Graduates in Wonderland (22 page)

She told me about the best places to go in Melbourne and she told me that she always thought Sam was a really good guy. I listened to her carefully, as if she were my own personal fortune-­teller.

She also gets my job when I leave, so everyone wins.

In the meantime, I talk to Sam on the phone—­there's a two-­hour time difference between Sydney and Beijing, so after work every night, he calls me. I assume that most people in long-­distance relationships already know each other really well before undertaking this kind of thing, but we're learning the basics about each other over the phone. I'm learning so much about him so quickly and yet I'm beginning to forget exactly what he looks like.

It makes me sad that we've spent so many of our intimate conversations on the phone instead of lying in bed together. Other new couples can spend time together watching movies or talking nonsense while comparing hands in bed—­Sam and I don't have this luxury, although I feel like I know him so well.

I've decided that even though Sam lives in Sydney, I'm applying to the journalism program in Melbourne, which is an hour-­long flight away. I loved living in Melbourne during my year abroad and have no desire to live in Sydney, and he understands this. Moving to Australia is such a big change that if I'm going to do it, I really want to choose the journalism program and the city that are best for me. Sam's found temp work in Sydney but is planning to find a way to move to Melbourne sometime after I start my master's program (if I get in). If I don't get in, then I have no idea what I'll do. Maybe move to the Chinese countryside to sell eggs, as I've always feared, because I'll have no other options.

I'm almost grateful for being forced to move this quickly with my life. If I had time to stand still, I might talk myself out of this, but it's hard to change your plans when you've burned your bridges and are sprinting full speed toward your next destination.

Yesterday, I was in a park and I saw a Chinese man out walking his birds. In each hand he held a birdcage as he strolled, showing the birds the park scenery before hanging the cages from a tree while he went to go socialize with his fellow bird-­walkers.

I'm really going to miss this place.

Love,

Jess

JUNE 10

Rachel to Jess

God, I can't believe how fast everything's moving. To be honest, I never knew when or if you would ever leave Beijing because you seemed so happy there. It's almost surreal how quickly everything is changing and that you'll be living on an entirely different continent soon if all goes as planned.

And so much unknown is waiting for you there—­just this time last year, I was getting ready to go to France, and I had no idea that Sasha even existed, that French men are not all romantics who will immediately sweep you off your feet but also include a distinct subset of creepy men hitting on you in parks, that no matter how many times I proofread my French essays, I still make ten grammatical mistakes per page.

But it's over—­my first year—­and I have passed!

I just saw my exam results and I passed all of my classes, with an A-­minus average! I am assuming some heavy pity-­grading was involved but am nonetheless relieved.

To celebrate, a bunch of us went up north to Brittany the other day, to an old resort town on the coast where Jacques has a family house. That sounds grander than it was, but Sasha, Marc, Jacques, and I all stayed for the weekend. I was a little disappointed that Olivier had to work, but it was peaceful and calm without him—­I didn't have to think about how I looked or if he was looking at me, or if he would try to get me alone.

We were one block from the ocean, but it's fall here and the temperature was already ridiculously cold. We couldn't go into the water. Sasha and I would take long walks up and down the beach while the guys kicked around a soccer ball. I don't know how guys, like toddlers or puppies, can be completely entertained just by giving them a ball to play with, but it seems like they always can.

Take one guy from every country in the world, throw them together, and inevitably, you'll find them playing soccer. Well, except for the token American guy, who will have to sit on the sidelines, cradling his football.

Sasha and I were wearing sweaters and freezing, so we sat on a terrace at a café overlooking the beach. The waitress gave us a blanket and we huddled together.

The little village was so quiet and all we could hear was the ocean (and the boys swearing) and I felt so far away from the life I had in New York almost a year ago.

Sasha asked me if I ever miss New York. I hadn't really opened up to anyone before about my life there. I started telling her about all the events from my time there that led to me being in France now. I hadn't told anyone here about the car accident because it feels like it happened to someone else, but it was nice being able to share that with someone.

