Page 72 of Guy's Girl
This room must be Beatrix’s, she thinks. She’s never met Adrian’s sister, but there are too many feminine touches for the room to belong to Adrian—the quilt, the flowers, the drawer filled with bronzer and moisturizer.
In that same drawer: a notebook with an embroidered butterfly on the cover. She picks it up, turns it over. The notebook seems to hum, to call to Ginny. She carries it over to the bed and tosses it onto the quilt. Beatrix won’t mind, she thinks; the notebook is dusty and old, the spine uncracked. Probably her grandparents gave it to her ages ago.
She finds a pen in the bedside table, flips open the notebook, and begins to write.
I’m trying to piece together last night. I remember flashes. I remember Adrian finding me in the bathroom. I remember crying. I remember being in his arms. I think... God, I think he carried me here. That feels entirely impossible, like a superhero rescuing someone dangling from a rooftop by their fingertips. But it’s the only explanation I have.
I’m scared to leave this room. It’s safe in here. Some sort of twilight zone, an eight-by-eight box cut off from the dangers of the outside world. The happy houses across the street, the happy people carrying groceries back to their happy families. If I leave, all that will disappear. I will have to face the truth of what happened last night. And I’m not ready for that. I’m just not.
***
Eventually, she leaves.
She has to. She knows that she is inside someone else’s home, and that to hide in the bedroom all day would be disrespectful. So, reluctantly, she cracks open the door and tries to slip soundlessly into the hallway. But when she steps out of the room, she finds herself not in a hallway at all, but in a sun-drenched kitchen with painted brick walls and a high wooden ceiling. Spices and preserves line the windowsill. Dish towels hang from the oven and the kitchen sink. The dishwasher is painted a faded sky blue.
Standing around the cozy kitchen island—Adrian and his grandparents.
They all turn to face her at once.
“Hi,” Adrian says.
“Hi,” she says back. She doesn’t know what else to say, so she waves to his grandparents and adds, “I’m Ginny.”
“They know,” he says, not unkindly. “This is Eszter and Imre. We’re going to stay with them until you all fly home on Saturday.”
She opens her mouth, maybe to argue, maybe to protest, she doesn’t know. Then she glances at Eszter, Adrian’s grandmother. She wants to find comfort there, the sense that her presence is not an annoyance or a burden. She doesn’t find it. Eszter isn’t even looking at her. She is staring out the kitchen window, face unreadable. Ginny tugs nervously at her pajama pants, suddenly conscious of the fact that Adrian must have undressed and redressed her the night before.
“We were about to sit down to breakfast,” Adrian says, completely unaware of the chill radiating from his grandmother. “Would you like to join?”
“Oh, I don’t—”
“I insist.” Adrian points over at the dripping coffee machine. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
Not wanting to be useless, she walks over to the wooden shelf that holds a line of white ceramic coffee mugs painted with blueberries. She reaches up to take a mug, but before she can grab one, a delicate, wrinkled hand closes around her wrist.
She jumps and looks down. To her right stands Eszter, a full six inches shorter, looking as hawkish and terrifying as anything Ginny has ever seen. Eszter doesn’t speak. Just shakes her head and produces a clear mason jar with a handle instead. She pushes it into Ginny’s hands.
Stunned, Ginny carries the mason jar over to the coffee machine. As Adrian pours from the carafe, he leans in close and whispers. “They don’t really speak English. But don’t worry—I’ll do all the translating.”
They sit down around the breakfast nook, a little wooden table beside bay windows. Eszter and Imre lay out the food: a bowl of scrambled eggs, a plate of toast, a tureen of butter, littlehomemade jellies and jams. Ginny waits, uncertain how to proceed. Apparently, she waits just a smidge too long; with a sigh of annoyance, Eszter picks up a spoon and starts ladling eggs onto her plate.
As they eat, Adrian chats with his grandparents in Hungarian. Every so often, he translates for Ginny—statements about the weather, his job, his aunts and uncles who live nearby. He seems more at ease than Ginny has ever seen him. Several times, he laughs loudly at something his grandparents say. Ginny waits for his translation so that she can force out a laugh, too.
No one asks her any questions, for which she is extremely grateful.
It’s the first time Ginny has eaten breakfast in several days, and the first time she’s kept it down in over a year. She has no choice. When they finish eating, she tries to excuse herself to use the bathroom. Without a word, Eszter places a surprisingly firm hand on Ginny’s shoulder and pushes her back into her chair. She says something Ginny can’t understand, something in Hungarian. Adrian translates it as, “We like to enjoy a bit of after-meal conversation in this house.”
After breakfast, she isn’t allowed to help with dishes. She isn’t allowed near the sink at all.
She’s not sure what Adrian told his grandparents when he showed up on their doorstep last night, but it must be the truth.
“Do you want to shower?” Adrian asks. She says yes. He looks at Eszter, who picks up the newspaper from the kitchen counter and leads Ginny up the stairs and into what appears to be a master bedroom. She crosses the room and steps into the adjacent bathroom, where she hands Ginny a towel. Once they’re both inside, Eszter shuts the bathroom door behind them. Then she closes the lid of the toilet, sits down, and opens the newspaper.
Ginny hesitates, waiting for Eszter to leave. She doesn’t. Ginny understands, then, what is happening. She doesn’t have the energy to argue. She strips down to nothing and steps into the shower. When she turns on the water, it’s freezing. It takes a full minute to warm up.
Eszter never looks at her. Never speaks, never pries. Eventually, Ginny grows accustomed to her presence. She knows why she’s there. It’s a warning. A reminder that, if Ginny does something she shouldn’t, Eszter will know.
