After a while, it appeared that So a had abandoned the bedroom plan, but when I moved to get myself some more Fresca, she actually took hold of my sleeve and extricated us from the kitchen.
Priya’s door was closed, and when we opened it, we found Dov and Yohnny making out.
“Boys!” I cried.
Dov and Yohnny quickly refastened their jackets and put their hats back on over their yarmulkes.
“Sorry,” Yohnny said.
“It’s just that we haven’t had a chance to …,” Dov continued.
“You spent all day in bed!”
“Yeah, but we were exhausted,” Dov said.
“Completely wiped out,” Yohnny echoed.
“And—”
“—it was your mom’s bed.”
They scooted past us, through the doorway.
“That happen a lot in Spain?” I asked Sofia.
“Yes. Only they’re Catholic.”
She went over to what I assumed to be her bag and took out a book.
“Here,” she said. “This is for you.”
“I didn’t really get you anything,” I sput ered. “I mean, I didn’t know that you were going to be here, and—”
“Don’t worry. It’s your embarrassment at not having the thought that counts.” I was completely disarmed.
So a smiled and handed over the book. Its cover screamed LORCA! Literally, that was the title: LORCA! Which wasn’t very SUBTLE! I started to thumb through.
“Oh, look,” I said. “It’s poetry! And in a language I don’t speak!”
“I know you’ll go out and buy a translation, just to make me believe you’ve read it.”
“Touché. Absolutely true.”
“But really, it’s just a book that means a lot to me. He is a beautiful writer. And I think you’d like him.”
“You’ll have to give me Spanish lessons.”
She laughed. “Just like you gave me English lessons?”
“Why did you just laugh?”
She shook her head. “No, it was sweet when you did that. Well, sweet and condescending.”
“Condescending?”
She began to mimic my voice—inadequately, but enough so that I knew she was mimicking my voice. “ ‘What, you don’t know what a pizza bagel is? Do you need me to explain the derivation of the word derivation? Is everything copacetic—I mean, all right?’ ”
“I never said that. I never said any of that.”
“Maybe, maybe not. That’s just how it felt. To me.”
“Wow,” I said. “You could’ve said something.”
“I know. But it wasn’t my thing, to ‘say something.’ And I liked that you never minded explaining things. I felt there was a lot that needed to be explained to me.”
“And now?”
“Not as much.”
“Not as much.”
“Why?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yes.”
Sofia sighed and sat down on the bed.
“I fell in love. It didn’t work out.”
I sat down next to her.
“All in the past three months?”
She nodded. “Yes, all in the past three months.”
“You didn’t mention …”
“In my emails? No. He didn’t want me talking to you at all, not to mention talking to you about him.”
“I was such a threat?”
She shrugged. “I exaggerated you a lit le at rst. To make him jealous. It worked in making him jealous, but didn’t work so much in making him love me more.”
“Was that why you didn’t tell me you were coming?”
She shook her head. “No. I only knew I was coming last week. I convinced my parents I missed New York so much that they had to take me here for the holidays.”
“But really, you wanted to get away from him?”
“No, that wouldn’t work. I just thought it would be nice to see people. Anyway, what about you? Are you in love with anybody?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Ah. Then there is someone. The Joy of Gay Sex?”
“Yes,” I said. “But not in the way you’re thinking.”
So I told her. About the notebook. About Lily. Sometimes I looked at her while I was talking. Sometimes I was talking to the room, to my hands, to the air. It was too much at once to be so close to Sofia, yet also trying to conjure some closeness to Lily.
“Oh my,” Sofia said when I was through. “You think you’ve finally found the girl in your head.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, like most guys, you carry around this girl in your head, who is exactly who you want her to be. The person you think you will love the most. And every girl you are with gets measured against this girl in your head. So this girl with the red notebook—it makes sense. If you never meet her, she never has to get measured. She can be the girl in your head.”
“You make it sound like I don’t want to get to know her.”
“Of course you want to get to know her. But at the same time, you want to feel like you already know her. That you will know her instantly. Such a fairy tale.”
“A fairy tale?”
So a smiled at me. “You think fairy tales are only for girls? Here’s a hint—ask yourself who wrote them. I assure you, it wasn’t just the women. It’s the great male fantasy—all it takes is one dance to know that she’s the one. All it takes is the sound of her song from the tower, or a look at her sleeping face. And right away you know—this is the girl in your head, sleeping or dancing or singing in front of you. Yes, girls want their princes, but boys want their princesses just as much. And they don’t want a very long courtship. They want to know immediately.”