In Love with a Gentleman (26 page)

I vacillate. This is not an easy decision. I like the game. I love it when the colorful little candies whir all over the screen. I would miss it. Theoretically, I could reinstall it later when I’m back in Gatingstone, but I somehow don’t think I’d be able to face myself if I did that. I’m moved that my friends care so much about me and my admittedly ludicrous addiction. I don’t want to disappoint them. Also, there’s a little voice in the back of my mind that whispers,
They’re right, Lea, and you know it. You spend way too much time on this crap.

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll do it!”

Everyone gathers around me to look over my shoulder as I uninstall the game. They all sigh in relief.

“Now let’s go to the harbor and party!” Inez says. “Come on! Last one’s a rotten egg!”

“No,” Catherine giggles, “last one’s a licorice monster!”

We pull on our jackets, lock up the house, and storm down the steps to the harbor. We find a local fishermen’s pub where music’s playing and spend a relaxed evening of convivial drinking there. Hours later, we creep up the steep stairs and fall into our beds, exhausted but happy.

The following days of vacation are wonderful. We explore the entire area. One day we take the car on the ferry to the famous St. Michael’s Mount, an island offshore that can only be reached during low tide. There’s a small town on the island with an old monastery and several old houses. Denise and Catherine are delighted; there’s also an island called Mont Saint-Michel back home in France.

We’re walking along a path in low tide when Inez suddenly stops, frantic. She calls out in desperation, “Stop, I’ve lost my contact lens!” We all immediately fall onto our hands and knees and carefully search the ground inch by inch. Wringing her hands, Inez stands by and wails, “Please don’t step on it or I’m screwed!”

After a long search, I discover a drop of water on the ground where there is no water. I lick the tip of my finger and carefully tap it. The drop sticks. It’s Inez’s contact lens.

“I don’t believe it! You found it, Lea! You rescued me!” Inez is ecstatic.

I feel as though I’ve just crossed the licorice bridge. The task—find the contact lens on the much-used tourist path—was extremely tricky, but I did it. Fantastic!

Back on the mainland that evening at Peter’s Pub, our new hangout, Inez buys me another drink.

“Something fishy is going on here,” I tease after I work through the foam on my beer and take a deep gulp. “First you wean me off one addiction, and now you girls get me started on a new one!”

The next day, Denise pulls me into a small yarn store. “I’m going to teach you something you’ll use your whole life,” she says mysteriously. She brings two balls of wool yarn and a set of knitting needles to the cash register. “I’ll teach you how to knit socks. If you learn how to do this, you’ll have every man eating out of your hand. Men love hand-knitted socks.”

“Maybe the men in Brittany, where it’s cold and windy,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “Here in the civilized part of the world, we have something called central heating. Have you heard of it?”

Nevertheless, I sit next to her on the sofa and let her show me how to cast on yarn and knit with circular needles. It’s terribly tricky, and occasionally I swear so loudly I startle the rest of the household.

Catherine can’t help herself. “You look even less relaxed now than you did when you were playing your game, Lea.”

But little by little, I become more adept at knitting. When Denise praises me, I feel a similar sense of accomplishment as I did when playing my game. And when I finish one sock, the other takes half the time. Even better. The pair I knit are obviously too big for me, so I plan on giving them to Ethan to show him that I thought about him the whole time. I wonder if he’s thinking about me? Sometimes I get a little panicky. Going solo over spring break was an extremely bold move. Maybe Ethan will use it as an opportunity to break up with me. I’m so happy I’m with my friends, though. They distract me from my worries. Not only that, but I can’t help feeling that something positive is happening to me. Day by day, I feel happier and more relaxed.

One day we drive to the westernmost corner of Great Britain, the famous Land’s End. Catherine takes me aside and says, “Lea, it’s so great to be here with you. You’re more like your old self, so funny and quirky. I really like Inez, and I’m close to my sister, but it just wouldn’t be nearly as much fun without you.”

“Oh nonsense,” I say. “You’re just saying that.”

But Catherine shakes her head vehemently and says, “No, I’m not just saying that, Lea. Inez says exactly the same thing. You exude such a
joie de vivre
, it’s really amazing.”

