Unable to face life as a teenage mother, eighteen-year-old Penny Azevedo leaps at the chance to move to Portugal; she leaves behind her childish nickname and her three-year-old daughter, Jewel. As Pauline, she builds a new life in Coimbra that includes a complicated relationship with a guitar player and a unique way of repaying her mentor's generosity.
In California, Jewel is growing up under the loving but not-so-watchful eye of her grandmother, Wilma. On the surface, Jewel is the quintessential good girl who loves art and animals, but by age fifteen she has a secret life that includes drinking, drugs and stealing Gram's VW van.
A terrifying accident forces Pauline to face the life she left behind. She must decide whether to go back to California and try to reconnect with her mother and daughter or remain in Portugal, the life she loves. Feeling abandoned and resentful, Jewel questions whether she wants a relationship with her mother at all.
Across sixteen years and two continents, three generations learn to accept mother/daughter relationships on their own terms. But will any of them learn to forgive?
Unable to face life as a teenage mother, eighteen-year-old Penny Azevedo leaps at the chance to move to Portugal; she leaves behind her childish nickname and her three-year-old daughter, Jewel. As Pauline, she builds a new life in Coimbra that includes a complicated relationship with a guitar player and a unique way of repaying her mentor's generosity.
In California, Jewel is growing up under the loving but not-so-watchful eye of her grandmother, Wilma. On the surface, Jewel is the quintessential good girl who loves art and animals, but by age fifteen she has a secret life that includes drinking, drugs and stealing Gram's VW van.
A terrifying accident forces Pauline to face the life she left behind. She must decide whether to go back to California and try to reconnect with her mother and daughter or remain in Portugal, the life she loves. Feeling abandoned and resentful, Jewel questions whether she wants a relationship with her mother at all.
Across sixteen years and two continents, three generations learn to accept mother/daughter relationships on their own terms. But will any of them learn to forgive?
Wheel In The Sky
Portugal-May, 1991
Penny Azevedo’s flight from San Francisco to Lisbon was twelve non-stop hours. She brought a book about Portugal’s history, read a little and dozed a little on the long, droning flight. When the pilot indicated they were getting close, Penny pressed her forehead to the window. Through the wispy clouds she could see an ocean of red tiled roofs and streets arranged in intricate patterns like hieroglyphics. Her heart and stomach did simultaneous somersaults, elation and anxiety in almost equal measures. A new country, a new life, an adult now with her eighteenth birthday just passed. No one knows me but Claudia. I don’t have to be the stupid kid who had a kid at fifteen or the fool who waited three years for a guy who probably doesn’t remember my name. When Claudia offered Penny a job and a place to live in Portugal, Penny didn’t have to give it a thought, even though she had only met Claudia briefly. A clean slate. I can be anyone I want to be.
Claudia was waiting after Penny made her way through customs. “You look tired, Penny, dear. We’ll take a quick nap, a little cat nap, and then explore the city.” Claudia hired a taxi to take them to her Lisbon apartment. They drove past row after row of industrial-looking apartment buildings and long gray concrete walls scrawled with bright graffiti. Penny craned her neck to stare at an enormous shady green park with people lolling on the grass. Within minutes they were in the Alfama District, the oldest area of Lisbon. Penny had read about the wrath of the 1755 earthquake and how devastating it was to the entire region. It was surreal to come from a cookie-cutter California suburb to a city so old, so filled with history. Like time travel—if you blocked out the cars and electric wires strung in thick, black cobwebs overhead.
The taxi stopped at the mouth of a skinny, steep path, too narrow for a car. Claudia said, “We walk from here, Penny, it’s just there.” Claudia pointed to a rowhouse painted yellow with dark red trim and intricate iron balconies on the top floor. Bright red flowers cascaded over the ironwork.
Penny tried to picture the people who lived here centuries ago when the cobblestones were first laid in such complex patterns. Life must have been a struggle but still they took pride in their work. It was another form of art. Penny felt a little click in her head. All the times her parents, especially her mother, dragged her through museums, see this painting, see the light here and she thought she was bored when in fact it was sinking into her thick skull that there was art in everything if you look for it. Penny flattened her palm on the cheerfully painted stucco and closed her eyes. “What stories you could tell.”
