Girl Abroad

MY FATHER IS GOING TO KILL ME.

Forget London crime. In about ten hours or so, I’ll have a murderer from Tennessee on my doorstep, straight up ready to strangle me for this boneheaded mistake. Well, innocent error, really. But semantics aren’t going to save me from imminent death here.

I continue to gape at Lee. “And the other housemates are guys too?” I mutter more to myself as I notice the sneakers in the corner and the jackets hanging on the hooks behind the door.

“Afraid so, luv.” He gives me a pitying pout. “But don’t let their smell put you off. They’re really quite lovely otherwise.”

I start rereading emails and text messages in my head, searching for clues. I’d checked the box for female roommates when I signed up on the house-sharing site. I just assumed…

“Wait, but why would you ask for a female roommate?”

Not that Lee’s giving off creeper vibes, but this is exactly the kind of thing my dad’s vivid paranoia warned me about.

“Online you mean? Didn’t make a difference to us. I left the gender preference open.”

Great. I’ve never felt so personally attacked by androgynous names.

That’s it. This whole plan is blowing up in my face. Not only will Dad be furious I’m sharing a house with three dudes, he’ll take it as evidence I can’t be trusted to fend for myself. One simple task and I manage to screw it up.

“You okay?” Lee is frowning at me.

I rub one temple, feeling a headache coming on. “This is embarrassing.”

“I’ve got the cure for that.”

Then he’s off to the kitchen, coming back a moment later with a glass of wine that he places in my hand.

“There you go. For the nerves.”

I take a hasty gulp. I don’t know if it helps, but when the driver places the first load of bags in the doorway, I accept this isn’t a jet-lagged hallucination. I’m not still on the plane, suffering a fevered dream brought on by champagne and airline food.

Well, shit.

“I’m fine,” I lie, because a complete meltdown ten seconds after walking in the door seems rude. “Just tired. Long flight. Anyway, these things happen, right?”

“Happy accidents.” He shrugs. “I like to think I’m an everything-happens-for-a-reason person. I mean, I’m not, but I like to think I am.” Lee smiles to himself and mimes flipping his hair. “Who knows, Abbey Bly. This could be the start of a gorgeous friendship.”

Sure, if I’m not hauled back on a plane by this time tomorrow. Lee seems great and all, but I don’t see how I’ll be allowed to stick around long enough to become more than an anecdote.

Apparently sensing my growing discomfort, his smile falters.

“Hey, it’s all good,” he assures me. “This isn’t what you expected. I promise we’re not a bunch of weirdos. And you’re welcome to stay. But if you’d feel better in a hotel tonight, I totally get that. Take a night to yourself, see how things look in the morning?”

I do consider his offer. I could turn around and get back in the car. Spend the night contemplating my situation and approach it again when all the roommates are here. But then I’d have to put a hotel on the credit card, and the statements go to my dad. Plus I’m pretty sure at this point he’s got alerts set up if I spend more than fifty bucks. Before my head even hits the pillow, I’ll get a frantic call wondering what the hell I’m up to.

No. Despite this hiccup, I remind myself that I’ve spent the past several weeks conversing with Lee via email. And he was fully vetted by the house-sharing site. Besides, I don’t get an axe-murderer vibe off him or anything. I’d like to think I have a good radar for homicidal maniacs.

“If it’s all right with you,” I tell him, “I’d like to stay.”

“Right then.” Beaming at me, Lee jerks his head toward the stairs. “We’ll save the pleasantries and tour for tomorrow. Let’s get you off to bed.”

At the top of the steps, he informs me that Jack’s and Jamie’s rooms are down to the right. We go left toward three doors.

“Bathroom at the end of the hall. You and I will share.”

I don’t think I make a face, but Lee’s quick to interject.

“Trust me, you don’t want to see what Jamie does to theirs.”

We stop at two doors across from each other.

“That’s me,” he says as he points to the left one. Then, opening the other, “This is you.”

My breath hitches in surprise. I expected blank walls and maybe a quilt tossed on the bed, but this room is so much more than that.

“Hope you like it.” Lee shrugs modestly. “I couldn’t help myself.”

Decorated in tones of white, gray, and cream, the room offers a peaceful, cozy atmosphere. The bed is made with a duvet, throws, and plush pillows. Overlapping rugs cover the hardwood floor. On the windowsill, small potted plants dangle tendrils toward the floor. There’s an armoire, a desk, and a dresser with a small TV.

