Page 75 of The Pairing

On the train that will whisk us down the coast to Cinque Terre’s four other villages, Theo sits across a little gray table from me and says nothing. She puts her headphones in, her knife tattoo flashing ominously as she folds her arms over her chest. I look at her and miss her twice, once as a lover and once as the friend I had yesterday.

Rilke wrote,Whispering sweetness, which once coursed through us, sits silently beside us with disheveled hair.

All day, I see double. The next village, Vernazza, is full of weathered stone stairs and beachgoing tourists. I see it, but I also see San Sebastián. I see Theo beside me in the sand, both of us fresh with the revelation that we hadn’t been abandoned after all, the sun laying itself over her shoulders, and wishing so badly I’d taken the next flight out instead of wallowing around an empty apartment for a week composing dramatic letters.

Farther inland, in the hills of Corniglia, we drink Vernaccia made from local white grapes. Fabrizio tells us how Michelangelo once wrote that Vernaccia “kisses, licks, bites, slaps, and stings,”and Theo says, “Damn, is she single?” I think of Bordeaux and a belly full of wine, standing before a fountain and daring to hope, the sting of hearing Theo say that losing each other was a good thing. And I think of Theo’s hands on a farmhand’s hips and wonder if heartbreak will fuck you if you learn to love it enough.

The bigger, busier coastal village of Riomaggiore reminds me of Barcelona, with its Gothic churches and street carts selling paper cones of calamari. I remember that second hot night, begging Santiago to fuck Theo out of my mind for long enough to catch my breath. How I heard her across the alley and raised my voice, knowing she probably wasn’t listening, pretending she was. How the thought made me come so hard I passed out and had to buy Santiago an apologetic breakfast.

By the time the train drops us in Manarola, I am half agony, half hard. We wander dusty trails through the terraced hillside vineyards and climb to a pink trattoria with sweeping views for dinner. I expect Theo to leave me for another table, but she isn’tavoidingme—she’s aggressively ignoring me, which is at least familiar. She drops into the seat beside me on the rooftop terrazzo, across from the Calums.

The Calums have been uncharacteristically quiet today, and they simply nod their chins at her in approval. I don’t spend much time with traditionally masculine men unless they’re, quite frankly, fucking me, but I like the Calums. They exude a certain harmlessness, the earnest and beefy benevolence of Channing Tatum, or a cow. Theo loves them, of course, because Theo was a frat daddy in a past life.

Waiters bring around bottles of cold white wine and a parade of seafood antipasti—fileted anchovies brined in lemon and olive oil, squid braised in their own ink, herbed octopus. Then come plates of fresh-cut pasta drenched with cuttlefish ink and clattering with mussels and clams, and then fat-bellied amberjack that gleam like they’re still dewy from the fisherman’s hold.

It’s an incredible meal, and we’re all sitting around it, barelytalking.

Finally, Theo jabs her fork at the Calums and says, “What’s going on with you two? Did you get drunk and have sex or something?”

Ginger Calum’s face pinkens and Blond Calum suddenly becomes fascinated with a prawn. My interest is piqued.

“Oh my God,” Theo whispers, leaning in, “youdid.”

“We didn’t,” Blond Calum says to his prawn.

“Right,” Ginger Calum agrees, “because you were too busy stabbing me in the back with your cock, mate.”

I lower my eyebrows. “Sorry, did you have sex or not?”

“I did not stab you in the back!” Blond Calum snaps, rounding on his fellow Calum. “I seized an opportunity!”

“Pause.” Theo holds up both hands. “What happened?”

Neither Calum says anything, both scowling. Finally, Ginger Calum speaks.

“Last night in Monaco, we were out with two birds, and we were both trying to. . .well, you know.”

“Do the ol’ rudie nudie,” Blond Calum provides.

“But then Calum tookbothof them home while I was in the toilet. And he didn’t evenaskme first.”

“It was their idea!”

“I liked her!”

“You couldn’t even decide which one you liked better.”

“They’re both lovely women!”

“You would have done the same thing if you hadn’t been fucking munted,” Blond Calum says. “I told you, you can’t hold your champagne.”

“Can I say something?” I interject before Ginger Calum can go off. “In my experience, group sex with a close friend can get a bit. ..” I deliberately don’t glance at Theo, but I can feel her eyes on me. “Emotionally complicated.”

Ginger Calum frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Calum,” I say, “is it possible you’re not upset about the girls,but that Calum had a threesome and didn’t invite you?”

Both Calums are silent again. Theo is quiet too, arms crossed, swirling her wine around in its glass.

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