In Love with a Gentleman (21 page)

My mother nods.

“About me? How come?” I ask in amazement.

“We have the impression that something’s bothering you,” he says. “You’ve changed so much since you went to England.”

I give them a puzzled look. “Changed? In what way?”

“Sweetheart, don’t take it the wrong way, but you’re uncharacteristically quiet and withdrawn. What happened to your usual lightheartedness? Where’s your sense of humor?” my mother says.

“Did something happen to you in England?” my father asks. “Are you unhappy there? Maybe you should cancel the rest of your trip abroad and just come home. You could continue your studies in Münster after Christmas. No one would hold that against you.”

What’s wrong with them? Why are they harassing me like this? This is terribly annoying. I’d like to just say good night and retreat to my room, but that wouldn’t be fair to them. It’s Christmas, and I know they’ve been looking forward to my visit. I can’t do it, especially after they’ve given me such a generous gift.

I think about how to best explain my change in personality. With a sigh, I realize they probably won’t stop worrying until I tell them about Ethan. “You’re definitely wrong about that,” I say. “I’m not depressed. On the contrary, I’m incredibly happy.”

“Oh?” my father says. He doesn’t seem very convinced.

“Why are you so happy?” my mother asks.

“I met my dream man in England! His name is Ethan, and he’s a teacher at the same school where I work. He loves me, too. Everything’s incredibly awesome and wonderful!”

“Aha,” my father says, and looks at my mother with a perplexed look on his face.

“I can still remember how happy I was when I met the man of my dreams and he told me that he loved me,” my mother says. She smiles lovingly at my father. “But in my case, everybody noticed that I was radiating happiness. I became pretty silly and high-spirited—everything seemed so easy and carefree. The world was my oyster!”

“Oh, yes, I remember,” my father says. “You were irrepressible. Nothing could upset you, and everything made you laugh.”

I look at her. What do I say now? The Thomaner Choir Christmas CD, which we play every year when we exchange gifts, is playing in the background. “Rejoice, rejoice!” the boys jubilantly sing in their highest falsettos. How fitting.

“Just because that’s the way it was with you doesn’t mean that’s how it is with everybody,” I finally say. “With me, it’s just different. My love for Ethan has a different effect on me. It’s made me quieter, more contemplative, and more satisfied. That’s okay, right?”

Again, my parents exchange glances. “I’ll be honest with you,” my mother says. “I liked the fun, lively Lea better.” Her voice falters. “I miss her.”

Oh, darn it all! Now tears are glistening in her eyes—and it’s Christmas. Maybe this has something to do with menopause. I once read in a women’s magazine that menopausal women cry more easily.

My father puts a reassuring arm around her shoulder and says, “Now, now, Elsa!” He turns to me. “If you’re saying you’re happier, Lea, we have to take your word for it. But—don’t take this the wrong way—you don’t look very happy.”

I shrug. “I’m sure it’s because I miss my sweetheart so much. I can’t explain it otherwise. He has such a calming influence on me. He doesn’t like it when I act like a clown. He prefers that I act like a grown-up. I’m learning a lot from him, rest assured.”

But my parents don’t look reassured at all. I decide to change the subject and say, “Aren’t you one bit curious what I got for you? Unwrap your gifts already!”

The rest of the holidays aren’t really fun. Although my parents hit the jackpot with the smartphone, I mostly mope around missing Ethan. My parents pick on me and speculate about things that aren’t true. All my friends and acquaintances are with their families and apparently have no time or desire to do something with me. I have a feeling that since I live abroad, I’m out of sight and out of mind. I do have fun hiding away in my room with my phone, though, working my way through the owner’s manual. Of course, I should be studying for my exam, but I’m not really motivated.

I download apps until my smartphone’s memory protests. I rush into the city to buy a bigger memory card so I can download more stuff, like reading material for my exam. I notice that I can read it quite well even on the small screen. Maybe I should ask for an e-reader for my birthday. Then I could give away my many paperbacks and travel lightly. I would have preferred something like that from Ethan. I finger the gold chain around my neck. For the money that this stupid necklace cost, I could have bought at least three e-readers. But Ethan definitely would have refused to give me something like that. Sure, it wouldn’t have been the most romantic gift in the world, but it would have been the perfect gift for me.