“You did all this for me?”

I turn to him in shock and awe. It’s really too much. I mean, it’s perfect. But so much effort.

He rolls his eyes. “The last girl had shit taste.” Lee sets my backpack down beside the dresser. “Anyway, it’s only the essentials. Couldn’t well let you sleep on a bare mattress.”

“Thank you. This is awesome.”

He snorts a laugh, then waves it off.

“And for being here to meet me,” I say. Because all things considered, it could have gone worse, given the circumstances. “Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome, Abbey Bly. Bathroom’s all yours if you want to shower or freshen up. I’ll get your bags up here.”

Travel has me feeling grimy and exhausted, so I take him up on the offer and we decide to save the rest of the nice-to-meet-you conversation for tomorrow. Afterward, I lie in bed, my hair still wet as I take in the new sounds of the house at night. Staring up at the ceiling, I have no idea what I’m going to do about my dad.

I love this neighborhood. I spent weeks obsessing over photos online of the walkable tree-lined streets, the cafés and bookstores. Finding a place near enough to campus wasn’t easy with real estate in London at a premium. If I give up this house, chances are slim I’ll find something else that ticks all my boxes. Not this close to the start of the semester.

But Dad is going to flip. No way he lets me stay once he finds out.

And if I don’t have a place to live, he’ll be thrilled to drag me back home.

Goodbye, London.

It’s the strangest thing. I wake to the sounds of passing cars outside my window, of bicycles and people walking their dogs. The aural intonations of a community rousing itself to meet the day, something I haven’t experienced with regularity in years. Out at the ranch, there’s just the birds and my dad’s heavy footsteps, with no other houses in earshot. Not since we lived in LA when I was a kid have I heard the garbage trucks or car stereos outside my bedroom window. All these cues that remind me how far I am from home and how very near to one of the great cities of the world. It starts to feel real, this journey I’ve set out for myself.

It’s enough to shake the jet lag from my brain. Then I catch whiffs of bacon, sausage, eggs, and toast, and my stomach snarls at me. Guess those pretzel sticks I saved from the plane weren’t much of a dinner.

Downstairs, I’m slightly hesitant heading into the kitchen, where I hear the noise of utensils on metal pans and someone banging around from one cabinet to another. It’s like the way a bed-and-breakfast always feels intrusive and oddly inhospitable. I live here, but not entirely yet.

“Good,” Lee says, lifting his gaze from the stove to notice me over his shoulder. “You’re up. Wasn’t sure if you’d sleep most of the day.”

“Jet lag usually hits me the second or third day. I’ll be up all night most likely.”

I’m a bit distracted by his appearance. He’s transformed. As if last night was a hallucination, today he’s dressed for an afternoon in the city: crisp navy khakis and pressed button-down shirt under a vest, finished with a silk bow tie and brown leather belt. Behind his thick-rimmed glasses, he’s almost an entirely different person.

“Have a seat.” He sets out a plate with a fork and knife at the breakfast bar. “Probably not ready for the full English. We’ll start small.”

He then proceeds to load up my plate with enough cholesterol to put down a hippo. Not that I’m complaining.

“Smells awesome.” I’ve got a mouthful of eggs before he’s even stopped shoveling food from the pan. I don’t taste so much as absorb every bite.

Lee laughs to himself, shaking his head.

“What?” I say from behind my hand over my mouth.

“Americans. Everything is awesome.”

“Oh.” There’s a carafe of milk with some empty glasses, so I help myself and wash down my eggs. “These eggs are brilliant.”

“Better.”

“All right, mate?” A tall, leanly muscular guy with short brown bed hair saunters into the kitchen from behind me. He’s barefoot in wrinkled jeans and a rumpled T-shirt that appear slept in. “Who’s this then?”

“Abbey, Jamie,” Lee introduces, preparing another plate for the newcomer. “Jamie, Abbey.”

The quintessentially pale Englishman I’ve come to expect from rom-coms goes to the kettle on the stove and makes himself a cup of tea, which he brings over to the chair beside me, then picks a piece of bacon off my plate with a flirtatious wink.

“Hi, Abbey.” He bats his eyelashes, and I’m sure that routine, coupled with his aristocratic features and prep-school posh smile, works every time. “Sleep well?”

I nod fervently. “Brilliant.”

That gets a chuckle out of Lee.

