This Foreign Affair Read online

  Our hands linger. I glance at her face—so pleasant and relaxed—one more time, then head out the door.

  Chapter Three

  “Can we talk in private?” Rebecca asks after the meeting has drawn to a close. I tuned out for most of it. Even though Rebecca and I are not legally married, we own a house together and everything we have is tangled up with each other. But she’s the one who cheated, left me, and moved out. For my lawyer, it seems to make all the difference as to who gets what.

  But I’m not interested in hanging onto any material possessions we shared. Neither is she, apparently. She was quick to agree to sell the house. Now that we’ve both signed the agreement, we can finally put it on the market. I can move on for real.

  When we bought the rental apartment, the accountant advised us to put it in my name, so I’m stuck with that. Rebecca didn’t even flinch when it came up in the meeting, even though she’s the one who did all the work. She’s probably feeling guilty.

  “Yeah, sure,” I say.

  “Do you want to go for a coffee?”

  “Do you have time for that? You asked to move the meeting an hour earlier.”

  “Because I wanted to have time for a chat with you. We haven’t talked in so long.”

  I scoff. “And whose fault is that?” I hope she doesn’t spin me a line asking to remain friends or something outrageous like that.

  “Maybe something stronger than coffee?”

  “Fine.”

  We say goodbye to our lawyers, who are getting a big fat check for not doing much at all, seeing as at least this part of our separation is very amicable. It’s the other, non-material parts that have been the most violent.

  I follow Rebecca to a bar down the street, suspecting her of having scouted it beforehand, because she doesn’t even have to look around to find a place for us to have that drink.

  “How’s Julie?” I ask, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “What can I get you? Chardonnay?” She ignores my question.

  I nod and watch her walk off. It still hurts. It’s been almost six months now, but there walks a woman I believed I knew through and through. A woman who told me she loved me nearly every day of our life together. A woman who lied. A woman who broke my heart into a million pieces. The worst part of it all is, after she’d been sleeping with Julie for close to a year, and finally had found the courage to tell me—and leave me in the process—she made it sound as though it was all my fault.

  She returns with two wine glasses filled to the brim.

  “To it officially all being over.” I raise my glass.

  Rebecca doesn’t raise her glass. She just drinks. “Thanks for being so agreeable about all the legal stuff.”

  “It’s not because I’m a scorned woman that I have to behave like one.”

  Rebecca cocks her head. “Do you think we can have a conversation without the sarcasm?”

  “Oh, are you going to be the mature one this time?”

  “Please, I’m begging you, Zoya. I just want to talk. We just divided our assets. Can we just be civilized for ten minutes?”

  “Fine.” I look away. The bar is empty this time of the day.

  “I just wanted to check in with you. See how you’re doing,” Rebecca says.

  When I look into her eyes, it’s as though I can see all the good times we had together. We were so happy for such a long time. Was I really the one who fucked it all up? Who drove her into the arms of another woman?

  “Maybe I should take a sabbatical. Get out of the country for a bit. Maybe travel through India. Connect with my roots.”

  “I still worry about you, even though we’re not together anymore,” Rebecca says.

  “How nice of you.” The words just come out. I have no idea how to curb my bitter tongue. “Do you worry about me when you and Julie change the channel when my show comes on? Do you worry about me when you fall asleep with your arm around her? Every time she fills the space I used to take up in your life?”

  “You’re clearly not ready for this.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever be.”

  “I’ve apologized so many times already. I can’t see how me saying I’m sorry again will help, so I’m kind of at the end of my wits here.” Rebecca drinks from her wine in long gulps.

  “What do you want from me? Why are we even sitting here? Can’t you see it’s just one big reminder of how things used to be, before… you-know-who.”

  “Julie is my partner now, Zoya.” She sighs. “And you keep referring to how things used to be, but I think you’re forgetting that, in the end, they were not that great.”

  “Oh, here we go again.”

  “No, here you go again.”

  “This was clearly a mistake.” I push the glass of wine away.

  “Clearly.” Rebecca looks like she’s had enough as well. It’s strange to think that there used to be a time, not even so long ago, that we couldn’t get enough of each other’s company. That we believed we’d be together forever. How quickly things can change.

  “I don’t want things to be like this between us.” She injects some softness into her voice. “You are still important to me.”

  “Maybe you should have thought of that before you started banging someone else.” I get up. “And it’s easy for you to say what you want and how I’m still important to you and yadda, yadda, yadda, when you get to go home to your new girlfriend after this, and all I have is an empty house, in which everything reminds me of us. You left me with nothing. And you took my self-esteem along with you as well.” I curse myself for the last sentence.

  “I know it’s hard.” Her voice breaks.

  “I hadn’t exactly expected to find myself single again on the cusp of fifty.”

  “I know. But you’re Zoya Das. You must have women lining up for you.”

  “Please, don’t give me that superficial bullshit. You’re only saying it to make yourself feel better, anyway. To ease your guilt because the fact remains that you cheated on me for an entire year. Well, guess what? You will always be guilty of that and no matter how many times you say you’re sorry, I will never forgive you for it.”

