Nathan

Do you remember

laces tied

lights reduced to lines

looking at what you lost

How we fled, and how alive you seemed

The first time I met Lena?

I wonder

when school starts again,

will the eagles be there?

I almost expect an empty wall,

both birds finally flown away

June had to stop sending me poetry. She said they weren't that great, that they were experiments, ideas written down in only a couple of minutes. Well, if that was true, I didn't want to know what she could come up with if she actually took her time. Didn't she realize she was making the whole thing even harder than it already was?

Every poem I read made me worry about her, but every evening we called, she sounded fine, cheerful even, a whole different reality than the words she put down on paper.

One thing had become clear to me very fast after leaving home. I was too damn attached to her, and it wasn't healthy. You'd think you'd miss your brother more than anyone else, considering you'd known him your whole life — think again. I was thankful my days were so busy, that there were enough distractions to keep me sane.

Getting used to the new apartment. Meeting Charlotte's friends and family. Trying to tone down your accent to prevent people from hating on the ignorant American. Going out to dinner. Exploring the city. Switching to corporate law after doing family all this time. Getting familiar with the caseload. Failing to impress your mostly a lot older colleagues. Being dumbfounded by the common politeness. Braving the strange weather.

I really couldn't believe those girls in shorts weren't freezing to death. It was only around seventy degrees. Winter temperatures. Not to mention the constant rain. Charlotte said this was nothing, wait till September, then you'll know what too much rain means. I didn't know if I wanted to know.

The first morning that I went to work by myself, taking the Tube like a real Londoner, I arrived soaked to the bone, hair dripping on the carpet, jacket heavy with water, shirt clinging to my body. I hurried into the break room, or whatever they called it, making a mental note to keep an extra suit in the office for when this happened again. The room was empty except for someone reading a newspaper, one of those big ones that effectively hid a lot of grumpy faces. It meant a person didn't want to be disturbed, and I was glad about it because I didn't need more people gloating at the 'silly American'.

I shivered, wondering if it'd be too strange to put my head under the blow dryer in the men's room.

"You need a haircut."

I stopped. Had the guy actually been talking to me, or had that all been in my head? I looked up, seeing the man stare at me from over his issue of The Guardian.

Albert Kip. One of the senior partners. When I'd first heard his name, I'd chuckled — Kip. Not very intimidating. I'd found out very quickly he made up for that with his personality. He didn't mingle; he didn't show up for Friday afternoon drinks or dinners, and small-talk wasn't a part of his vocabulary. Charlotte didn't like him, said he "gave her the chills". Wonder why.

"Err, yeah, maybe."

Satisfied with my short answer, he focused on his paper again. I stood there for a while, in silence, cursing my own foolishness, when he said, without acknowledging me in any other way: "Got a spare suit in my office." Yeah, well, thanks man. I didn't need someone to tell me that was the smart thing to do. "You can borrow it. Send it to the cleaners after. Anne knows the address."

Oh. He was being nice. Charlotte really needed to give me a lecture on English irony. Half of the time, I wasn't sure if people were annoyed with me, or joking. "Thanks, Mr. Kip. I appreciate it."

"Albert," was his only response, turning the page.

"Albert. Great."

"Should've stayed in California."

"Sorry?"

"Better weather."

Oh. Was this an attempt to make casual conversation? "I thought you English were supposed to like the rain."

"Gets old."

"I can imagine."

He didn't say anything after that, and shaking my head, I left the break room, in search of a suit that wouldn't make me look like a drowned cat and would save me from a lot of 'silly American' laughs.

"...and I still have no idea if Charlotte's cousin was screwing with me or not. That guy really doesn't like me."

"Did he say he didn't like you?"

I stared at her face on the screen. Was she being serious? She was sitting outside, wearing a bikini, her phone set up against a candle on the table. Her skin was even darker in the summer, and it looked good on her. I was thankful I hadn't called her in public; no doubt a lot of guys would've enjoyed the sight of her like this. "Most people don't explicitly tell you they don't like you, June. They're not all dead honest like you are."