Jamie nods back. “Lovely.”

With spatula in hand, Lee hovers over the plate of sausage. “Shall I fix her a plate?”

Though Lee addresses the question to him, Jamie doesn’t look up from spreading jam on his toast. “Who’s that?” he says, dismissive.

“Are you asking me because you don’t remember her name?” Lee’s tone is wry.

“Who are we talking about?” I ask curiously.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Lee cocks his head when the floor creaks above our heads. We hear quick footsteps followed by a hastily shut door. “Can’t tell me those are Jackie’s pitter-patters.”

Jamie, apparently speaking to his toast, shrugs. “Must be mice.”

A series of much slower, heavier footsteps trudge down the stairs. I soon discover they belong to a whole mountain of a tanned shirtless blond guy with stubble around his jaw and more abs than I have eyelashes. Jack, I presume. Though he could easily pass for Thor. Only thing missing is the big hammer.

Maybe he keeps that in his pants…

I swear I hear Eliza’s voice in my head.

“You know there’s a half-naked woman running around upstairs?” he drawls in a thick Australian accent, dropping down in the chair on the other side of mine at the breakfast bar.

As he reaches across me for the serving plate of eggs, he flashes a charming smile that knocks me right off my axis.

Holy smokes. I’ve never seen a more attractive man in person. Perfect square jaw and endearing dimples. Biceps the size of my thighs.

“There seems to be some confusion as to whether she’s several mice in a person costume,” Lee says, flaring a sarcastic glare at Jamie, who remains steadfastly committed to his breakfast.

Jack peers at me. “You’re not several mice in a costume, are you?”

I shake my head. “I’m Abbey. You can call me, um, Abbey.”

Oh my God.

Really? What the hell else would he call me? Susan?

His lips twitch with humor. “I’m Jack.” A beat. “Call me Jack.”

Lee snickers from the stove. I can only imagine how red my cheeks are at the moment.

Fortunately, Jack puts me out of my misery by breezing past my bout of insanity without further comment. “Right. So Abbey and I aren’t mice. Glad that’s sorted.”

His eyes are impossibly, mesmerizingly blue. So cosmic and glittery that I only realize I’m staring when he grins knowingly and winks, telling me I’ve been caught out.

Nice, Abbey. Subtle.

“I’m only worried for the poor girl.” Lee stands on the other side of the bar and starts picking at his breakfast but mostly daring Jamie to look at him. “Do you suppose she’s lost?”

“There isn’t any girl.” A stubborn Jamie salts his eggs, growing more indignant.

Jack has the wingspan of a 747. As he eats, his elbows bump mine, though he doesn’t seem to notice. “You suppose she crawled out of his wardrobe?”

Jamie leans in to speak softly at my ear. “Be a doll and change the subject, yeah?”

“Abbey…” Lee warns, his voice grave. “Remember who made you bacon.”

I am a sucker for the desperate and downtrodden, so I toss Jamie a lifeline. “So catch me up. How long have you all lived together?”

Lee rolls his eyes. “Typical.”

Jamie leans in and smacks a kiss on my cheek. “You’re a rose, Abbs.”

“We moved in here last fall,” Jack supplies as he chews.

“How’d you all meet? You’ve been friends a long time?” I ask.

He glances at the other two. “It was that holiday do, wasn’t it? At the Spanish place with the fucked-up heads on the wall.”

I lift a brow. “Heads?”

“There weren’t any heads,” Jamie tells him. “And it was before spring term. That girl Cara’s flat in Chelsea. You remember the one.”

Jack piles eggs and sausage on a piece of toast, folds it, and shoves the whole thing in his mouth. He gulps it down, then says, “I remember you nicked a shipment of crisps off a lorry.”

“I left him forty pounds.”

“How much do you think a bag of crisps costs?”

“You’re both wrong,” an exasperated Lee interjects. “The place with the masks on the wall was where Nate had his gig the night Jack showed up with that rugby bloke. The one who was put off when his girlfriend walked out of the loo with her lipstick smeared all over Jamie’s face.”

“That’s right.” Jack smacks his hand on the counter and points at Jamie. “You got your arse kicked.” He laughs, and the deep sound makes my heart beat a little faster.

“Oh, fuck off, Campbell,” Jamie says.

“Oh no.” I try to contain my nervous laughter at the idea of Jamie getting into a bar brawl with a friend of Jack’s. Because I assume all Thor-sized men travel in packs. “You didn’t really fight him.”