That night, I think about what she said before I fall asleep. Is she right? Have I rediscovered the old Lea while on vacation with my friends? Could it be that she didn’t really die, but was just waiting until the conditions were right so she could call the shots again? But something in the back of my mind nags at me. If the old Lea is really back, what’s going to happen with Ethan and me? Will Ethan still like me if I come back the same youthful and free-spirited girl I was before?
In that case, a pair of hand-knitted socks won’t be much consolation for him
, I think cynically.

Chapter 13

Although I uninstalled the stupid game, I’m still not as relaxed as Catherine thinks. Occasionally I pull away from my friends and go on a walk by myself. I stand on top of the cliff and stare out over the sea, which is exactly as far, wide, and mysterious as my future.

We rent some horses. I never really learned how to ride, but Denise, Catherine, and Inez are quite familiar with it. “We’ll ride down to the sea,” they say adventurously. I suggest that they go without me, but they won’t give up. “We’ll find a horse for you that’s as gentle as a lamb. Every stable has at least one good horse you can ride,” they say, but it turns out that the “good” horse likes to dawdle along the way and nibble on vegetation next to the path.

“Oh man! Lea!” Inez calls in frustration. Everyone is waiting on me and my horse yet again. “What are you doing? You have to show him who’s boss. You gotta use your heels!”

I sigh. Even horseback riding somehow relates to my current problem. I just can’t do it. I can’t be tough and kick this poor horse in the sides—I’d rather get off and walk. It’s the same with Ethan and me. I should have stood up for myself from the beginning, instead of allowing him to have his way with everything. Sometimes, my heart sinks when I realize it’s probably too late to pull the reins in now.

Our vacation is drawing to an end. The weather has spoiled us. It’s amazingly warm for this time of year. We decide to make a fire on the beach for our last night. We pack a basket with bread, sausage, German potato salad, and a big jug of hard cider. We each bring a blanket. Well fed and slightly tipsy, we sit around the fire, reflecting on our past and our future. The sea is calm, and our conversation is interrupted only by the gentle slap of breaking waves and the peeping of the sandpipers.

“So what’s going to happen, Catherine?” I ask. “Are you definitely going to stay with Christian?”

Catherine smiles warmly. “I think so. Unless he changes when I go back, but that’s highly unlikely.”

“And you, Inez?”

“I’m still single and hope to stay that way for a while. My ex-boyfriend was so needy, I almost swore off love altogether.”

Denise interjects, “But why? You see with Catherine and Christian that people can change if you have a little patience. Christian really has totally turned things around since my sister moved to England.”

Inez takes a long drink of her cider, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and shakes her head. “I’m happy for Catherine, but honestly, I think that what happened with Christian is a stroke of dumb luck, an anomaly. In my opinion, if two people don’t get along well from the beginning, then it’s better that they go their separate ways. I wouldn’t like it if a guy wanted to change or train me in some way. He should be totally into me, Inez, just the way I am.” Her eyes shine brightly, and she adds confidently, “I think that’s the least anyone can expect, right?”

Denise and Catherine smile approvingly, but her words stab me in the heart. I know it’s not that way between Ethan and me. Maybe he’s in love with me, but he’s not totally into me just the way I am. That’s definitely not the case—Ethan has tried his hardest to change me according to his own tastes because there are so many things about me he doesn’t like.

Inez continues, “And vice versa. I don’t think it’s okay to secretly cook up a plan to change a guy just because you don’t like something about him. If I were a guy, I would think it’s terribly unfair and quite deceptive.”

I feel like I’ve been caught. That is exactly what I’ve been planning. I’m working on a plan to teach Ethan not to treat me so poorly. I was so head over heels about him in the beginning I couldn’t recognize his shortcomings. Now I view him more critically and want to change him.

Denise looks at Inez skeptically. “If the rest of mankind felt the same way, we would have become extinct a long time ago, Inez. I don’t believe a couple can possibly get along 100 percent right from the beginning. There’s no such thing as a perfect world—people have to adjust to one another.”

Catherine joins in. “Yes, but that only works if you keep the other person’s well-being in mind. You have to respect each other, otherwise all bets are off.” She pauses and looks at me meaningfully. I know what she’s alluding to, but I don’t say anything.