She laughed, brushing some of her curls out of her face, the green of the ring glinting in the sunlight. "I don't know, but it doesn't sound like you're really trying."

"I am trying. The whole damn day."

"You need to give it time. I didn't make any new friends in California until I met Sam, and I'd been here for over a month by then."

"Yeah, well, I don't have your charm."

"What do you want me to do? Tell you it's alright to give up and come back home?"

"No." But that wasn't entirely true, and no doubt she could see right through me, gazing at me like she wasn't five thousand miles away from me.

A small smile graced her face. "Then I'll keep my mouth shut, and you'll stop complaining like you're some big baby."

Yeah. I deserved that. She had to deal with people mistreating her every day.

"There has to be someone you like," she continued. "And if not, it means you're way too picky. What about that guy, the one who told you to get a haircut?"

"Albert? He scares the shit out of me."

"Perfect. Means he'll remind you of me."

"I've never been scared of you."

"You should be, Nathan. I swear, if you bitch about London to me one more time, I'll drag your ass right back home myself, and I won't be gentle."

"Tempting offer."

She didn't think it was funny. Her face hardened, eyes earnest all of a sudden. "Don't joke about coming home, not if you don't mean it. And I know you don't mean it."

She was right. I didn't. Not really. What kind of man would I be if I gave up after three weeks? In all honesty, from an objective point of view, it wasn't even that bad. The job was interesting, challenging, varied. Most of my colleagues were professionally kind. London was a beautiful city, full of all kinds of different people just going on their way, didn't matter where they came from or where they were heading. June would love it here; she'd admire all of the ancient buildings, the history surrounding you no matter where you went, the diversity of the crowds. I imagined it was like New York in a way, but with better accents and less noise.

"Sorry."

She looked away for a second, some of her curls flipping over her shoulder to fall down her body, disappearing out of sight. "It's okay. I know it's hard, even if you're a super-hot lawyer with a gorgeous girlfriend and a job millions of people would kill for."

She was right, again. I had to quit moaning and start enjoying my life; it had begun, and it was pretty damn great, and I had no right to feel homesick. Mrs. Aranda would murder me with one simple glance if she'd know what I'd been saying to her daughter. "What would I do without you?"

This time, she laughed. "You and I both know you'd be nowhere without me."

She was making it sound like a joke, while in fact, there wasn't a bigger truth than that.

"Morning, Albert."

He didn't look up from his paper. Didn't say anything either. Shit. This was a mistake. He was a grown, respectable man; what would he want to have to do with an American kid like me? I shouldn't have listened to June. No doubt she'd be laughing her ass off when I told her about this.

"Err, I got coffee."

This time, he lowered today's issue of The Guardian, eyebrows raised high above his designer glasses. I reached out to give him the cup, but he didn't accept it, so after a few seconds, I resided to placing it on the table. He glanced at it, completely emotionless.

Fuck, Nathan. There were thousands of people you could've approached, and you had to go for the one everyone seemed to steer clear of. Even Anne never talked back to him, and she talked back to everyone. I ran my hand through my hair, wondering if I could walk away and pretend this never happened, when he picked up the coffee and took a sip. I'd pictured him as a guy who didn't want anything fancy in his drink — I hoped to god I'd been right.

"Thanks. Prefer tea, though."

I relaxed. I'd gotten a thanks. Not a complete disaster, then. This was the moment I should slowly walk away before I'd really make a fool of myself.

Then: "It's my pub night. The Albion."

I'd heard this man was phenomenal. Could win a case using no more than two words. Be that as it may, I only found him to be confusing. "Sounds good. You mind if I drop by?" I didn't even know anymore why I was this intent on making this a success. It wasn't like he seemed very uplifting to be around. Not like Mr. Guevara, who'd tell jokes and smirk and recount stories from long ago.

"Eight o'clock." And just like that, he disappeared behind his paper again.

I left the break room feeling like I'd single-handedly triumphed in a million-dollar lawsuit.