Claudia laughed. “I’m glad this building can’t tell stories about me! The neighbors talk enough.” Claudia showed her to her guest room. “Rest for a couple of hours. I put some things in the cupboard for you.” Claudia pointed to a large wooden wardrobe in the corner. “Some fun clothes, in case you want to play dress-up when we go out.”
Penny looked down at her standard outfit of jeans and t-shirt. She stopped caring about clothes when she stopped going to school—when she stopped going anywhere—which was about the time her stupidly pregnant belly announced her stupidity to the world. Penny walked to the full length mirror and peered closely at her face. New country, new life, new me. “Claudia, could I borrow some makeup?”
She slept for an hour then rose to explore the cupboard, Penny got a little misty-eyed thinking about Claudia going to the effort of picking out clothes for her. Penny chose slim white pants and a loose fitting black and white sleeveless top with an exotic pattern, nothing she would have chosen for herself but she liked it. There were shoes in the wardrobe but everything had heels, Penny didn’t want to break her neck on her first day tripping on cobblestone streets. She settled on the black and white checkered Vans she brought from home. She heard a light tapping on the door. “Come in.”
Claudia looked her up and down and smiled. “I have the perfect shawl for you.” She hurried away and came back with an emerald green fringed shawl. “This will bring out the green in your eyes.”
“I have brown eyes.”
“Look closer, in the light.”
Penny wrapped the shawl across her shoulders and leaned closer to the mirror. The emerald green fabric was shot with threads of metallic gold that twinkled in the lamplight.
“What? How can I be eighteen years old and never noticed I had green in my eyes?”
“People, especially women, seem to only look for flaws when they peer closely at themselves,” Claudia said. “Let’s go find some food, Penny.”
“Yes! I’m starving. And Claudia, can you call me Pauline? Penny is such a kid’s name.”
Alfama
Rows of pastel houses teetered over the narrow cobbled streets to create a canyon effect, it got dark early in town. The streets were crowded with people walking every which way, there was a babble of voices in all languages and music coming from almost every open doorway. A couple stopped abruptly in front of them to look in a window and Pauline almost ran into the woman.
“Tourists,” said Claudia, “can’t live without them but sometimes…”
The enticing smells of fish, garlic and fresh bread filled the air, garnished with smelly garbage notes from the alleyways. They passed narrow shop after narrow shop, all sharing walls. Butcher, baker, bar, deli and restaurants galore. Many of them had only one table outside with two chairs.
“It’s early for dinner.” Claudia stopped at a restaurant that looked remarkably like a dozen other restaurants. “But this is the best halibut in the Alfama. Do you want to eat outside?”
“Definitely.” Pauline was dazzled by the sights, sounds and smells that roiled about her. I’m really here. I really did it. She felt like she had opened a book and it came to life, dragging her inside. Pauline realized she was clutching the edge of her chair as if she might float away. She relaxed her hands and took a deep breath. It’s not a dream. This is my real life now.
The waitress came to take their order. “Claudia, so good to see you again. You’ll have the halibut?”
“Yes, thank you, Sofia.” Claudia beamed.
“I’ll have the same,” Penny said quickly. She was too nervous to attempt to read the menu.
“Bring us a small plate of percebes, too, please, Sofia, and a carafe of your lovely vinho verde,” Claudia said.
Pauline ate strange looking food (including barnacles!), got drunk for the second time in her life (the first time was the night she got her stupid self knocked up) and felt her spirits lift. She soaked in the colors, the smells, the exotic flavors, the intoxicating sweet green wine and the sounds of laughter and music. Nearby drumbeats pummeled the tender spot in the middle of her chest, she felt twin thrums of melancholy and euphoria and knew she would remember this meal, these moments, for the rest of her days.
After a leisurely dinner, including an entire carafe of delicious green wine, Claudia led the way to an alley even more narrow than the streets. A man sat in a battered wooden chair by an open door. He looked up as they approached and stood, tipping his dusty fedora.
“Ola, bem-vindas. Good evening, Ms. Mendonca. You honor us with your presence.”
“You’re sweet, Rafael, but I know you’re just showing off for my young guest. Pauline, Rafael.”
“Boa noite,” said Pauline and Rafael answered with a stream of Portuguese that had her laughing and shaking her head. “No comprende.” They laughed at her high school Spanish.
“Let me show you to a nice table, Claudia and Pauline.”