I log on to Facebook to see what all my friends are doing. One of my friends has changed her relationship status from “Single” to “In a relationship.” I can do that, too! I update my profile. If only I had a photo of Ethan—it would create quite an uproar among my friends. Ethan also has a smartphone. Now I can chat with him as often as I want. As soon as I install the program, we can have at it.

Right before breakfast, I text him that I miss him. I take a photo of our Christmas tree, which still looks really good even after almost a week, although the needles are starting to drop. My mom keeps cautioning us that we should be careful not to bump into it. I send him links to exciting YouTube videos I discover while surfing the net, quiet things about hunting and stuff. I’m sure he’ll be interested in them. Ethan puts up with it every day for exactly five days, and then he calls me. This is rather unusual for him. Most of the time I have to call him first.

“I’m glad you got a smartphone for Christmas,” he begins the conversation. “I’m happy for you, but could you use it a little less, please?”

“Why? I thought you were happy about it.”

“Dear little mosquito, I can’t go anywhere without my cell phone ringing and vibrating constantly. It’s too much. My friends make fun of me when we’re at the pub. Would you be so kind as to give it a break?”

Phew! Now I am really frustrated. Now that I can finally be in constant contact with him, he doesn’t want it at all.

Ethan realizes I’ve fallen silent. “Mosquito, we’ll see each other again in a few days. Then we won’t need to talk over the phone. I’d like a break from your bombardments.”

“Does that mean that I should only call you once a day?”

“Yes, that’s what it means.”

Okay, great. Out of frustration I start playing a game on my phone. It’s really great. There are colorful candies scattered across the screen, and you can shoot them with various weapons. It gives me a tremendous feeling of satisfaction when they shimmer and explode. Once I set my mind to a task, I’m quite relentless. It’s why I’m such a good student. But now, instead of reading or studying for my exam, I spend my time on the game. I’m working my way up, level by level. It’s quite entertaining. Every morning I wake up and play a few rounds. I take my phone with me to breakfast, put it next to my plate, and keep going. When my parents watch TV in the evening, I curl up in my favorite chair and play until my eyes burn.

My mother says, “Lea, don’t you want to get together with your friends while you’re here?”

“Nope,” I say. “Why? I’m quite cozy here with you two. Am I disturbing you?” I turn the volume on my phone off so I won’t bother anybody.

“No, of course not,” she says. “But your recent activities seem extremely solitary, don’t you think?”

“Huh,” I mumble. “I’m just using my smartphone. Isn’t it great?”

Shortly before New Year’s Eve, I log on to Facebook and see that friends from my dorm are planning a New Year’s Eve party. I’d love to go dancing. Every New Year’s Eve, my parents watch the old comedy show
Dinner for One
, then the usual music programs. Shortly before midnight, my father opens a bottle of champagne. They toast each other, take a sip, and kiss. Then they hit the sack. I refused to participate in this tradition years ago; there were always a thousand more exciting things going on. But this year I could comfortably kill the time until midnight with my smartphone. After all, I’m already at level 48. It would be nice if I could crack level 50 to ring in the new year.

But I decide to drive to Münster. The Portuguese student went home for the holidays, and my roommates assured me I can sleep in my old room.

“Will you be very sad if you have to celebrate New Year’s Eve without me?” I ask my parents.

“No, not at all!” they both say, almost simultaneously.

“On the contrary,” my father adds. “You’ve always been so crazy about parties, we’d be worried if you didn’t go!”

I understand. They’re still concerned that there’s something wrong with me. Well, they’re going to have to get used to the fact that I’ve taken a giant leap into adulthood thanks to Ethan.

On New Year’s Eve I stand on the street in front of my dorm in Münster and look up at the façade. It reminds me of the moment I got out of the limousine after my strange trip to Hohensyburg. Even I wonder about myself these days. Look how I’ve been wasting my time on childish bullshit recently! I’m glad that Ethan knows nothing about it. He would find it highly questionable; that’s for sure.

I ring the bell, and Marc and Lisa come to the door immediately. They greet me effusively.

“Hey, stranger!” Marc says. “How are you? Long time no see. What’s up?”

“Everything’s okay,” I answer.

Lisa pumps me for information right away. “I saw you changed your relationship status on Facebook. Tell us more!”