“Ha!” Lee chuckles, nibbling on a piece of toast.

“No.” Jamie balks. “I aptly sized up the situation and determined self-preservation was the more prudent course.”

I smother a grin. “Meaning what?”

“Meaning he paid Jack’s mate fifty quid not to damage his pretty face,” Lee answers. “Which essentially means he paid the bloke fifty quid to snog his girlfriend.”

The three of them go at it for a bit, arguing over the particulars of Jamie’s financial diplomacy, which is how Lee comes to explain that Jamie is “quite well-to-do.” As in connected to the British aristocracy. Back home, that would mean some kind of celebrity or maybe an heir to a corporate fortune. Here it comes with fancy titles and castles and whatnot.

As we spend the rest of breakfast breaking the ice and engaging in all that get-to-know-you stuff, they inevitably desire to know something about the American in their midst. And thus we arrive at the tricky part.

“Well, I’m majoring in European history. So that’s why I’m here—obviously. I’m originally from Los Angeles, but now I live outside Nashville. That’s in Tennessee.”

“Los Angeles? Like Beverly Hills?” Lee perks up, stars in his eyes. I know the look well. “You know anyone famous?”

This is always how it starts. Verbatim. And it inescapably ends with people fawning over my dad for hours until I cease to be a real person anymore. Just a vessel for their fandom. A conduit to my father. So I lie. Constantly. It’s exhausting.

“Uh, no, not really. I thought I saw Ben Affleck in a Dunkin’ Donuts once. But it was just a guy in a Red Sox hat.”

Lee goes on to tell the story about the time he hooked up with a guy from Love Island at a drag show in Brighton, mercifully letting me off the hook. I’m sure the subject will come back around eventually, but I’m not in any rush for it to arrive. Which again reminds me that I’m not only keeping my dad a secret from them but the other way around as well. Because I still haven’t decided if I can stay.

We’re well into Lee’s catalog of every remotely famous person he’s ever encountered and he’s yet to realize the rest of us have tuned out.

“He’s happy to entertain himself,” Jack murmurs to me. “But I’m still interested in hearing about you.”

I completely fail to conceal the redness that blooms over my cheeks when he says that. The way his lips turn up in the slightest smile. He doesn’t even have to try, and I lose all control of my higher functions. Attractive men are the worst.

“Do you all go to Pembridge?” It’s the first thing that comes to mind in my pathetic attempt to maintain conversation.

“No, that’s just Lee. I’m in my third year at St. Joseph’s. Jamie is in his last year at Imperial College London with the other poshes and future prime ministers.”

“The real question is…” Lee rejoins the conversation, leaning over the counter to rest both elbows. “Will Abbey be sticking around, or is she running back to the States?”

“What, you’re not staying?” Jamie wrinkles his forehead. “Why?”

Lee heaves a dramatic sigh and answers for me. “Daddy dearest was under the impression she’d be rooming with other women. But lo and behold…”

Jamie shrugs. “Daddy’s across the pond, is he not?”

I nod. “Well, yeah.”

Another shrug. “So lie.”

“That’s a pretty big lie.” I’ve never lied to my father. Not about anything real.

“You only need to dodge the subject for, what, a month or two?” Jack points out. “By then, you can tell him, and it’ll be too late to withdraw from school, right?”

“You don’t know my dad. He’s pathologically protective.”

On the other hand, I’m starting to feel comfortable here. The guys have made me feel welcome, like I’m already part of the house. There’s none of the awkward stiltedness I’d feared could result from this enormous miscommunication.

Besides, I’ve been looking forward to this opportunity for months. The chance to explore London and all its history and architecture. Access to a world-class library at Pembridge. And most of all, a chance to exist outside the constant watchful gaze of my father. I know his intentions are good, but it can be suffocating in his shadow.

Here, even under the dreary skies of a late English summer, there’s daylight.

So when the guys gently prod for an answer, I hold my breath and furlough the consequences.

“Okay. I’ll stay.”

Lee’s entire face brightens. “Yesss! I’m so excited to— ”

He stops abruptly when hurried footsteps clatter down the stairs and scurry across the foyer, accompanied by a blur of color. After the front door slams shut behind the exiting smudge, we look to Jamie, who simply offers yet another shrug.

“Huge mice.”Please check at N/ôvel(D)rama.Org.