Girls Who Travel (26 page)

“As Mr. Darling was just saying, we've made other arrangements for you work-wise, so please, not a word of this to the
girls. I would hate for us to part on a sour note and have to give you a poor recommendation after all your wonderful work.”

“There's a position open in Ronald Richmond's office. His PA needs an assistant. It's all sorted for you, Kika,” Mr. Darling piped in like he just did me the world's greatest favor.

I grimaced openly.

“We will speak about it when we return to London, and that's final.” Elsbeth sat back down looking shaky. She stared out at the sea with dead-fish eyes.

Primrose tapped her forearm in clumsy consolation. “Well done, darling. You must put these sort of girls in their places before—”

I turned around and barged out so I didn't have to hear another word out of Primrose, but I didn't move fast enough to escape hearing her call me a “right little bitch.”

56

T
HE
NEXT
WEEK
of vacation went by in a narcotic-like stupor, and before I knew it, we were on a private plane back to London. It was a lot less fun this time around.

Things were frigid and distant with Elsbeth, and she actively avoided me. I tried to talk to her about boarding school every chance I got, but it was no use.

The only information she gave me was that the girls were to finish out the school year in London, but by September—a mere few months away—the poor kids would be shipping out, me included, as there would be no need for an au pair once the girls were in Switzerland.

Once upon a time, I thought that the minute I got back to the Darlings' house in London, I'd run directly next door to Aston's. But now, more than ever, I worried that it may be too late.

I held my breath as I turned on my cell phone.
Maybe, just maybe, there will be something from
—nope. There was nothing from Aston.

Instead, a vile little message from Lochlon blinked onto the screen:

Figured out a way to live your dreams yet? I didn't mean to be cruel. Only wanted to make you more realistic. Truly sorry for being so dreadful to you. Part of me wishes we never left India. Please think well of me. I will always think well of you.

It took everything in me not to text him back something nasty. Not being able to discuss things with Elsbeth had me gunning for confrontation. But I knew it was a bad idea, and so I said nothing and deleted his phone number. I felt an immediate, sweeping relief.
How wonderful for that to be so anticlimactic
, I thought, feeling myself brighten ever so slightly.

Instead of sitting in my room and feeling sorry for myself, I holed up in Mina's to unpack her bags while she was at school. But as I hung up her clothing, my feelings against her going to boarding school grew stronger and stronger.

They were still so young. Both girls hadn't adjusted well to a new country while living with their parents, so who knew what would happen to them in a dorm room in Switzerland with strangers! I thought it was great for girls to start traveling so young, but this felt all too Hansel-and-Gretel-left-in-the-woods for my taste.

Maybe Elsbeth was right, and this was the best thing for
them down the line when things like networking and contacts mattered, but I would never, ever want to choose it for them without
asking
if it was what they wanted.

And of course I'd be out of a job. I couldn't act like that wouldn't royally suck. Mr. Darling pulled me aside to tell me more about the job with Richie Rich. In an unconcerned, psychotic way, he couldn't grasp that being back in New York and having that bridge troll, Bae Yoon, as my
direct boss
was anything but a delightful solution. Why did a personal assistant need a personal assistant, anyway?

I could barely muster a smothered “thanks.” I prayed that job wouldn't be my only option once I was “made redundant.” (What a bullshit phrase.)

But regardless, without the au pair gig, I didn't have a work visa for the UK, so I would most definitely be leaving.

I had some money saved up—enough for me to get an apartment in New York City or for a few months of travel. Never had travel been so alluring, so irresistible. Like an old friend, travel was reaching out for me with glittery, shiny promises of great adventures. Never had I needed travel more than now.
Come away and forget about it all
, it cooed in my ear.

I could visualize the trip I would take: I could go to the bank right now, empty out my account, and book a plane ticket to wherever was cheapest. I could make my way down the spine of South America, where beer was inexpensive and hammocks abundant.

But instead of ending the fantasy there—down on some beach in Punta del Este, Uruguay, playing barefoot soccer—I forced myself to continue. After the beach, after the beers, after the boys, I would have to return home, come back.
Back.
There
would always be a
back
to return to until Gypsies & Boxcars was profitable and self-sufficient. And the
back
after any trip I took now would be a deep, deep hole. I would have made no true progress and would have to start saving money all over again.

And so I turned away from the voice, telling it to shush. I would go back to Long Island and move in with my mom and take the job with Bae. I would leave my money in my savings account because it was my “more marshmallows money.” I intended on keeping up with my goals for Gypsies & Boxcars—though losing this job meant it would take a lot longer to save for the relaunch.

So much for the schedule that Celestynka had made me. Regardless, I would do things differently this time in order to get to where I wanted to go—even if that meant staying still for a while.

