Bridget Goes Abroad (7/7)
All the standard disclaimers apply.
This story has been dormant and unfinished for quite some time, which is a shame because, if one is permitted to say they like their own stories, I always liked this story. So I wanted to finish it up. Having said that, I think it only fair to announce there is no sex in this one. Sorry.
Bridget had said her goodbyes. All there was left was the trip to the airport, then the flight back to the US. Plus a little side trip before she made it home.
She’d said her good byes to Susan, Marise, Laura, Porcia and Kara the night before last, enjoying each other’s company the way they had all summer. Bridget always enjoyed an orgy; an orgy is exactly what it was, and left her with enough masturbatory memories to get her through the cold, lonely Boston winter nights that would arrive in a few months’ time. And there was Susan’s promise that she had a lot of vacation time to burn, so maybe a trip to Boston was due in the Spring? It wasn’t so much “good bye forever” as it was “arrivederci”.
It was the usual scene when she got back to Claire’s. Late at night, Claire was asleep on the couch, documents she’d brought home from work spread all around her. It was time for part one of Bridget’s plan. She gently shook Claire awake.
And with Claire awake, Bridget for the last time, pushed on her mind.
“Nothing happened between you and me and Susan,” Bridget explained. “It was just a dream, a weird dream that came out of nowhere. It’s nothing to worry about.”
Claire’s entire posture relaxed instantly. She took a deep breath.
“I can’t believe the summer’s over,” she said. “Where does the time go?”
“Who knows,” Bridget shrugged.
She still had the card Tara had given her when she arrived in London. Bridget called the number on the card, and when Tara answered, she got immediately to business.
“I need to change my flight itinerary a bit.”
“May I ask why?”
Bridget explained the situation.
“So this is a personal matter?” Tara clarified.
“Correct.”
“For the sake of true love, you say?”
“Correct.”
“Well, this is highly unusual, and I am not a fan of unusual,” Tara said, a severe tone in her voice. Then her tone softened. “But I am a fan of true love ...”
Claire drove Bridget into Heathrow. At the curb in front of the terminal, they hauled Bridget’s bags out of the car.
“You’ve been a wonderful roommate Bridgy,” Claire sighed. “Anytime you want to come back, my door is always open.”
“I may take you up on that,” Bridget said.
Claire’s eyes welled up.
“You’ve turned into such an amazing woman,” she continued. “I’d say I was proud of you, but I didn’t have anything to do with it, so I’ll just say I am so very, very happy for you.”
Bridget shook her head, “That isn’t true, Claire. You’re the sister I never had. That year you lived with us, I knew I wanted to be just like you. You’re always so poised, and so appropriate, I never forgot it. Whenever I am in a tough spot, I always find myself asking what would Claire do?”
Claire wiped away a tear with the back of her hand.
“So before I go, there’s something I want to say, something I’ve wanted to say for a while now, and I really hope you’ll take it to heart.”
Claire looked at her expectantly.
Bridget didn’t push here. This was something Claire would have to assimilate on her own.
“I know part of you is very sad, and that maybe you’ve given up on hope or being happy. But I am telling you your time is coming, and sooner than you think. And when it comes, I hope you’ll give hope a chance, and you’ll allow yourself to be happy.”
With that, she hugged Claire good bye, gathered her bags, and walked into the terminal. She didn’t look back. And she didn’t go to the gate for the flight to Boston.
Bridget had been to Chicago enough that navigating O’Hare airport and getting into the city didn’t present any particular difficulty. The taxi dropped her off at the brownstone in Lincoln Park.
“Stay here, I’ll be back in a minute,” she instructed.
Bridget already knew the code for the front door. She made her way to the unit on the third floor and pounded on the front door.
Chris looked flabbergasted when he saw who it was.
“Bridget, what are you …”
She punched him in the chest, “You stupid idiot!”
“OW! What …”
She punched him again, “You dumped her because it felt too weird to be with her?”
“I see you and Claire talked.”
Another punch, “Then she came to visit you and just because it didn’t go well you didn’t try again?”
“It was a disaster,” Chris pleaded. “It ruined everything.”
Bridget groaned in frustration, “She is in love with you, you moron! And she’s miserable in London because she can’t be with you.”
Chris’ jaw dropped, but he said nothing.
“So what are you going to do about it!”
Chris blinked, and his lips moved, but all that came out was, “I … uhhh … wow …”
Bridget shook her head.
“You get on your phone, call your boss, and tell them you need a week off. Tell them whatever you need to tell them to get a ‘yes’. Lie through your teeth if you have to.
“And I swear to God if you are not in London in 72 hours I will make your life hell. Here’s your present!”
She threw an Arsenal jersey in his face. With that, she turned and walked away. Once again, she didn’t look back.
It was 7a when Chris’ flight landed at Heathrow, 70 hours later. After 11 or so hours in the air came the part of the trip that seemed to take the longest, taxiing to the gate. He had only a carry on, so getting off the plane was easy enough, and he wouldn’t have to worry about baggage claim, thankfully. Once off the plane, Chris just followed the crowd to Customs, where the lines were mercifully short. He handed his passport to an elderly, very British looking, man.
“Your reason for visiting the United Kingdom?”
“Correcting the biggest mistake I ever made in my life.”
“Ummm, how nice,” the man was obviously surprised, but his tone was kindly. “And how long will you be staying with us?”
“Don’t know.”
“I see,” he handed over Chris’ passport, “And we’re all done.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome and enjoy your stay. Be sure to spend lots of those lovely American dollars you Yanks always seem to have, help out our economy and all.”
“Whatever it takes.”
The man realized they were not talking about the same thing.
“In that case, I wish you well,” he chuckled. “Hurry along now. Mustn’t keep her waiting.”
It was noon when he was dropped off at Paddington Station, with no idea where to go. He asked for directions and was grateful to learn Claire’s building was nearby. He was there by 1pm, and it being Saturday, it seemed at least possible she’d be home. He went in, and on the far side of the lobby, saw some people getting in the elevator.
“Hold the door, please” he called and sprinted across the room. They held the door.
Inside were three young women, all about Bridget’s age. When they got a look at him, their eyes bugged out in astonishment.
“What floor, please?” an adorable black girl with a musical accent asked.
“12.” Chris said. The girls were astonished.
“My God, you’re Bridget’s brother!” the girl said.
Now Chris was the one astonished.
“How did you know that?”
“12 is Claire’s floor …”
“… and you look exactly like Bridget!” a lithe brunette finished.
The rest of the trip to the 12th floor was a blur of explanation, how they had been Bridget’s friend, how they missed already, and please tell her they can’t wait until she comes back. Please tell her? You promise you won’t forget? You promise?
Chris stumbled out of the elevator, exhausted by the flight and the emotional assault of three girls who missed their friend. But now he was here. He’d thought about how he would handle this moment the whole flight. He wouldn’t allow himself the chance to falter. He walked directly to the door, and without stopping to pause, knocked as politely as his nerves would allow. His stomach was a block of ice as he heard someone approach. The door opened.
Claire looked as if she were going to faint.
Chris’ chips went to the center of the table. “I love you, and I can’t be happy without you. I don’t care how it has to go. I’ll move to London, you can move to Chicago, it doesn’t make a difference. I just want to be with you.”
Claire took a deep, slow breath.
“I’ll move to Chicago.”
“You will?”
Claire nodded, “I can sell this place and that will keep me until I find a job.”
And then Chris was hugging her, and she was hugging him, holding each other tightly.
“I suppose I’ll need a new heavy coat,” Claire sighed. “Are the winters in Chicago as bad as they are in Boston?”
“No,” Chris assured her. “They’re worse.”