  I hear some shuffling behind the bar. The bartender is looking in our direction.

  “I’d better go. I’ll let you know when an offer comes in for the house.”

  Rebecca is silent. It reminds me of the silence she shrouded herself in as she was packing her things after she first told me. That fateful day my whole life came crumbling down.

  “I wanted to strangle and kiss her at the same time,” I say.

  “Maybe you should take one of Amber’s yoga classes. Even Josephine is a fan now,” Caitlin says, as she presents me with a tumbler of whiskey.

  “Oh sure, me lined up next to a bunch of happy lesbian couples. I mean, even you are monogamous now, for crying out loud. What has the world come to?”

  Caitlin rolls her eyes. “Aw, poor Zoya Das. Poor little rich girl.” She shoots me a look over the rim of her glass. “I understand you’re upset. Today was an emotional day. And Rebecca truly fucked you over. But you need to move on.”

  “Move on? And pretend I didn’t just split from the love of my life? Pretend it doesn’t still hurt me every minute of every day?”

  “Yes. You’ll have to pretend at first. But, you know, have a fling, at least. Do something that makes you feel good about yourself. That makes you feel desired. It works wonders for the self-esteem.”

  “I’m not like you, Caitlin. No offense.”

  “Definitely none taken, my dear friend.”

  “I used to be so many things to her and now someone else is and that hurts. It makes me feel so replaceable. So insignificant. And sometimes, I even think she was right to blame it all on me.”

  “At the moment, I’m not a big Rebecca fan because she treated you so disrespectfully, but I really don’t think she blamed it all on you.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Caitlin shakes her head. “You know my vi
ew on this.”

  “Yeah, well, where were you when I needed your help with all of this? Shagging your way across the United States, no doubt.” I glance at Caitlin from under my lashes. My bitterness might be getting the best of me.

  “How long has it been?”

  “What?”

  “When was the last time you got laid, sister?” Caitlin puts on a funny accent.

  I scoff. Good question, actually. I follow up with a shrug.

  “I guarantee you, you will feel so much better about yourself—and you’ll stop attacking me, your good friend—after you’ve had another woman’s hands all over you.”

  “Oh my god.” It’s my time to roll my eyes. “Like sex is the solution to everything. I’m so sick of hearing that.”

  “Suit yourself.” Caitlin puts her glass down. “Maybe you’re not ready. Although I’m a big believer in not waiting until you think you might be.”

  “I wouldn’t even know where to start. I can’t just go to a bar and pick someone up.”

  “Why not?” Caitlin challenges me. From the look on her face, I can tell she’s getting some glee out of this. Or she already knows what I’m going to answer.

  “You know why.”

  “Don’t tell me because you’re Zoya Das. If anything, it will help.”

  I shake my head. “You know I’m not really one for one-night stands.”

  “It’s never too late to change your mind about these things.”

  “Caitlin, I respect your choices, but I have my own views on sex and monogamy. We’ve had this conversation so many times before.”

  “Basically, what you’re saying is that you want to wait until you fall in love again. From where I’m sitting, it looks like that might take a good long while. You’re a long way from being over Rebecca.”

  “No matter what she says… for me, it just came so out of the blue, you know?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But that’s enough about me.” I need to refocus my attention. “Let’s talk about you. How are things with you and Jo?”

  “Good, though she works too much. She’s got two singing gigs this weekend and—”

  My phone beeps, indicating I received a text message. I try to ignore it.

  Caitlin looks at my phone then back at me again. “Jo and I are doing fine. I really have nothing to complain about.”

  My phone beeps again because I haven’t read the message yet.

  “Sorry. Let me just have a look.” I feel a bit pissed at myself because I’m usually the first one to scold anyone too glued to their phone to conduct a proper conversation.

  I googled you, the message says. And now I would really like to see you again. Camille.

  A smile stretches across my face.

  “What is it?” Caitlin asks.

  “The woman who’s staying in the rental. I met her this morning. She says she would really like to see me again.”

  Caitlin holds up her hands. “There you go. Just as we’re talking about it, the perfect opportunity presents itself. It must be serendipity.”

  “I… don’t know.” I make a mental note to google myself later, just to see what Camille has dug up on me. Probably all the salacious details of my split from Rebecca.

  “Tell me about her,” Caitlin asks.

  “She’s French, has been traveling through Australia for the past two months. She has some government science job. That’s about all I know.”

  “Is she cute?”

  “Cute? She’s a French woman of a certain age. I hardly think the word cute applies.”

  “Okay, so you think she’s pretty. Good.” Caitlin smirks. “Go for it. Take her to dinner tonight. Do something to make yourself feel better.”

  “Tonight? It’s six o’clock and I’m in no state to have dinner with a stranger right now.”

  “You can get ready here. I’ll lend you something fabulous from my wardrobe, but I wouldn’t worry about that too much if she’s been living out of a suitcase for so many weeks. Just… distract yourself. Perhaps dinner with an enigmatic French tourist is exactly what you need right now. To forget about Rebecca. Give her the finger, so to speak.”

  “If you don’t stop soon, you may well convince me to go.”

  “You want to. I can tell. She’s asking you out. Just go for it.”

