one letter in the pile. She recognizes the embossed emblem of Helvetia on the envelope and opens it.
Dear Kersti,
Our 100th birthday celebration is fast approaching on Saturday June 11th, 2016. This is a friendly reminder that we are still waiting for your RSVP both as a “One Hundred Women of the Lycée” speaker, and as an attendee of the festivities. If you a
re unable to make it, please inform us at your earliest convenience so that we may arrange our speaker schedule accordingly. We hope to see you in the spring!
Best,
M. Bueche
Kersti folds the letter and puts it back in her purse. She’s been mulling over whether or not to go for months; she can’t blame Bueche for wanting an answer. She’s still waiting to hear from Noa and Rafaella. Maybe she’ll ask Magnus if he’s planning to go. It will be a good opener since they haven’t spoken since the day of Cressida’s accident. They reconnected on Facebook about two years ago, but only to add each other as “friends.” They’ve never had an actual conversation. Once in a while she trolls through his pictures, but he rarely posts anything. He’s never commented on or “liked” any of hers. She messaged him as soon as she left the Estonian House this afternoon, asking him to meet with her. His response came quick: Kuusk! Quelle surprise. Text me when you arrive. With his number.
She couldn’t help smiling. She was relieved he remembered her, even called her Kuusk. She still thinks about him. The ego has a way of hanging on to unrequited love as though it’s some kind of personal failure, an irrevocable blight on past achievements. That’s how it’s been for Kersti, no matter how much time passes or how much she loves Jay.
Outside her hotel on Seventh and Fifty-Fourth the street buzzes and hums until the sun comes up. She lies awake most of the night, listening to the noises below, thinking about her marriage, babies, Cressida, Lille, the Lycée, what she would say if she spoke at the birthday celebration in Lausanne. It’s an honor to stand before you on the Lycée’s hundredth anniversary. I’m truly humbled.
The Finishing School Page 9