Denise throws a piece of wood onto the fire. Sparks fly up, swirling high and vanishing in the black night sky. My friends’ faces suddenly flash in the light of the dancing flames. “That assumes that you’re totally honest with each other from the beginning and don’t pretend to be someone else in order to impress the other person. Otherwise, you have no idea what you’re getting into.”

Inez says, “But everybody does that at first. People will stop at nothing to impress a potential romantic interest.”

I clear my throat and say hoarsely, “But at some point, you have to stop faking it. You can’t keep that up forever.”

The others regard me searchingly. Or am I only imagining it? I have the feeling this whole conversation revolves around me and my problems with Ethan. It makes me jittery. Are they conspiring against me? Maybe they’ve all vowed to help me. Who knows? Oh nonsense. I’m acting like I’m a victim or something. Nevertheless, I’m tired of the subject—as if I don’t think about it enough already.

I leap to my feet, fold up my blanket, and say abruptly, “I’m cold. I’m going back to the house. You girls can stay if you want to.”

“No, we’re coming with you,” they all murmur. We throw sand on the fire until it dies out, gather our belongings, and stumble over the uneven sand into the night, toward the village.

I walk ahead of them. I want to be alone with my thoughts, which are whirling around wildly in my head, like sparks in the night sky. If it’s really true that trying to change your boyfriend is deceptive, then my plan was over before it even started.
Great
, I think desperately,
what now
? What on earth should I do? Continue to play the obedient little mosquito who idolizes Ethan? Get married—if Ethan even wants to marry me? Just the thought of it gives me a stomachache. No, I don’t want that anymore. Ethan needs to love me, the real Lea. Otherwise . . .

The more I think about it, the harder it hits me. Something has become abundantly clear to me: I’m addicted to Ethan. And because of my addiction, I’ve done all the things I promised myself I would never do. I changed myself, suppressed my true nature, and pretended to be someone I’m not.

As I pant and wheeze up the stone steps to our house, I make a solemn vow to myself. I’ll write Ethan an e-mail tonight and tell him exactly who I am. I’ll ask him to think things over carefully and decide whether he truly wants to be with the real me. I know I’ll be risking a lot, but after this vacation, I have no desire to continue with this charade. I’ve rediscovered my old self and feel happier and more balanced than I have in months. I straighten my back and lift my head. I will never, ever give myself up again for any man in the world.

When we enter the house, everyone finds their usual spot. Denise plunks down on a dining room chair with her knitting, while Catherine and Inez each sit in a corner of the sofa. I curl up in an armchair and begin to compose my message to Ethan. It’s incredibly difficult, because I want to find the right words. I keep starting over, erasing everything and beginning all over again. In the old days before the Internet, there would be a giant mountain of crumpled-up paper on the floor next to me. As my friends chat about this and that, I tune out their voices and write:

I have to tell you something. When we met almost one year ago, you were amazed by my high-spirited nature and love of life. I think it’s important that you know the reason I am the way I am. It’s difficult for me to speak about it, so I’ve always avoided the subject.

Something terrible happened when I was still in school. My friend Mia had just gotten her driver’s license. I was unbelievably excited about her passing the test, so when she asked me if I would like to join her on her “maiden voyage,” I said yes immediately. We started at her parents’ house in south Bielefeld and drove toward Münster. To get there, you have to drive over a mountain pass on the edge of the Teutoburg Forest. This road is dangerous because it has so many blind corners. Mia lost control of the car, and we crashed into a tree head-on. She was killed instantly, and I was in a coma for six months. Later, I found out that I’d been given up for dead. Against all odds, I survived. I had a difficult rehabilitation. I had to learn to speak and walk again.

The fact of the matter is, I survived the accident. Because of this, I realized deep down how precious life is, and I cherish every moment I’m able to live on this earth. So that’s where my high-spirited personality, which you find so “unusual,” comes from. Everyone who hangs out with me has to put up with it. This unbridled lust for life is a part of me, like my arms and legs. Trying to deny this integral part of myself feels like an amputation. The phantom pain would kill me. Well, think this over, and let me know whether you can put up with me the way I am or not.

That’s the whole letter. When I finish it, I reread it at least twenty times. I decide against writing “Hugs and kisses,” “Love,” or any other meaningless closing. Ethan will see it’s from me. I search for his address, hesitate a moment, then hit “Send.”