I showed her the scar on my forehead and laughed uncomfortably, and Sasha understood that I didn't want to get into it any further. You'd like her. She's our kind.

We talked about this for a while until the waiter came by and we ordered two more coffees.

Then, to lighten the mood, Sasha brought up Olivier.

“Too bad he couldn't come this weekend,” she said slyly.

“Yeah...” I said.

“Everyone always loves Olivier,” she continued. “He's so charming, girls just can't help it.”

“Oh,” I said. I had thought it was just me.

“But he never talks about women. He never has crushes or anything,” she explained. “He's dated a little, but never for that long—­I think his longest relationship was for like a summer back in high school.”

“Are you sure he's straight?” I asked.

She laughed.

“He's definitely straight. At parties, I've seen him leave with women.” She didn't directly say anything about my crush on Olivier, but I knew then that it was understood.

She added, “Jacques and Marc keep asking, ‘What is his problem? Why doesn't he make a move on Rachel? When are they going to get together?'”

I ask myself this same question every day.

Basically, the rest of the weekend was windy walks along the beach under gray skies. I slept in the room that used to belong to a little girl, so it was full of unicorns and flowered wallpaper and felt very 1950s French to me. In the mornings, I woke up before anybody else and went to get us coffee, croissants, and Nutella.

Jacques would wake up and say, “You would be the best girlfriend ever.”

I know, Jacques! TELL OLIVIER.

Love,

Rach

JUNE 20

Jess to Rachel

How is this Tall Sasha so sure Olivier is straight if she has no real proof and he doesn't date women? The evidence belies her statement. Maybe she has confused the words in English?

Anyway, it's official—­I got into my program in Melbourne! Did you know that Melbourne is the Paris of the Southern Hemisphere? Some people say it's Buenos Aires, but they don't know what they're talking about. Maybe we'll lead parallel lives in our respective Cities of Light. I'll be a day ahead of you in Australia, so I'll know everything that happens first. If you're nice, I'll tell you. You can pay me in bonbons.

Oh God, this is really going to happen now.

I know I'm going to miss Beijing's unpredictability and weird charm (where else can I see a group of older Chinese people practicing Tai Chi in the park next to a sprawling construction site?), but I'm glad I'm leaving before I become a hardened expat. I'm always going to have a soft spot for this city in my life. This is where I sort of grew up. So many romantic mistakes.

But I'm ready to go. Isla will take my job, and I trust her with the magazine. I trust that she will love it as I have and as Victoria did before me. I can't believe I grew to care so much about it, but I really loved that job. Best summer camp ever. I told one of the mothers who I often work with that I was quitting, and she said, “You're quitting your job? You're twenty-­four, you run your own magazine, and you're going to quit?” And then she looked at me like I was insane.

I'm still going to do it, although another acquaintance told me offhandedly that she couldn't believe I was the kind of girl who was going to follow a man all the way to Australia. When she said this, I didn't even recognize myself in the comment. Then I felt stung. Despite the evidence that I am going to do this, am I the
kind
of girl who does this? This is an entirely different question. Here's what I think, after some deep pondering: I do ALL KINDS OF STUPID SHIT (jumping into countless unexplored bodies of water, imitating Santa for thousands of Chinese children, dating an old man), and following the best guy I've ever met is actually one of the saner things I've ever done.

I hope. If Sam had given me any hesitations about his affection for me or his integrity, then I wouldn't know what to do, but right now, I believe in him.

Besides, I don't have time or room for doubts, because this is really happening now. When I get to Australia, am I going to forget all of my Mandarin and suddenly start talking like Isla? Not good. I'm going to call my sunglasses my sunnies and my chewing gum my chewy.

I've started saying good-­bye to all of my closest friends in Beijing. I'm not throwing an elaborate going-­away party, because I wanted to say good-­bye to my friends privately and then sort of disappear from the rest of the Beijing scene without a fuss. Like if I slip away, no one will notice I'm gone.

