See you upstairs, Lili said, leaving Amina in the pharmacy.Good luck with your meeting.
Now, the whoosh of the train car door, surge of outside noise, as a group of French teenagers walk into the carriage. Babble of French, green bottles of Badoit and plastic-wrapped sandwiches from the bar car, their hands grasping headrests for balance as they find their seats.
Lili stares out the window.
The loneliness crowds in so much stronger, tenser, tighter.
They get a rental car at the train station. It has a manual transmission. James and Amina argue over who drives, while Lili lets the sun rest on her face.
Amina knows the area well, spent childhood summers coming here.As she drives, she points out hilltop villages. The windows are rolled down, and a warm wind drifts through the car. All around them, sun gloss and softness. Lush pines, terra-cotta rooftops, bright sun of the French Riviera, the smell of orange blossoms.
The house is beautiful. The undergrowth outside the iron gate buzzes with insects; the long driveway crunches under the car tires as they drive past a row of cypress trees leading to the huge ocher villa. It’s soothingly quiet, with the thrum of cicadas, laden fig trees. Nearby, the sea.
As her friends unpack, Lili wanders through the house. It is cool, even in the high heat. The sound of unseen water cascades, birds chirping. An open cookbook, peaches in the kitchen. Windows look out on the backyard, the pool, and the glimmering expanse of the sea. Bougainvillea climbs over the trellis, shading the dining terrace, heavy with fragrance and the buzz of bees.
Lili heads outside. She sits by the pool, finds her cigarettes.
As she settles, the wind off the Mediterranean knocks together the heads of the flowers nearby: sun-warmed peonies, the scent of fully blossomed honeysuckle.
It’s extravagant, all of it—beyond extravagant, but she doesn’t have the energy to protest it; doesn’t really feel like a person.
Behind her, in the house, she hears the footsteps and voices of her friends.
Lili sits by the pool—dusk arriving, an immense sky over the sea—and tries, again, to breathe. Her fingers, holding her cigarette, are clumsy.
This is it, now.
This is how we learn to breathe underwater.
This is how we learn to live, without.
Leo season is over.
When she comes back inside, James has started cooking dinner. Onions sizzle in the pan, fat heirloom tomatoes, a block of cheese in wax paper. Amina is chopping tarragon on the wooden butcher block.
“I was thinking we could take the boat out tomorrow,” James says, stirring risotto. “I can manage most of the sailing if you two just help with some of the ropes.”
Amina hums in agreement. “Let’s do that. We can head out early, spend the day. Li, I packed a couple of your swimsuits, I wasn’t sure which one you’d want.”
“You guys can go without me,” Lili says.
James looks at her, sharply. Amina just sighs.
“We told you, we’d like to spend time with you,” she says.
Lili shakes her head. “You don’t have to do that, Ami—the pretending.”
“We’re notpretending—”
“You didn’t come to France to lug me around,” Lili insists. “You didn’t plan this holiday to have me crash. I’m totally fine, I can take care of myself—you’ve done enough, both of you. I don’t want to ruin your entire vacation.”
“You’re not ruining anything—we want to hang out with you, we want totalkto you—”
“Amina, please,” Lili begs, the keenness of her voice rising above the pitch of her friend’s words. “Please, just—I just...”
Silence hovers for a few uncomfortable beats. She feels a rush of embarrassment, and shame: how they keep trying to take care of her, how they’ve insisted on paying for all of this—the family villa, the food—and she doesn’t know how not to ruin it: with her presence, with her absence.
Another sigh falls heavy. Almost exasperated, but mostly sad. Lili doesn’t look at them.