Suddenly Inez springs to my side. “What are you doing on your phone?” she says. “Are you playing another stupid game? Give me your phone!” She tries to snatch it out of my hand.

“No, I’m not playing at all,” I say fiercely. “Get your hands off my phone. Hey, give it here!”

We wrestle with the phone for a moment, but I manage to grab it. “Inez, you idiot!” I yell. “If you broke my phone, I’m going to be so mad at you. I just wrote an e-mail, that’s all.”

Immediately I have everybody’s undivided attention.

“A private e-mail,” I say emphatically. I turn my phone off and put it in my pocket. “I’m going to pack now, and then I’m going to sleep. I think we’re leaving pretty early tomorrow.”

As I toss and turn, a thousand thoughts torment me. Has Ethan already read my message, or is he reading it right now, at this very moment? If so, how will he react? What will he think of me? Will he understand what I mean? Maybe I should have made it a little bit clearer to what extent I’d hidden my true self and changed for him. Maybe I should turn my phone on and write another e-mail to explain that . . . This is crazy. I’m so stressed out that I get a raging headache, and I lie awake the whole night.

In the morning, there is no answer. During the whole long ride back to Gatingstone, I stare at my phone. I put it away, then pick it back up again. I think about calling Ethan at a rest stop so I can apologize, but I don’t. He got my message, and he can do with it what he wants. It’s like I folded up a paper boat like we used to do as children and set it afloat on a little pond. Now I just have to see where it ends up.

When we reach London, a short message comes through:
When will you be at Alice’s?

My heart pounding, I write,
Around three.

Okay
. Nothing more.

We say good-bye to Inez in Brantwood, and then the three of us continue to Gatingstone. As we turn into Weaver’s Mews, I see Ethan’s car parked in front of Rose Cottage. My heart sinks. What’s going to happen? I’m totally exhausted from the long trip. I wish we could just turn around and drive back to Polperro.

“Well, someone can’t wait to see you again,” Denise says, nodding in the car’s direction. Just then, the car door opens and Ethan steps out. He casually leans against the car and waits until we stop. He steps up to pull my suitcase out of the trunk.
He’s such a gentleman
, I think to my dismay. He looks unbelievably handsome, as always. I wave good-bye to the girls, then turn toward him and wait. I’m holding my breath.

“Come on, Lea,” he says. “Let’s take a little walk.”

I nod mutely and quickly put the suitcase in the hall. We stroll down a country lane that leads away from the village. Very soon we find ourselves under a clear-blue sky. Larks twitter above us, and daisies, dandelions, and violets are in bloom. We haven’t hugged or kissed yet. An almost unbearable tension hangs between us.

Suddenly Ethan stops and says, “What did you mean by sending me that message, Lea? That I don’t appreciate who you really are and rob you of your joy for life?”

I look at him directly. “No, not that, Ethan . . . Or, actually, yes.” I stiffen and say firmly, “It’s true. Since we’ve been together, you’ve constantly reproached me for being this way or that way.”

Ethan wrinkles his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I’m a cheerful, happy person, hungry for life. I love being silly and boisterous. There’s so much that makes me laugh and smile. I know you think that’s childish and naïve, but I want to be like that when I’m a hundred-year-old grandma. I always want to have that sense of well-being.”

He looks at me sternly, as if he’s administering my final exams or—as they say in England—my A Levels. I keep talking because he’s finally listening to me. Everything just pours out of me. “I love not being 100 percent perfect all the time. I even like making mistakes, simply because I love being spontaneous and laughing about it afterward.”

Ethan looks as though he’s boring a hole through my skull. Then he says, “Like when you thoughtlessly got into a car with a new driver and almost got killed? Do you mean that kind of mistake?”

I turn to stone. How can he say something like that? How can he take the confidential information that I shared with him and turn it against me? All at once, it’s brutally clear to me: Ethan never really knew, loved, or even tried to understand me. And he’ll never be able to, either. He is who he is. I look at my beautiful, wonderful Ethan, completely bewildered. I know that it’s finally over. But Ethan doesn’t seem to notice, of course. He shakes his head, as if he wants to shoo away a pesky fly.

Then he says, “I thought we straightened all that out, mosquito. I’ve already forgiven you for everything.”