“Frances. It’s good to see you,” he replies after another pause. “Did you have a good trip? Good, uh, first day?”
I didn’t know polished and self-assured Jacob was even capable of stumbling over his words, but I guess I’m not the only one who finds this entire affair uncomfortable.
“Yeah, it was, thanks. I gave my workshop, and it went well…” I trail off with a shrug.
“I’m glad you could make it,” Jacob says, his eyes sticking to me a little longer before he peels them away to a point over my shoulder. “Dr. North, welcome.”
“Nice to meet you.” Lewis leans around me to shake Jacob’s hand, while skipping the routine offer of his first name.
Vivienne’s voice pipes up from somewhere inside the apartment, “Is that Frances? And Lewis?” before she appears next to Jacob. The look she gives him is unreadable, but it settles into a smile as she turns to us. “What are you doing, keeping them outside? Come in, come in.”
Vivienne greets each of us with a kiss on each cheek, managing to simultaneously grab our bottle of wine and hold on to my arm to guide me into the apartment. With Lewis following close behind, Vivienne whisks me past the coatrack, into the living room that hits the right spot between inviting and understated. With the dark gray couch, the bookshelf occupying one of the walls, and the abstractly shaped floor lamp, it’s like walking into an upper-tier furniture showroom, but the stacks of colorful spines, framed art-house movie posters and bric-a-brac on the TV unit make it feel personal and lived-in. Jacob heads past us, through an arched doorway into the kitchen, while Vivienne leads us to a set of glass doors on the far side of the living room that opens up to a patio.
The other guests have gathered outside, where the evening air is balmy and the patio is dipped in shade, a relief after the pressing heat of the day. Vivienne leaves us after asking what we’d like to drink, and I watch the groups of people mill around the space. A wrought iron table holds a dozen steaming food containers, stacks of plates, and glassfuls of silverware. At the back, below a white painted wall, I spot a vegetable bed, thick stems and green leaves rising from crates filled with soil. Pottedplants—some palm trees, others flowering in bursts of purple or yellow—dot the patio, and on the floor and the wall, lanterns flicker with warm candlelight.
Vivienne returns with a glass of white wine for each of us, but since Lewis only hovers silently behind me, I have to restart the conversation. “It’s beautiful,” I say to her as she waves us over to the buffet. I heap my plate with roasted vegetables, a creamy cheese, and a layered dish of eggplant and tomato sauce.
She hums in agreement. “I had to bring a little bit of home with me.” Her smile is playful as she clinks her glass against mine, but dims down once she’s taken a sip. “It’s not always easy being so far away from family.”
I nod, knowing far too well what she’s talking about. “I haven’t lived close to home in ages, but usually it’s the time zones that get to me.”
“Yes. It’s hard to stay in touch when your days are so misaligned,” she agrees. “By the time I’m done with work, everyone back home is fast asleep. At least that’s something the two of you don’t have to worry about,” she adds, tipping her head at Lewis.
“Oh, right,” he says, as if the thought just occurred to him.
Once Vivienne has drifted into another conversation, I raise my eyebrows at him. “Focus,” I mutter. “If we’re the loving couple we’re pretending to be, you should know that there’s no time difference between the Netherlands and Germany.”
“Of course I know that,” he hisses back. “I’ve just never been in a relationship across time zones before.”
What kind of relationshipshashe been in then? Once it pops into my mind, the thought doesn’t let go of me. I shouldn’t care this much about his previous love life, but then again, he is currently posing as my boyfriend, and girlfriends usually know these things. Before I can ask though, Peter and some of myother former colleagues from Zurich trickle out through the patio door, and someone says hi to Lewis, pulling us apart.
For the next few hours, the few square feet of backyard work their magic on me, making the kickoff dinner far more pleasurable than I would’ve imagined. Several people promise to contact me whenever a position in their lab opens up, and I end up giving a newly minted postdoc from Sweden a rundown of things not to miss in New York. She adds me on her social media with the promise to talk to her boss about datasets they could share with me. This kind of networking is exactly what I had hoped to get out of the Sawyer’s, and I’m pleased to finally get to focus on it, now that Lewis has agreed to help me.
Later, in search of the bathroom, I accidentally step into what must be Jacob and Vivienne’s bedroom. Bleached wooden floorboards, linen curtains, a narrow desk, and a jar of seashells on the rattan dresser opposite the king-size bed. Along the walls hang framed art prints and a giant map of Manhattan. When I look at the dozens of tiny nails holding up the frames, the jealousy finally catches up with me. I’m surprised I’ve lasted this long.
This could have been mine.
It could have been me, living here, rolling out of bed in the morning, after a slumber under these sheets with a thread count of a million, then picking up a venti latte on my way to the subway. I’d be friends with the owners of the local coffee shop and they’d have my order ready to pick up when I walk through the doors. Because I’d have routines. No, even better. I’d have a five-year plan of where I want my life to go, and a group of gal pals that I got to know through my Pilates studio. I’d have a capsule wardrobe because it’s stylish, not because I’m still haunted by the excess baggage fees I had to pay at the airport when I moved countries the first time.
Laughter from the patio snaps me back into the here andnow.You didn’t want this, I remind myself.That’s why you left. You didn’t want to give up your own research interests and work toward someone else’s goals, so get a grip, Frances.I loosen my fingers from white-knuckling the door knob and leave the door at the angle I found it. As I’m pushing open the correct door to the bathroom, Vivienne rounds the corner into the corridor.
Adrenaline charges through my body, but I school my face into a neutral expression. “I was just…” I point at the open door to the bathroom.
She tucks away a strand of hair that has come loose from her updo. No signs of apprehension. A minute earlier and she would’ve found me snooping. What was I thinking? “Come by the kitchen on the way back. I want you to try a special wine from my hometown.”
Mortified, I lock myself in the bathroom. Not only have my feelings for Jacob been gone for years, but Vivienne’s also been nothing but kind ever since I arrived. She’s one of not many women working in computational neuroscience and someone who—like me—has been forced to move around the world in pursuit of her career. Seeing her as a competitor should be the last thing on my mind.
When I have pulled myself together and step back into the kitchen, I find Vivienne loading wineglasses into the dishwasher. She hands me a clean one from an overhead cupboard and pours me a glass. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“I am.” Mostly because I’ve seen little of Jacob. Somehow, I think Vivienne’s to thank for that. She’s all innocent questions and impeccable hosting skills, but I’ve seen her drink her wine cautiously all evening. I wouldn’t put it past her that she’s keeping an eye on us, nudging us in a way that has us avoiding each other naturally. She must know that Jacob and I didn’t part as friends, but I doubt she knows the full extent of why we broke up—which begs the question if she’s aware how self-servingJacob can be. If she were a friend, I’d pull her aside and make sure he’s not giving her the rinse-and-repeat of how he treated me, but I just met her and I barely know her, so it’s not like I can outrightaskif she’s okay.
“You have a lovely home,” I compliment her, sipping from my glass as I rack my brain for a way to steer the conversation to her and Jacob without seeming like I’m prying.
“Thank you. I’m glad to hear you’re having a good time. I hope your boyfriend is, too?”
“Oh, I’m sure he’s enjoying himself.” Truth is, I don’t know where Lewis is. I lost sight of him after we finished our food and he took away our plates.
After she closes the dishwasher and dries off her hands, Vivienne finds my eyes and says, almost whispering, “Honestly, I was a little nervous about you coming, with the situation being as it is.” She’s twirling her engagement ring around her finger just like she had in her office yesterday. “But I would really love for us to be friends, if that’s not too strange for you.”