“Yes, I found the man of my dreams,” I say confidently.

“Wow! Congratulations! When’s the wedding?” Lisa laughs.

“Go ahead and make fun,” I say. “That possibility isn’t totally out of the question.”

“So should we look for someone else to rent your room when Sophia goes back to Portugal?” Marc asks.

I say simply, “Maybe, who knows?”

I help them prepare for the party. We drape streamers, chill the champagne, and fill bowls with crispy snacks. The first students arrive around ten. We turn up the stereo and start dancing. It’s getting more and more crowded. Heavens! Have these two invited everybody in Münster? I have to admit, although I think of Ethan with a guilty conscience, the party is really fun. I should be sitting in a chair somewhere, staring wistfully into the distance and holding a damp tissue in my hand. But I love to dance too much. It’s the first time I’ve had the chance since the memorable party in Cambridge. I’m sure no one there is as wild and boisterous as I am. It’s almost as if I developed a thirst for dancing that desperately needs to be quenched.

Just when I take a break to get something to drink, Jens appears in front of me. When he sees me, he smiles in joyful recognition. “Lea! Hey, how great to see you here! I thought you were in England.”

I look around for the fastest way to get away from him, but the room is so densely packed I’m practically pressed against his chest. I recognize the scent of the cologne he wore in Hohensyburg. It doesn’t smell half bad.

“Hello, Jens,” I say too curtly. “Who invited you?”

He winces. I’m a bit ashamed of myself for being so rude. He was so nice to help me out of my predicament in Hohensyburg, and things weren’t all that bad in Cambridge, either. So I say, “Sorry. That wasn’t very polite of me. I’m glad to see you again, Jens.”

He starts beaming immediately. When he looks at me like that because he’s so obviously happy to see me, something inside me thaws a little, and I feel warm inside. I don’t know how that happens. I’m definitely not cold. In fact, it’s quite stuffy and hot in here. And yet . . . I can’t quite put my finger on it. I probably drank too much. The alcohol is flowing quite freely. Everyone in the room has a bottle or glass in hand. Some people have indulged in other substances, too, but I leave those things alone.

Time marches on, and soon the hour is upon us. Everyone stares at their watches or their cell phones to see the moment when the old year finishes and the new year begins. “Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . .” Our voices rise to a crescendo, and we cheerfully cry in unison, “Zero!” Everyone then shouts, “Happy New Year!” and hugs. Suddenly, in all the tumult, Jens wraps his arms around me. “Happy New Year, Lea,” he says. He’s not loud and obnoxious, but gentle and insistent. Then he gives me a kiss—not on my forehead or cheek, but directly on the mouth. Is it my fault or his? His lips linger significantly longer on mine than necessary. What should I do? Normally I would be obliged to give him a resounding slap in the face because he so shamelessly exploited the chaotic moment. But . . .

When the kiss is over, Jens looks at me guiltily. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry, Lea. It won’t happen again.”

After such a lame excuse, I
definitely
should slap him, but here’s the problem: I feel the same way. I don’t know what came over me. Cross my heart, his kiss was pretty good. And Jens is such a nice guy I even buy his protestation of innocence.

“It’s okay, Jens,” I say. “Don’t worry about it. Come on, let’s dance some more.”

Just as we start to dance, Lisa swings past us with her partner. “I saw that,” she says, teasingly wagging her finger.

“What?” I ask.

“Your kiss. I couldn’t believe my eyes. What does that say about your committed relationship, Lea?”

I could strangle her. Furtively, I look at Jens to see his reaction. Apparently he hasn’t been on Facebook much this week, because he obviously doesn’t know. I should have told him the truth. Now, because he got zinged by the likes of Lisa, I don’t have to.

He abruptly lets go of me. “Crap!” he says. “If I had known, Lea, I wouldn’t have kissed you like that. I think I better leave now.”

And he’s gone. Over the heads of the other dancers, I see his shoulders droop as he goes to the door, grabs his jacket from the closet, and disappears. I feel so sorry for him. I really like him. I like how he’s funny and cheerful. I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun. We joked and laughed—it was almost as fun as the time we went to that restaurant in Hohensyburg. Yes, I do have a boyfriend, and he still is the man of my dreams. But it gives me no pleasure to hurt Jens.