Adam puts his arm around Mebel’s shoulders and squeezes her before letting go. “I hope you know that even without Henk, you’d still be you. The Mebel we all love.”
Mebel smiles. When Adam leaves her room a while later, he does so with his head held high, no longer drooping like a wilted flower. Mebel watches him leave with pride fluttering in her chest. This young generation is so vibrant and strong, and yet vulnerable at the same time. She thinks of what Adam said about her being the Mebel they all love. It’s a curious feeling,to be loved by strangers. Well, not strangers. They are her friends now. And somehow, it feels like they are the only people who truly know her.
Henk has always known her as someone orbiting his life—first his girlfriend, then his wife, then the mother of his child. Sammy has always known her as someone who as a mother lives to cater to his needs. And her friends back home in Jakarta knew her as Mebel the trophy wife, just like themselves. She has never once talked to any of them about her own dreams and goals. She had no dreams, or goals, other than to be a trophy wife. This strange little group of friends she’s made here is the only one to talk of such things, and they’re filling her head with new ideas. Ideas that are exciting and scary and strange and so impossible to shake off.
The third day of the soup module, they learn to make lobster bisque, and Mebel doesn’t flinch this time at the task of taking apart the lobster. She handles it with confidence, uttering a short apology before plunging the tip of her chef’s knife into its head and ending its suffering. The rest she dispatches easily before working on the broth. Her lobster bisque comes out tasting so incredible that after class, Mebel suggests a picnic to Alain.
She brings a pot of her lobster bisque, as well as freshly baked baguettes that she filches from the bread baking class, and a punnet of nectarines she bought at Tesco a couple days ago. Alain brings a little jar of pâté, a jar of freshly made raspberry jam from Le Provençal, and a bottle of crisp wine. They go to the University Parks and find a relatively secluded spot away from the Frisbees and the joggers, and Alain unfolds a blanket. He watches as Mebel lowers herself gingerly onto it.
“Have you never been on a picnic?” he says after a while.
Mebel shakes her head. “Jakarta doesn’t have many parks. Well, it has some, but the parks are not so nice, not like this. The grass is patchy, lots of spots where it’s muddy soil, and people smoking in there. And it’s so hot and humid because Indonesia is a tropical country, so it’s not so nice staying outside. You just sweat all the time.”
“Ah, I see. So, this is your first picnic?” Alain straightens up, his eyes dancing. “Take off your shoes.”
“What?”Oh god, Mebel’s brain gibbers.This is it. This is his fetish. He is going to ask if he can suck on your toes right here, in the middle of the Oxford University Parks.And to Mebel’s horror, she isn’t completely turned off by the thought. She is 99 percent horrified and 1 percent excited. Wait, no, she has more dignity than that: 99.5 percent horrified and 0.5 percent excited—no, not excited. Curious. Yes, let’s go with that.
“You need to dig your toes into the grass, Mebel. Feel the beauty of nature.”
“Ah, okay.” Mebel gingerly takes off her Ferragamo shoes and tries to swallow the teeny tiny pang of disappointment she feels at the realization that Alain wasn’t trying to get her to go barefooted for some sex thing. God, those silly girls are such a terrible influence on her.
But when Mebel extends her legs and lets her bare feet rest on the damp Oxford grass, all thoughts of deviant sexual activity evaporate from her mind. Why hasn’t Mebel done this sooner? She did it before, so many years ago, at USC, didn’t she? Yes, she remembers now, sitting on the quad, unwrapping a sandwich, enjoying the warm Californian sun on her skin. And then what happened? Then she went back to Jakarta and got caught up inthe whirlwind of finding the perfect husband, and she never thought to sit barefoot on the grass anymore.
For a while, they are both quiet. She senses that Alain is letting her have this moment to herself, and she appreciates him for it. She has never been with anyone like him before. As a real estate tycoon, Henk proudly wears his business like a cloak. He is always on the go with two different cell phones, and they’re both always dinging with important messages he has to tend to right away. And Mebel admired him for it. She didn’t like men who were idle, because of course there’s always something to take care of, isn’t there? But Alain is teaching her to slow down, to touch the grass, literally, and what a strange feeling it is.
Mebel takes a deep breath, surrendering herself to this beautiful moment. She takes in her surroundings, the various different trees and plants around her in different shades of lush green. The trees in England are so different from the tropical ones that are found in Jakarta. The ones here are softer, dreamier somehow, their colors muted like a watercolor painting. She accepts a glass of wine from Alain, and as they clink their glasses, their eyes meet, and a shot of electricity travels all the way from her head down to her toes. They curl into the grass as Mebel’s cheeks redden.
“I would like to make love to you, Mebel,” Alain says.
Wine bursts out of Mebel’s mouth. She doubles over, coughing. When the coughing stops, she can barely meet Alain’s eye. “Sorry, I think I hear you wrong.”
“I don’t think so. Look, Mebel, you are a beautiful woman, I am a man who is very attracted to you, and we enjoy each other’s company very much, non?”
Mebel’s mouth opens and closes. “I—but—”
“Take your time and think about it. I do not expect an answer now.” Alain puts a spoonful of bisque in his mouth and his eyes close as he savors it. “You made this in class today?”
Mebel nods, still not trusting herself to speak. Did he just mention wanting to, uh, do intercourse and then swiftly change the subject to talking about her lobster bisque?
“It’s perfect. Mebel, you have a talent for cooking. Chef Clarke is very pleased with your progress.”
“He is?” Mebel says, momentarily forgetting the awkwardness of the moment.
“Oui. He says you have improved massively, and I can see that he is right.”
And maybe it’s the wine or the grass on her bare toes or the praise for her lobster bisque or the talk with Bella and Gemma about orgasms. Or maybe it’s just that Mebel is sick of doing whatever is expected of her. Her whole life, she’s followed the road laid out before her, no questions asked. She’d studied hard(ish) at school, gotten good(ish) grades at USC, restricted her diet mercilessly her entire adult life, and been as good a wife as possible, and look where that has gotten her. Barefoot at a park in Oxford, England, having a picnic with a handsome Frenchman.
Well, when put that way, it’s not so bad.
Wait, no, her mind snaps.It’s bad. It’s really bad. This is not how life is supposed to turn out.
Well, maybe life can shove it. Maybe it’s time for Mebel to let loose and have a bloody orgasm, damn it. Okay, maybe not a bloody one, that sounds rather dangerous, and like something that would hurt her back.
Whatever it is, Mebel turns to Alain and says, “Okay. Let’s do it. Let’s have the sex.”
Alain’s face breaks into a smile so wide the corners of his eyes crinkle. He clinks his glass to hers. “Wonderful. Let’s have the sex.”
The sex.
