like a television ahead of time, or should they buy a TV on the other side? And what about a car. She’d definitely need one. How did she feel about a used VW Beetle? Perhaps red? Not a word about Spain was spoken.
The next afternoon, the pattern was the same. Lang made oatmeal raisin cookies, Jimmy came home early, and they vanished through the birches. The third day Chloe began to doubt everything. How important was Barcelona anyway? Why did she have to be so obstinate?
Where could she go that might be more acceptable to her parents? She had read about Innsbruck, the heart of the Alps, white with fresh snow. Picturesque gardens, musical chambers, Roman marvels, Bavarian creams. Her clothes, down coat and all, always on, even in bed.
Ugh.
She spent her entire life living in snowed-in valleys surrounded by mountains. She skied, snowboarded, sledded. She skated right on her lake. She played wild, nearly violent games of ice hockey with her friends. Every four years she and Mason pretended they were Olympic skaters, spinning and salchowing over the thick ice. But Chloe and Blake were actually speed skaters and every winter when they weren’t ice fishing, they spent from sunup to sundown in racing abandon. Chloe owned more parkas than jean jackets. She knew what to do for frostbite. She had read Jack London’s terrifying “To Build a Fire.” More than once.
Why would she go anywhere else but Barcelona? Why would she ever want to?
CHLOE ASKED TO BORROW HER MOTHER’S CAR TO DRIVE Hannah to Bangor. She made up some story about dorms and housing applications.
Lang only half-listened. “Are you ever going to tell her?” she asked.
Hannah was headed to Bangor to break up with the grandpa who loved her. He might not make it out of the afternoon alive. Did she really need Chloe adding to her woes? “Of course. But not right now.”
“You’ve been saying that since April. Tell her on the way.”
“I will. Soon.”
“Now’s the perfect time. Um, Hannah, guess what? Our trip to Bangor reminds me of something. That sort of thing. You know she’ll find out eventually.”
“Of course she’ll find out eventually, Mom.” Duh.
“Perhaps when she moves into a UMaine dorm and instead of you her roommate is a tall black chick?”
“Yes, like then. And don’t say chick, Mom. Ew.” If Chloe ground her teeth any more, she’d have no teeth left. Why couldn’t her mother be like Hannah’s mother? Terri never asked questions, never hounded, never scolded. Chloe wasn’t one hundred percent sure Terri knew where her daughter was accepted to college. She was just so chill and lax about things.
“Why won’t you tell her, child? What are you afraid of?”
Why did everybody keep asking her this! What wasn’t she afraid of. That Hannah would not forgive her. That she couldn’t explain it. When she tried to explain it to herself, she could not, so how was she going to explain it to her best friend, and to Mason?
“Have you told Mason at least?”
Chloe didn’t reply.
“Oh dear Lord. Chloe!”
“Mom! Can you please not stress me out? Am I not wound up enough? I tell you what, sign my passport application, and I’ll tell everybody everything in Barcelona.”
“Chloe, you haven’t told your boyfriend you’re leaving for San Diego?”
“Mom, he’ll find out soon enough! He’s got his last varsity game coming up. He’s been in training for three weeks. I didn’t want to bother him. And I only just decided.”
“A month ago.”
“A few weeks ago.” She stuck out her hand, trying not to shake from exasperation. “Please can I have the keys?”
“I’m telling you right now, I’m not doing it,” Lang said, opening her purse. “You’re not hopping on a plane to California and leaving me to mop up your mess.”
“Let me go to Barcelona and I’ll tell them myself.”
“Don’t threaten me, young lady, I won’t stand for it.”
“The keys. Mom. Please.”
In the car, while Hannah was angsting away about Martyn, Chloe wasn’t listening, her focus elsewhere. Had there been silence in the car, she might have attempted a confession. A pretend casual tone. No big deal, Hannah. I know you’re thinking we’re going to UMaine, but did I mention this other place I applied to, three thousand miles away from Bangor, our whole wide country away? A Spanish city with beaches, warmth, no mountains, no snow. Like Barcelona, but in the States.
“Have you applied for your passport yet?”
Chloe snapped out of it. “How can I apply? They haven’t said I can go.”
“Tell them in a firm and convincing manner that you’re going and that’s all there is to it.”
“Yes, right, okay. Do you know what my mother has been doing?” Chloe said. “Buying me books. Frommer’s Guide to Spain’s Coastal Cities. Fun Facts about Barcelona. To Barcelona with Love. DK Guide to Spain’s Most Beautiful Churches.’”
“That’s nice. She’s being helpful.”
“You mean impossible. She says to me, see, honey, you don’t have to go anywhere, you can just read books about it.”
“True, your mother is always advising me to read more,” Hannah said. “She says you can live other lives through books, experience travel, love, sorrow.”
“She’s buying me books so I can see Barcelona from the comfort of my recliner while she makes me éclairs and rum babas.”
“Yeah,” said Hannah. “You have it so tough.”
Chloe drove. She didn’t want to say how much she envied Hannah her parents’ spectacular non-participation. Divorce did that—shifted priorities.
“They make unreasonable demands on me,” Chloe said.
Hannah turned down Nirvana. “I wish somebody would make a demand on me.”
Grandpa is making demands on you, Chloe wanted to say. How’s that going? “I thought you liked that they never asked you for things,” she said instead.
“Turns out, I want to be asked for something.”
“Like what?”
“Anything,” Hannah said. “Just to be asked.” She turned to Chloe. “Why are you so tense? Look at the way your hands are clutching the wheel.”
Chloe tried to relax, really she did.
“I’m the one who should be tense,” said Hannah. “You have no idea how upset he’s going to get.”
Chloe thought long and hard about her next question. “He’s generally in good health, right?” she asked. Like his heart?
“Oh, yes,” Hannah said. “Believe me, there’s nothing wrong with him.”
“Ew, gross. Not what I meant. But okay.”
“What’d you mean?”
“Nothing.”