talking about. They must have graphic design schools. And you’d keep drawing, of course.”
“What about my job?” Kate had just gone from part-time to full-time at an art-supply store in Hampstead.
“Well, that’s not a career, exactly, is it?”
Kate, who agreed with her mother on that point, was annoyed nonetheless and said nothing. A part of her knew that this was the type of situation she’d be foolish to turn down. Six months in another country. She’d never been to America, and Boston was supposed to be nice. A manageable city, she’d heard, not like New York or Chicago, or London, for that matter. She’d have a place to live. Probably a beautiful place to live. And the more that these reasons popped into her head, the more anxious she got, realizing that she would probably turn it down. It was too soon. She was better, but she wasn’t completely well yet.
“I feel like I’m just getting settled in London, and everything is going smoothly, and I just don’t know if I should rock the boat.”
“Absolutely, Kate. He asked, so I thought I’d ask. I totally understand.” As her mother spoke, Kate realized that her mother had never believed that Kate would actually take the opportunity to move to Boston for half a year. It was this thought that pestered Kate for the remainder of the afternoon. Her father returned from walking Alice, and the three decided to go to the White Swan in Braintree center for one more before Kate had to catch a train back to London. Kate was tipsy on the ride home, her mind picturing all the things that could go right in Boston, then all the things that could go wrong. And she kept thinking about the tone of her mother’s voice, the way she’d clearly known that Kate was going to say no. It was that, more than anything, that caused Kate to ring up her parents when she got back to her flat in London and tell them that she’d changed her mind.
“Oh,” her mother said.
“I think I’d be foolish to not do it. There’s nothing keeping me here, right now. Except you and Dad, of course.”
“We’d come visit.”
“Tell Corbin I’d like to do it. Or better yet, send me his e-mail and I’ll tell him myself.”
She’d written Corbin that night, before she lost her nerve. He’d been thrilled. They arranged the swap from late April to early October. Kate had given notice at her job, then had found a graphic design school were she could take courses in InDesign and Illustrator. And now she was here, her first class scheduled for Monday afternoon. Kate walked back down the hallway that led to the living room, where Bob the doorman had deposited her bags. She knew she should unpack, but a wave of tiredness spread through her. Also, hunger. She went to the kitchen, with its limestone counters and stainless steel appliances. It looked like it had never been used. She opened the fridge. All alone on the middle shelf was a bottle of champagne, a yellow sticky note attached to it. Welcome, Kate—Enjoy! was written in cramped handwriting. A pang of guilt went through Kate that she hadn’t left anything for Corbin in her flat, although she’d left him a much longer note, welcoming him and describing the neighborhood.
Except for the champagne and an assortment of condiments, the refrigerator was practically bare. She opened the freezer and found a stack of frozen dinners from someplace called Trader Joe’s. She read the directions on the back of a frozen boeuf bourguignon and decided she could handle it. The box was familiar and yet different, the nutritional information using ounces instead of grams and calories instead of energy. She figured out the microwave and began to heat up the dinner, then filled and emptied a water glass from the tap before wondering if the water was okay to drink. It tasted okay, but different than the water she was used to drinking. More minerals. After pouring herself a glass of champagne, she walked to the front door and pressed her eye to the peephole, wondering what had happened with the missing girl down the hall. Would Bob have let the friend in? Probably not, she thought, and wondered what the friend would do next. The police would probably not be helpful. Kate had watched enough American police procedurals to know that you couldn’t file a missing persons report if the person had been missing for