I felt a mean little pinch in my chest when I thought that Lochlon would
love
this: He forecasted my return to office life with my tail between my legs. In fact, nothing would make him happier or more self-satisfied. I feared that he secretly thought that if
he
couldn't live our dream life, then neither of us should.

I closed the wardrobe door, the clothes hanging like listless ghosts. I felt tears pooling. Even now, I couldn't help but to think about Aston and feel that knee jerk of disappointment.

Just then, Mina's door swung open. Celestynka stood at the doorway in a lime green miniskirt and high ponytail, her arms filled with aerosol cans and dust rags.

“Kika,” she said. “I did not know that you are back.”

“Hey, Celestynka,” I mumbled.

When she saw the look on my face, the cleaning products
dropped in a free fall from her arms. “What is happening?” She dashed over to me. “You break up with Lochlon?”

I shook my head, and the tears ruptured in hot, splotchy-faced misery.

“So Lochlon is okay?” she asked, confused.

“Oh no, we did break up,” I added. But before she got a chance to say anything else, I spoke up quickly. “But it's not that.”

Celestynka put her hands together to make a bowl shape and pleaded, “You no cry for Lochlon?”

Usually I corrected her English—she had gotten much better, but when she was emotional she regressed.

“No, I'm crying because . . . because . . . everything is messed up.”

“Tell me all,” Celestynka commanded, patting the bedspread beside her.

“The girls are being sent to boarding school in Switzerland!” I choked out. “But you cannot tell anyone,” I added, taking ahold of her wrists.

Celestynka pulled away and clutched her chest. “Why does Ms. Elsbeth want to send her babies away?”

“I don't get it, either, but come September both girls will be shipped away, and I'll be out of a job.”

Celestynka shook her head. “But this is no right. They have you leave America to work here.”

I sniffed back my tears. “Well, they'll get me another job back home, in an office.” (This realization led to a fresh burst of feelings.) “But I'm just sad for the girls.”

Celestynka made a disappointed ticking sound.

“Oh, and also, Celestynka,” I added with a miserable sniff. “You should probably know that I've fallen for Aston.”

Celestynka jumped off the bed. “Aston! But this is wonderful! How—”

“No.” I wiped my nose on my sleeve, finally getting control of my emotions. “It's not wonderful. Aston already has a girlfriend: that Chantelle Benson-Westwood with her fancy wardrobe and shiny Kate Middleton hair and shit-ton of money enough to buy—”

“Chantelle Benson-Westwood?” Celestynka repeated in perfect pronunciation.

I surveyed her. She was suddenly very clear-eyed. “Yes . . . how do you know—”

She shook her head into a motion blur. “I have Polish friend who is the child-minder for Mrs. Benson-Westwood.”

“Ah, so you, too, must know all about how perfect she is with her great media fortune and—”

“Chantelle is no right!” she said with real heat in her voice. “She has no great fortune, Kika. My friend, she tells me everything. Chantelle is bad, bad girl.”

“What are you talking about?”

Celestynka's eyes bugged out like a cartoon. “They lose whole fortune! Is great secret, but my friend knows because they talk in front of her because they think she's stupid and knows no English. They have no more money now.”

Celestynka let her knees release, and she thudded back down on the bed next to me, but I leapt up with a flourish.

“Oh my God,” I proclaimed. “You must be right, because Mina is in the same class as Chantelle's sister, Peaches, and she
told me that Peaches had to return her Louis Vuitton bags and her other fancy-pants crap. And she said they were selling her country estate.” Mina's words came back to me gradually. But then I sat back down. “But still, even without money, as Elsbeth pointed out, Chantelle knows the right people—”

“Fuck that!” Celestynka interjected by stamping her fist onto her thigh.

For a moment, I radiated with nothing but pride as her English teacher: She had used the word “fuck” perfectly! I gasped in admiration and almost broke out into applause.

“Do you not see, Kika?” Celestynka then rattled off sentences in fast-moving, impending Polish, and then stared at me like she just straight-up forgot she was speaking in a language I didn't understand.

“This girl, this
Chantelle
”—she said her name with scorn—“I am thinking she is only wanting to be with Aston for his fortunes.”

My mouth dropped open.

“You must tell him. You must,” she beseeched.

But before I could answer her, the door slung open again. This time it was Elsbeth.

57

“W
HAT
'
S
ALL
THE
racket in here?” Elsbeth challenged, filling Mina's room with her noxious black mood.

When Celestynka saw it was Elsbeth, she made apologetic mumblings and lowered her head. Shimmying her hips to put her skirt back in place, she hurried over to collect her cleaning supplies, muttering, “Sorry, sorry, Ms. Elsbeth.”

