The Direction of the Wind: A Novel(64)

Mathieu nodded. “It’s liberating.”

“Liberating.” Nita repeated the word slowly. It had been a while since she had gotten high, and she had forgotten how good it could feel.

The smoke lingered between them and around the bed while they finished the joint.

“Feeling better, ma belle? You were very quiet at dinner,” Mathieu said.

“Was I?” Nita said absently.

“Oui. You did not like ?lise?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, she’s fine. Why do you say that?”

“Just saw you did not speak to her much.”

“Probably because I don’t know her well,” Nita said. “You know I take some time to warm up to people.”

Mathieu leaned in to snuggle her neck. “Yes, ma chérie. That is true.”

His breath tingled against her skin, and she moved closer to him. “Maybe I wasn’t feeling well.”

“Are you feeling better now?” he murmured.

“I don’t know.”

He tilted her head toward him, their hazy eyes making contact. “It seems something is the matter. You can tell me.”

“I just want a night where I don’t have to think about anything.” She turned her head away but kept her body close to him.

“You’re sure you want that?”

She nodded, staring off into space.

“I can help you with that, if you really want it.”

She looked at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

He got out of the bed and started rummaging around in the wardrobe before sliding back under the covers, his fist clenched tightly around something.

“What is that?” she asked.

“I saved them for a rainy day.” He kissed her forehead before opening his palm to reveal a stash of white pills like the ones he had said he’d stopped taking.

Nita didn’t even challenge him about why he had them in the first place. Instead, she took two and popped them into her mouth without a second thought. She might not get high often, but she knew that for the rest of the night, she wouldn’t be worrying about Simon or Mathieu finding out or anything else.

Mathieu smiled as he also took two pills and then encircled her in his arms and began kissing her body, removing any layers of clothing that stood in his way while he worked his lips down. The sex was a blur that night, but Nita didn’t care because all she remembered was that she was able to pass out into a comatose sleep. It was the least burdened she had felt in years.



Two weeks later, Nita stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her hair was oily and stringy around her face. She hadn’t washed it in over a week. Her eyes had wide dark circles beneath them, and her face was gaunt. Getting high had become routine again, and it meant her appetite had lessened considerably. She didn’t ask Mathieu how he had managed to get more pills after they ran out of the ten he had initially presented to her. The answer didn’t matter. What mattered more to Nita was that she had the pills at all.

But then she had woken up today realizing it had been seven weeks. She had always been so regular, but it had been seven weeks. Seven. The woman staring back at her from the mirror had the answer, but she wasn’t ready to admit it. Her hand grazed her stomach, sunken in from the lack of food. It was already too late, and there was nothing she could do. She didn’t tear up or feel distraught. She hadn’t felt anything in such a long time that she didn’t expect to now. She was used to feeling empty. She knew her world was going to change dramatically for the second time in the past year, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. What she didn’t know was far more important. She didn’t know who the father was.





41


SOPHIE


2019


Le Verre Plein is small and dark, like so many places in Paris. Manoj and Sophie stride to the bar and take a seat on the round vinyl stools and wait for the bartender to finish chatting with some other customers. After pouring two glasses of wine for a couple at the other end, the bartender makes her way toward them.

She looks to be around the same age as Sophie’s fois. The woman has thick black hair pulled into a bun, with silver hair around her temples. As she moves closer to them, her gaze fixes on Sophie. She falters for a moment and then catches her balance. A look of recognition flickers across her face before she shakes it off. Sophie feels the energy around her change, and she senses she is meant to meet this woman.

“How can I help you?” Her accent is British.

“Are you Sangdao?” Sophie asks, already knowing the answer.

“Only when my parents were yelling at me for misbehaving. God rest their souls,” the woman says. Her makeup is heavy, green eye shadow and thick eyeliner, a stark contrast to the demure coloring Sophie has seen on the French women throughout the city. “You can call me Dao. What can I get for you?”

Sophie feels Manoj’s stare, urging her to get to the point.

“I’m staying at Le Canard Volant,” Sophie says. “Cecile suggested we come here.”

Dao’s face lights up. “Oh, Cecile! Love that bird. I’d say I can’t believe she’s still at that place, but then people would say the same thing about me.” She gestures around her. “Everyone comes to Paris with dreams. Whether they come true or not, no one ever leaves. We all settle for the next-best thing if it means we get to stay.”