I want you to know, I’ve thought about this. How to deal with Remy. This is what I’ve come up with.
She didn’t know. She really didn’t know about Milo and me. As far as she knew, I barely even liked him. She didn’t know I went to the island. She didn’t even know I was getting a crush on him. She didn’t know he touched me on the arm in a sexy but sort of innocent way. She didn’t know because I didn’t tell her. And I didn’t tell her because I was being tricky.
Let’s face it.
So, in a way . . . I kind of got what was coming to me. I should have just been honest about it. If I had told her, if she’d known, there’s no way she would have let him grope her and slobber all over her in broad daylight next to the campus center. Right?
It’s the edge of that thought that gets interrupted when Remy comes barreling in the room, some sort of lovesick tornado. She’s all over the place, bouncing off the walls.
“Sorry about the other day, I just felt like I should talk to you and I really wanted to tell you that thing about Humbert Humbert, but I should have just waited, I guess.”
“Remy, look, it’s okay. I have to tell you something.”
No, I’m not gonna tell her I saw the make-out session with Milo. What’s the point? It wasn’t her fault anyway. She didn’t know.
“It is? Okay, good . . . wait, what?”
“I think Milo and I are, like, boyfriend and girlfriend or something now.”
“Oh. Cool.”
“That’s it?”
Remy looks in her bag for something she’s obviously not looking for.
“Yeah, that’s cool. I’m really happy for you guys. He’s great.”
I really wasn’t going to say anything, and I’m still not going to say anything. I’m definitely not going to say anything. No way. Except that . . .
“Look, I saw you guys making out, okay?”
“What?”
“I saw you guys having a hot make-out session by the campus center.”
“Oh. Well, that doesn’t mean anything. I mean, we’re just friends.”
“Yeah, that’s what he said.”
“It’s true. I’m obsessed with Humbert. You know that more than anyone.”
“Yeah, look. I know you didn’t know. But you do now, okay?”
“Of course! Now that I know, that makes everything different. Like, everything. Besides, I just . . . look, I’m kind of freaking out right now, actually.”
And now Remy sits down, or, more accurately, floats like a piece of paper down in all her beautiful-girl-who-has-lost-too-much-weight-and-sleep-and-thus-could-be-on-the-cover-of-Vogue glory.
“What’s wrong?”
I wish I didn’t know what’s coming next, but I have a feeling I know what’s coming next.
“Humbert. He hasn’t texted me. Or called. Or emailed. Or anything.”
I want to scream, “Well, duh!” But I don’t.
The fact that Remy thinks this situation is even approaching normal, this teacher-fucking thing, is really beyond. I mean, what does she think? This guy is gonna take her to the prom? “Hi, everybody, here’s my date, and, by the way, he’s also my teacher! And just old enough to be my father!”
And now I’m consoling Remy even though two seconds ago I thought she’d be consoling me.
“Remy, he’s probably scared he’s gonna be fired or something. I mean, it’s just one phone call and he could go to jail. Did you ever think of that? He’s probably terrified.”
It’s the logical explanation. It makes total sense. But not to Remy, and there’s a reason for that.
I think what happened is . . . Remy was always like this little princess with everyone swarming around her and granting her wishes and obeying her every command. So, at some molecular level, she has no idea how to cope with something that doesn’t go exactly the way she wants it, exactly how she wants it, exactly when she wants it.
A short way to say that is . . . she’s spoiled.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Remy is spoiled.
But she’s not a bad person. She’s really not. She’s just kind of way too sheltered and coddled, and there seems to be a kind of delusional aspect to her as well. At least as applies here to her affair with Humbert Humbert.
“Remy, maybe you could tell me what happened . . . ?”
“What kinda happened is I’m kinda in love with him and I kinda went to his office and looked superhot and made sure he fell in love with me.”
“So, what, you, like, jumped on him?”
“Kind of.”
Remy can’t stop checking her phone. Putting it down. Picking it up. Checking it. Putting it down.
Outside, the sky shines lavender through the trees. By six it will be pitch-black; it’s that time of year. Half-day season. Pitch-black season.
“Well, he’s probably just freaking out.”
“Yeah.”
But she doesn’t sound convinced. She digs in her pockets and finds a pill. That’s the one. It’s a little white pill, almost like an aspirin. Oxy. She doesn’t even try to hide it this time. Just takes it right in front to me.
“Remy, you have to stop this. This is really bad. Okay. You look like some kind of stress case who’s one twitch away from the rehab center. I don’t even know what you’re doing or how much you’re doing, but I don’t even want to know. And I have stuff here I need your help with. Okay? Like, Milo and I sorta went to some mysterious but possibly royal island this weekend.”
“Higgs?”
“What?”
“Higgs. Higgs Island. With Milo. That’s what it’s called.”
“I guess. I kinda never asked . . .”
“That’s a big deal, actually. The fact that Milo brought you there. I mean, I’ve never seen Milo take anyone there. Ever, now that I think about it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. He must really like you.”
We pause.
“Willa? I should probably tell you something . . . ?”
“What?”
She stares out the window for a second. Bites her lip.
“Oh, forget it.”
“Wait, Remy. What?”
“No, it’s nothing, I forgot.”
I can’t tell what’s going on over there across the room in obsessive-land. Is she mad at me? Is she sad at me? Is she totally apathetic because all she is thinking about is Humbert Humbert?
Probably. So even though my heart and my brain are in a million different places, I decide I have to do something.
“Look, Remy, maybe we should get out of here. Go somewhere. Get your mind off of it.”
“Really? You don’t have to stay here and study all day?”
(Yes.)
“No, let’s just go somewhere and do something that has nothing to do with Humbert Humbert or Milo or anyone. Okay?”
“Yeah, okay. Okay. I can do that.”
I feel relief. Far more than worry about this temporary academic derailment. Remy listens to me. I know that. And I feel . . . responsible for her.
After all, there’s no one else looking out for her.
And I have not exactly done a bang-up job of looking out for her, now, have I?