Chapter 35, Europe, 2014

SLIGHTLY OFF

It’s the summer of 2013, and Carolyn and I are off to Europe with our kids. Matson has gotten so used to traveling with the frequent flier Gold Status his mom has acquired selling art worldwide, he is disappointed we are only in the Economy Comfort section of Virgin Airlines. Carolyn and I joke we should use her miles and put ourselves in first class, or at least business class, but in the end it seems wrong to leave the kids alone alongside strangers for the ten hours it will take to land in London. Everyone but me sleeps most of the flight anyway, and I make sure to photograph them all, mouths gaped open, in deep sleep. I’ll surprise them with these shots in my online photo book of our trip. First stop on our trip is a visit with our friend, Brooke. I met Brooke in Los Angeles through mutual friends from back home, and soon we were roommates in a large West Hollywood craftsman home shared with two other young women. We were never home. Our determination and “twenty-year-old motivation” left just slivers of time beyond our multiple jobs. Discretionary time often found us at Jones Bar or the Formosa Cafe. Brooke eventually married a Brad Pitt look-alike Englishman, which is why she ended up in London.

Carolyn books a wonderful place to stay during our visit. It is a half block from Brooke’s brownstone, above a cool pub. There are twelve rooms, and the owner often stops us on our way in to share a new label of wine he is trying out for the pub. The pub has that old-world, traditional English feel. Barstools are covered in hard, aged brown leather, and shelves of liquor bottles behind the bar extend up to the ceiling.

Fliss is entranced with Brooke’s daughter, Ella, who is one year older. Brooke allows Ella to take public transit on her own all around London. We all ride a double-decker bus at Fliss’ request, and Ella picks our destination. Looking back, this is the first moment I notice something is off with Carolyn. She looks tired. She is less engaging than normal. Brooke has a fun dinner party with some local friends - an English couple whose kids attend the same school as Ella, and an American girlfriend currently earning her Masters Degree in London. The conversation is light and witty, but normally the night would have crescendoed with a hilarious story or two from Carolyn, eliciting deep belly laughs and continued drinking. Instead, Carolyn quietly sits next to me and politely smiles.

The kids squeal with glee when we tell them we will be leaving London and riding the Chunnel to Brussels. Carolyn has been in the London station many times but seems incredibly confused this time. I hold the maps in the absence of Chris, and I find our departure platform just in time to make our train. In Brussels, we meet up with our childhood neighbor and dear friend, Anne. Anne works for the foreign service. She could be our sister with her blonde hair and blue eyes. Anne is hilarious. Her tales regale the whole family. Her job keeps her travel schedule full, sometimes to exotic destinations that are intriguing. Anne has a great, fully committed laugh. It begins often mid-sentence, before she’s gotten to the punch line. Her laughter is highly contagious and inevitably, by the end of one of her stories, we are all doubled over, laughing to the point of tears. After our days with Anne, I notice that Carolyn is sleeping in later than normal, but seems happy and well as we tour the city, shop, and buy the children lots of local chocolate and macarons.

My worries increase when we get to Paris. Again I notice Carolyn seems slightly off. The train station is confusing, the subways even more so. At meal times, Carolyn cannot remember her French with her usual fluency. She is braiding her hair in one single braid as she did as a child. She is forgetful of what I call the “Carolyn Paris Loop” – the journey from our Hotel in the Sixth Arrondissement, past a few great landmarks (the love lock bridge), street vendors, the Seine, boutique shops, and the Pompidou Center. We conclude with lunch atop the museum facing Notre Dame.

I tell myself Carolyn is overworked and overtired. She has calls from clients daily, despite the fact that we are traveling. She never seems to have a day off. We have fun in the best moments. My dress gets stuck in the escalator on our way from lunch. She helps me rip myself free just moments before I would have been involuntarily undressed and nude in my boots and Spanx in the Pompidou Center lobby. This amuses us for weeks, imagining the alternative outcome and the ridiculous visual. We buy pretty handbags on our boutique “walk about” and handmade pajamas at Bluet on Rue du Pre - an incredible store we discovered years earlier on a sister trip to Paris. We find a French mall where locals shop. Matson eats mussels at his favorite French bistro - Cafe Henri - and Fliss returns home, courtesy of Carolyn, with a great pair of French suede boots.