“You ladies are being awfully loud when I'm trying to read,” Elsbeth said as Celestynka scurried out of the room. Elsbeth obviously had the problem with me, not Celestynka.

“Sorry, Elsbeth,” I said without meeting her eyes. I hurriedly stowed the rest of Mina's clothing in her drawers. I wanted to get away from Elsbeth as soon as possible. Just as Celestynka had done, I scampered past. But Elsbeth shadowed me into the hall.

“Kika, a word, please.”

“Sure,” I said, entering Gwen's room. “I'll just unpack Gwendy's clothing, and—”

“Sit. Please!” she ordered, exasperated at my flurry of movement. It sounded just like she was reprimanding a misbehaving dog.

I obediently folded down on Gwen's bed.

Elsbeth pulled out a desk chair and sat, crossing her legs at the ankles. She expelled a saintly, long-suffering sigh before speaking. “Kika, I understand you're not happy about the girls going away to school, but we have made our decision. This is the best option for later in life when they will use the connections—”

“They're seven and thirteen,” I implored. “They have their whole life to network. Elsbeth, can't you at least
ask
them? It would be different if they wanted to go, but they—”

She held up her hand. “Enough. That is quite enough.” She screwed her eyes shut and opened them a moment later as if resetting herself. “This is not up for discussion. All I want to know is if you can do your job until September or if this will continue to have a negative effect on it.”

Instinctually, I knew that whatever I said next was crucial. But I had to speak up for the girls. Elsbeth had to know this was wrong. Everyone else could coddle her, but I would not. I wouldn't make this easy for her. I wouldn't make this neat or tidy. So I spoke the truth, though every word was another shovelful of dirt that would deepen the hole to my own grave.

“No, Elsbeth.” I got the feeling she wasn't told that very often. “It's not okay. Of course this is going to affect my job. I can't just pretend—”

“That's all I needed to hear, Kika.” Elsbeth studied her
lap. “I think it's best if we went our separate ways.” She paused. “Of course we'll give you a good reference, and Mr. Darling will make that phone call for you to make sure you have a job in New York . . .” She let her voice trail off.

“Oh, lamb. I know this isn't ideal for you,” she said, for the first time sounding like herself. “But I cannot have you in my ear for the next few months trying to talk me out of this. It's settled. Their tuition has already been paid, and all the arrangements have been made. Do you understand that, Kika?”

I stood, and my arms dropped to my sides in a rag doll flop. “No, Elsbeth. I'm sorry, but I don't understand. And I never will.”

She toyed with her wedding band. “I thought as much. You're welcome to stay for the rest of the week to get your plans sorted, but we've booked your plane ticket for Friday at seven
P.M.
Mr. Darling and I have agreed that this is more than sufficient and fair. We will tell the girls on Friday when they return from school—right before you leave, so as not to distress them sooner.”

I couldn't say anything. She had cobbled together the whole plan even before talking to me about it. There was no detail left to grapple over. It was decided.

Elsbeth got up and walked out, but not before looking back at me with a look that proved she was sorry, though she'd never say it.

•   •   •

I
WENT
TO
my room and lay on my bed and memorized the ceiling. It was officially done—and so much sooner than I anticipated. I remembered the promise I made to myself after
I was fired from VoyageCorp to give this job my all. I guess my all wasn't enough.

I thought of Bae Yoon at this moment. Wouldn't she do everything in her power—including lying to Elsbeth about her feelings—to keep her job? To make herself relevant? To keep moving forward, progressing with that blistering speed that came so naturally to her?

But I was no Bae Yoon. I would always have to speak up with my true feelings. And that would be my downfall.

“Is everything okay?” texted Celestynka when she left the house, not daring to come by my room to say good-bye.

“Yeah, it's fine. You didn't get in trouble, did you?” I texted back. I couldn't bear to tell her that I was leaving on Friday.

My phone buzzed practically right after I punched the “send” key: “All is okay. Ms. Elsbeth just tells me to chat less, clean more. I don't mind. But you are all right? You will talk to Aston now?”

I thought to myself:
He
does
deserve to know that the nasty Chantelle may be using him for his money.

“You must tell him the truth. Even if he is angry with you for it or does not believe you,” she instructed me as if she read my thoughts. “You also must tell him your feelings,” she added.

My insides cramped and quivered at the thought of seeing him again.
Yeah, okay, I get it
, I told my belly.
I do like him. But what good is it now that I'm leaving?

“I don't know. I'm getting cold feet,” I finally texted Celestynka back.

A few minutes later my phone vibrated with a response: “Put on socks, then! But after, you must talk to Aston.”