See you on the other side.

Love,

Jess

JULY 18

Rachel to Jess

OMG CAN YOU COME HERE?

SERIOUSLY, COME HERE.

Olivier kissed me.

He kissed me.

Like most Saturdays, I met Olivier and Sasha at the café at the Swedish Institute for lunch and we sprawled outside on the terrace, where we drank super strong coffee, the best I've found in Paris so far (and the cheapest). Europeans don't seem to be affected by caffeine; I get jittery after only two cups, whereas Sasha and Olivier had three cups and were still laid-­back and calm.

We were talking about IKEA, which is what we always seem to talk about at the Swedish Institute, when Olivier abruptly changed the subject.

“Whatever happened to the super tall Swedish guy from that party last week?” Olivier asked, still looking up, not meeting my gaze.

“What Swede?” I asked.

“That guy you were talking with on the stairs all night,” he said.

“Anders?” I said. “He's a filmmaker who has been shooting on location in Lyon or something like that for the past month. His girlfriend has the lead role and is very famous in Sweden.”

He grinned. “Oh well,” he said.

Then Sasha went up to get another coffee. Olivier and I talked about my family and how my sister is pregnant. His eyes focused on me, and I felt it again: his total attention on whatever I am saying, and his thoughtful replies. His bright blue eyes on mine. With him, it's like conversing with your biggest fan, who also happens to be brilliant and handsome.
So
handsome.

The sun started fading and I shivered.

“I think I'm going to go home, guys,” I said, and I stood up. ­Olivier scraped his chair back over the cobblestones.

“I'm walking that way too,” he said quickly.

“Okay!” Sasha kissed our cheeks, and Olivier and I left. We walked up the street and when we reached the corner, he took my hand. I looked at him, waiting for him to explain. Why did he have my hand? Was he giving me something?

“Rachel,” he said. “I...want to kiss you.”

My heart started pounding so loudly I was afraid I'd misheard him.

The caffeine and adrenaline rush made me start shaking like a scared rabbit. Was this really happening? Every time Jacques or Sasha teased me about dating Olivier, I always brushed it off while secretly daydreaming about him whenever I wandered alone through Paris. For months, we've flirted and had so many close calls, and it was moving so slowly that I had almost given up on him. But finally, here it was, his perfect face so close to mine, his eyes so starry.

I couldn't stop shaking.

“What?” I said.

I had to make sure my brain wasn't playing tricks on me. I thought maybe he was confused about the English word for
kiss
, and that if I went in for his lips, he'd go for cheek kisses instead, then push me away and call me a lusty whore.

I did not know how to respond to his request. I swallowed and squeezed his hand.

And then he'd pushed me back against the wall we were standing in front of, and we were kissing. I'd never been kissed like that before, softly and passionately. The entire time, I was still shaking, fluttering, barely present.

And then he pulled away and took my hand. I opened my eyes.

We walked around the Marais, swinging hands. We wandered into an exhibit about Paris architecture, holding hands and grinning at each other the whole time.

He left me with a kiss on the corner of Vieille du Temple, with a promise to meet up later tonight for a loft party up in the Nineteenth.

Every time I think about it, I can't believe it.

Olivier kissed me. I'm in Paris. It is all too good to be true.

Love,

A Vindicated Lusty Whore

JULY 19

Jess to Rachel

Rachel! OMIGOD HE KISSED YOU. He kissed you. I actually do not know how to convey how exciting this is for me as well! Why
am
I so excited? I don't know, but I am! Finally, Olivier! HE KISSED YOU!

Okay, now that I have finally gotten all that out of my system, I'm just left wanting more. What happened next? Do you think this is it? The moment when our Ones are revealed to us?

Either way, I'm in Australia!

Didn't even think I'd make it here because my Beijing apartment was such a disaster. I had 113 books in my apartment. What the hell was I supposed to do with 113 books?