The Things We Live By

one - ruth

If I'm being perfectly honest, I wasn't sure how Lara would react. I couldn't really count on an emotional, stormy farewell, because Lara might as well have been a sociopath, British reserve always on point, and I didn't really want that reaction, either. I mean, we were in the middle of Starbucks and a few of the year-aboves were sitting literally twenty feet from us. It would've been embarrassing, probably more so for Lara, because everyone knew Jacob Kats from the year above was gunning for her – or after her, rather – and she wasn't gonna mess that up.

Then again, what was the alternative? Nice crisp handshake, nice-to-meet-you, I'm-late-for-dinner, bye? I mean, Lara was a robot, but we have been friends for five solid years. I'd be let down if she didn't at least shed a solitary, well-hidden tear.

I wasn't sure how Lara would react, so I just say it.

"So I'm moving to Ireland in two weeks."

Lara pauses mid-slurp. Her eyes narrow, the way they do when she's a) talking to someone she dislikes or b) not sure if you're taking the piss. Her head cocks sideways slightly, which is a sign that she doesn't know what to say. "You're taking the piss, right?" is what she eventually settles on. I'd hoped she'd be more original.

"My sense of humour isn't that fucked up," I return. "Ireland? Why would I make that up? That's sick, frankly."

"You're moving to Ireland?" She asks, to confirm.

"Aye. Tipperary, to be precise. Bang in the middle of the countryside." I swallow hard. Whether it's to stop me from crying or laughing, I'm not sure. I mean, I have to be honest with myself here. The move is exciting for me, in a weird kind of way. I'm guilty of romanticising it, which is stupid, because that's exactly what I did when we moved to London, and didn't that turn out to be much more of a shambles than I imagined. Still, the feeling persists in me that I am free, somehow, from British Jewry, which can be spectacularly agitating when it feels like it. Call it an adventure, if you will. "Crazy, huh," I say in a tone that isn't a question, because I already know it's crazy.

"Crazy," Lara agrees. So far, her face registers nothing. She takes another slurp. "So tell me, where in the actual fuck does this come from?"

I shrug noncommittally, the way I probably should, but then add, "Dad decided the only place he can take his journey of self-exploration is away from all civilisation."

"You know you don't have to move too, right?" Lara questions, and I can't help but get defensive, as if this is some kind of test. "You know Norah, her parents moved to New York, but she's living with her friend – what's she called – the curly one, until she finishes school. Or you can go to boarding school, or something."

"Yeah and my dad, great ideologue that he is, will let that happen," I roll my eyes. Lara knows it's true; Dad is vocal about how boarding schools are just for parents to resign their responsibility over their kids or whatever, and how children are a long-term commitment which you can't just dispose of. He's right. "And, to be honest, I'd rather go to Ireland than go to boarding school."

Lara appears a bit hurt by this. "Good to know that your investment in all of those relationships you've created here is so utterly well-established," she says with only the hint of a snap in her tone.

"I'm sorry, Lara," I say, soften my tone a little which is weird because I do not coddle. "I'd rather not go to Ireland at all. But you know, madman that he is, he's still my dad, and Natan will need help too, and I really have no control over the situation, which sucks."