  I see Camille’s reaction to Kristin and Sheryl’s kiss this morning in a different light now. Perhaps she was suddenly wondering about my sexuality. Googling me must have given her all the answers. “What should I text back?” My phone feels heavy in my hand.

  “A resounding Yes.” Caitlin sits there smiling.

  “Where should I take her? It’s Friday night. Can I still get a good booking somewhere?”

  “Tell you what,” Caitlin says. “You text her back. Tell her to meet you outside the Pink Bean at seven. While you spruce yourself up, I’ll take care of everything.”

  I hold up my glass. “Why thank you, my friend. I’m also going to need another drink.”

  Caitlin shoots me a big grin. Whatever her plan was, it worked.

  Chapter Four

  Caitlin has booked us into a new gastropub halfway between her building and the Pink Bean. Even though it’s still quite early for a Friday, the place is already heaving when we arrive. I wonder if she had to pull any strings—or drop any names—to secure us a table. But I’m not too concerned with any of that, because I’m seeing Camille in a whole new light tonight. She’s no longer the woman who’s renting my apartment. She’s my date.

  “Welcome Miss Das and lovely friend,” a bearded hipster-waiter says. “My name is Thomas and I’ll be serving you tonight.”

  We follow him to a table in the covered courtyard in the back, which is surrounded by trees lit up with fairy lights. A candle is already burning on our table. Did Caitlin request a romantic atmosphere when she made the reservation?

  Out of sheer embarrassment, I’m inclined to say a friend set this all up, but then I remember Caitlin’s words when she ushered me out the door. “You’ve got absolutely nothing to lose,” she said. She was right. I’ve already lost the love of my life. And I need to take my mind off her.

  “Very nice.” Camille sits down while a wide smile spreads on her lips. “I’m impressed. It feels like I’m somewhere in the French countryside.”

  “I still owe you for a bad night’s sleep, so…” Our gazes cross for a split second.

  “You don’t owe me a thing, Zoya.” She says my name in a voice so soft, I can barely hear her. But I do. It’s like walking into this courtyard has transported me to somewhere else entirely—maybe the French countryside. A place where my heart no longer feels so broken.

  The waiter brings us the menu. Though he’s trying to be discreet, I can tell he has connected my name to my face. It’s always in the little things, like an unexpected nod or a gaze that lingers. As long as he doesn’t wink.

  “They have some excellent wines,” Camille says. “Do you prefer red or white?”

  “Whichever one you pick is fine with me.” I’m not going to argue with a Frenchwoman about wine, even though most of the wines on the list are from Australia and New Zealand.

  “I actually tried this pinot gris just a couple of weeks ago. If it wasn’t such a silly undertaking to send a case of wine from here to France, I would have bought some.” She finds my gaze. “Is that wine okay with you?”

  “Of course.”

  She calls for Thomas and orders the bottle. When he comes back we order a couple of delicious-sounding dishes. Then I can’t hold my curiosity any longer.

  “So, you googled me, huh?”

  She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip and gives a slow nod. “Very interesting.”

  “So now you know all about me and I don’t know anything about you.”

  “You mean to say you didn’t google me? You, the journalist?” she says with a chuckle in her voice. “You keep surprising me.”

  “You mean my ignorance about certain things?” I try to look
apologetic. “I had a crazy day and…” I pause. “I don’t even know your last name.”

  “It’s in the Airbnb reservation.” She holds up her glass of wine. “To my advantage in knowledge.”

  I clink the rim of my glass against hers. “You really do have to tell me what you found out. I won’t be able to relax if you don’t.”

  She takes a sip. “Hm, that’s really good.” Then puts her glass down and leans over the table a little. “You are Zoya Das, of the TV show with the same name. You’ve won numerous awards. You are actually a journalist and not, as you said, a TV presenter. You are an out and proud lesbian, who recently separated from her long-time partner. And you have no clue how to change the batteries in household appliances.” She slants back. “That’s about it.”

  “All true.” I lean over the table a little as well. “You must have avoided certain websites.”

  “I have a pretty good sense of what is true and what isn’t.”

  “That’s an excellent quality to have.” I drink from the wine Camille has picked. It’s light and smooth and goes down well.

  “Some things you have no choice but to learn. Not paying attention to gossip magazines is one of them.”

  “Are prominent scientists often the subject of slander in France?” I ask.

  “Only the ones going through a well-documented divorce from a high-profile politician.”

  “Ah.” I could kick myself for not doing any research on her. “Is that why you needed to get away from it all?”

  She nods. “This is my Eat, Pray, Love journey.” She smirks. “Except I drank more than I ate. I don’t actually pray and there have been no occurrences of romantic love, though I have fallen in love with your country a little.”

  Because of my job, I’m pretty well versed in the names of high-profile politicians from other countries, but I still don’t know Camille’s last name. I’m very much wondering if said politician is a man or a woman. Surely, if it were a woman, it would have caught my attention.

  “There’s really no need for us French to be so snobbish about our wine, for example.” She picks up her glass again. “This one’s better than the product of many a home-grown grape.” Camille’s eyes narrow as she smiles.