She stared at Grandma Tea’s ring for another moment before stowing it in the tiniest pocket of her jeans. Satisfied, she snapped the ring box shut, replaced her mother’s jewelry, and headed toward her room to grab her “forgotten” passport.
ELEVEN
Erin: I am lying on a picnic table on the other side of the world.
Litha: What time is it?
Erin: Three in the morning.
Litha: Yay for one day down!
Erin: I guess.
Litha: How’s New Zealand?
Erin: Don’t know. I’ve been in the airport and at this house.
Litha: Cool house?
Erin: I don’t want to talk about it.
Litha: ☹ Practice last night was cuh-ray-zee. Be glad you missed it.
Erin: Glad. Check.
Litha: I saw Ben at the pool last night.
Erin’s stomach lurched. Imagining Current Ben was more painful than remembering Historical Ben. She couldn’t ask about him. She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want Lalitha to know she desperately wanted to know everything.
Litha: He asked how you were, and I told him he was not privileged enough to know.
Erin: Thanks.
Litha: Said he deserved to know since he still had feelings for you, and I told him to fuck right off.
Ben still had feelings for her, but which ones? The lovey, half-naked feelings of the eleven months they’d dated? Or the vile hatred of the last two months? It was a vital distinction.
Erin: What did he say to that?
Erin: What kind of feelings do you think he has?
Litha: Who cares about his feelings?
Erin: I just wonder whether he’s missing me.
Litha: Of course he’s missing you.
Litha: And now he has to start a relationship from scratch.
Erin’s breath caught in her throat. Ben was starting over.
Erin: With whom? With whom?!?!?!
Litha: Claudia Quigley told me he called her Monday night.
Litha: She had a million questions about him.
Erin: What did you tell her?
Litha: The truth.
Erin: Which truth?
Litha: That you’re awesome and Ben sucks. She asked if she could call you.
Erin: HELL NO
Litha: That’s what I said.
Erin: I mean, yeah, she can call if she wants, but why would she want to talk to me?
Litha: He told her he was interested in her brain.
Erin: Are you shitting me?
Litha: Nope.
Erin: Worked on one swimmer, guess it’ll work on them all!
Litha: She thought it was weird.
Erin: It was weird, except he’s so charming that it works.
Erin: I cannot believe I fell for that.
Litha: You were enamored.
Erin: You misspelled horny.
Litha: HAHAHAHA
Erin: You tell her that Ben is all talk.
Erin: He will LOVE her and FOREVER her and SOLID her, but he’s all about Ben.
Erin: Tell her if one thing goes wrong, he will bolt.
Litha: Will do.
Litha: Hey, I’m headed to North Beach. Catch you later?
Erin: Yeah. Miss you. ♥
Lalitha disappeared, leaving Erin alone again with the clouds. Thousands of miles away, America was awake. But here, Christchurch was sleeping. Or most of Christchurch was sleeping. An hour ago, Good-Time Girl posted snaps of a party on a beach. In winter.
Erin had been stalking Good-Time Girl for weeks; she now thought of her as the closest thing she had to a friend in New Zealand.
Erin could create a parody account, Sad Lonely Girl, for snaps of the cloudy night sky.
She couldn’t help thinking there was no room for her on this huge planet, spinning rapidly as it circled the sun.
In this vast world, she had only one friend. But then, Lalitha was always exactly the friend she needed, so she couldn’t complain.
Lalitha swooped into Erin’s bedroom wearing the white Steven Rosengard dress Erin had coveted from the June issue of Marie Claire. Lalitha’s dress was only half-white, though; the back was a million shades of green, the letter L stamped in a hundred different fonts.
Erin couldn’t keep her mouth shut. “That dress!”
“You like?” The dress flared as she twirled.
Erin nodded, but no. You do not take a seven-hundred-dollar designer dress and stamp it to make it your own. It was like a high-end bumper sticker, and Erin didn’t do those either.
Lalitha’s face fell. “Have you been drinking?”
Erin didn’t move. “Uh. Maybe never again. Lalitha, I can’t do this.”
“Then don’t go.”
“I don’t want to go, but I have to go. And I meant the packing.”
“Yeah, I thought you’d be done by now. I brought you a parting gift.” She handed Erin a cardboard poster tube.
“Oh, Li. I found one.” Erin pointed to her suitcase, where a tube protected a poster of Sol Gabetta and her cello, a group photo from last summer at Harvard, and a Chicago skyline.
“Open it.”
Eagerly, Erin unfurled a poster from Catch Me if You Can. She grinned at Lalitha, who had taken her to see the musical in New York. They both had their posters signed backstage, but Erin’s mother had recycled hers. Claire had final say on all art in the house and had chosen for Erin’s room framed impressionist oils, family portraits, and a pencil drawing of Yo-Yo Ma. Yo-Yo Ma’s audio was amazing, but his photograph did not inspire.
But, for five glorious months in Christchurch, Catch Me if You Can would be Erin’s again.
“You’re the best,” Erin said.
“Tell me that after we pare down your luggage. Preparing for life abroad is a life skill.”
“It is a skill I do not possess.”
“Yeah, but I do.” Lalitha upended the FedEx box and dumped the contents of Erin’s suitcase. “Eleven summers in Bhiwandi. Three Indian wedding trips. I have a system. You don’t even need FedEx.”
Erin pulled herself to sitting. “New Zealand has winter, Li. Right now. I’m doing winter in the suitcase and summer in the box.”
“You are so not a traveler.”
“I’ve traveled plenty.”
“You vacation,” Lalitha said. “You don’t travel. Try spending months at a time in India. Be practical: take five pairs of pants that go with everything and ten interchangeable tops. You can layer for winter or dress up as needed. Choose lightweight stuff so you don’t go over weight.”
“I have really pared down.” Erin pointed to a pile of clothes on the floor. “Winter is the problem.”
Lalitha tapped
