“That’s beautiful, Abs.”
“Yeah, well, Canada’s got a lot of the natural beauty. That’s what they say in the brochures.”
“You’re not actually going to move there, though, right?”
I hesitated, swinging the phone back toward my face. “I would have to look into visas and everything, but I could.”
Laura said nothing. Then she said, “I just think it would be lonely.”
“I’ve made a few friends already. They’re in an improv comedy troupe.”
“Good God.”
“I know.” I laughed. “These are the kinds of things that happen to me when I leave the borders of Brooklyn. I may even go to one of their shows.”
“Are you okay? No one has indoctrinated you, right? Blink twice if someone’s forcing you to learn to unicycle and start wearing pageboy caps.”
“This is just an experiment,” I said, feeling tempted to add, ‘like your life is right now,’ but I didn’t. No point in starting a fight.
“We miss you,” said Laura.
“I miss you, too.”
After we got off the phone, I had a horrible thought. What if everything worked out perfectly with Nick? Would I move to Atlanta? Or lose them forever?
4
“IT’S A TRICK WE PLAY ON TOURISTS”
After Lisette leftto go stay with her handsome friend Paul, I spent the next couple of days entertaining myself by trying to figure things out about Charlotte, the woman I was subletting from, based strictly on her apartment.
Number one: she had a series of artsy photos of boats from somewhere called Makkovik, which I looked up. It’s an Inuit town, so I’m guessing that’s where she’s from. Makkovik is on the coast of Labrador, which is a spectacularly beautiful part of the Canadian mainland that is part of the same governmental province as Newfoundland. My guess is that she came to St. John’s for work or college or a crush on a fisherman and decided to stay.
Number two: she really likes Ben Affleck. Her movie collection is eight DVDs shoved in a drawer, and three of them are Ben Affleck movies:Good Will Hunting,Argo, andThe Town. I would not be surprised if her fisherman boyfriend ends up being a dark-haired guy who looks like he could use a second shave by 9:30 in the morning.
Number three: she kills houseplants. She has a small collection of succulents that are barely hanging onto life, and a big pile of empty flowerpots under the kitchen sink that hint atprevious losses, like she’s some kind of horticultural Bluebeard. I don’t think all that carnage could have happened under Lisette’s watch, either. My guess is that Charlotte wants to be the kind of person who keeps plants healthy, but can’t quite manage it, which I definitely relate to; I went through a decade trying to keep various plants alive through the dry, overheated winter in my New York apartments before I discovered the power of humidifiers. So I felt a wave of fellow feeling for Charlotte when I discovered her hidden graveyard.
Number four: she has a disproportionate amount of obscene, punny mugs. A ‘Tits and Boobies’ mug with various birds on it. (Get it, a tufted titmouse?) An ‘I Spread for Nutella’ mug with a drawing of Nutella on toast that manages to feel lascivious. A soap dispenser that says, ‘Clean Hands, Dirty Mind.’ I wonder how many of them are gifts. My bet is all of them, recalling my own birthdays in my twenties.
Number five: she is not a book reader, except for a couple of thriller novels in her bedroom:The Pelican Brief, Cormac McCarthy’sThe Road,Gone Girl. Wait a minute, didn’t theGone Girlmovie have Ben Affleck?
I guess none of that really mattered, but it made me feel less lonely while I passed the time waiting for an improv show and an actual face-to-face conversation with other human beings. I was so lonely that I even thought about texting Lisette so I could stop by the coffee shop where she worked, but that seemed a little needy. This trip was supposed to be about figuring out who I was without my sister Laura, not seizing the first Laura-replacement that I found and hanging on for dear life.
I also did my second load of laundry and finally encountered Mrs. Mahoney in the flesh.
A few moments after I started the washer and was on my way upstairs, a wiry woman with short iron-grey hair opened herdoor on the first floor and said, without introduction, “You know that’s very loud.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I gave my best good-neighbor smile. “If you let me know a convenient time for you when it won’t be disturbing, I’ll do it then.”
“It’s always too loud.”
“Well, I’m sorry about that. Hey, do you know of any nice restaurants near here? I’m looking for a good place to order dinner.”
“You’re allowed to do laundry once a week, that’s it.”
“That’s probably how often I’ll do it.”
“That’s how often you’re allowed to do it.”