He sat them in a corner near the small stage. The room was dimly lit, the walls were painted rich yellow-orange and it was smoky from cigarettes and whatever meat they had on the blazing hot grill behind the bar. There was a soft spotlight pointed at the stage. Two men dressed in black sat in wooden chairs and tuned their stringed instruments.
“Are those guitars, Claudia?”
“Yes, but these are specifically guitarra portuguesa, Portuguese guitar, fado guitar.”
The singer appeared on stage, her dress was black and left her shoulders bare. A sheer red-on-red embroidered shawl draped below her shoulders and in the crook of her elbows. The singer swayed and gestured dramatically, her voice vibrated with passion and pain, like her beating heart was being torn from her chest.
Pauline was mesmerized by the woman’s expressions and body language that told a story Pauline could understand, even without knowing the words. She didn’t even realize she was crying until Claudia slipped her a tissue. “It’s so sad.” Pauline hiccuped.
“It’s sad, yes, love can be sad, but the song is also about hope.”
“Love’s not worth the trouble. Nothing is worth hurting like that.”
“Fado, this music, is about longing. It comes from the days when men worked the seas and explored the world, leaving behind women lonely and wondering. But many love stories do have a happy ending, Pauline, the songs have hope. Love is never painless.”
“I plan to stay far away from love for awhile,” Pauline said. Once, she thought she was in love with Johnny, clearly she wasn’t smart enough to know what love looked like so it’s best just to stay away from men. Period.
A young man walked up to the table. He was slim and dark with shaggy hair and a wistful, wispy mustache. He held out his hand to Pauline, “Você quer dançar?”
She shook her head.
“He’s asking you to dance.”
“I know. Can you please tell him no thank you?”
Claudia translated. He nodded. His sad brown eyes said he was not surprised. The old Penny would have been flattered and eager to dance with that young man. Penny would have thought…he could have chosen any girl from this crowded room and he chose me…but Pauline knew that man would ask the next girl and the next until he found someone to dance. Maybe it’s flattering to be asked but it doesn’t make you special.
“I know a little of your story, Pauline, but I would like to hear more. What are your hopes and dreams?”
“You know my story, Claudia. I made a stupid decision and wrecked a bunch of people’s lives. I haven’t been able to think about hopes and dreams, I’ve been too busy mourning the loss of my childhood.”
“What, did you murder someone? Rob a bank? No, you had an unplanned child. I know that much of your story and I’ve met little Jewel. She has a wonderful life.”
“I got pregnant the first time, the only time I had sex. At fifteen, I brought a life into this world that I don’t want to be responsible for and I ruined my body! At fifteen I had a perfect body, now I have stretch marks and a Cesarean scar. I can’t bear to look at myself in the mirror. I made a bad decision and look at everyone who has to pay. I changed so many lives, even the sperm donor’s life has changed. He has a child in this world that he’ll probably never know.”
Claudia nodded her head. “The oldest story, dear. If only we could regulate men and their sperm flying all over the place instead of regulating a woman’s womb resting peacefully in her belly. Unfortunately the rules are made by men and they don’t want their sperm regulated.” She shrugged. “Having a child changed your life, absolutely, but your life is far from over, you’re barely more than a child. And your scars? No one cares. A man sees a naked, willing woman, he doesn’t see scars. Look at me! I used to be very fat. I know, you’re being discreet by looking away because you think I’m still fat. But, no, once I was enormously fat. When I was twenty, I made the decision to stop eating myself to death and I lost over forty-five kilos, about one hundred pounds. My body looked like someone left a stack of biscoitos in the rain. I had surgery to remove most of the excess skin.” Claudia leaned closer. “I’ve never had a problem finding a man to fuck.” She leaned back. “And neither will you.”
“I’m completely uninterested in sex,” Pauline said. “The last thing I need is another accidental pregnancy.”
Claudia laid some money on the table. “Let’s walk a bit, get some fresh air.”
The streets were even busier at midnight than they had been at ten PM when they entered the bar. “My internal clock doesn’t know what to think,” Pauline said. “I can’t remember the last time I was out this late. My entire town goes to bed at nine.”
“Your brain still thinks you’re in California and the nap helped,” Claudia said, “but jet lag will catch up to you soon enough.”
They strolled slowly down the street. Pauline goggled at the old buildings covered in the beautiful blue and white ceramic tiles that are a cherished symbol of Portugal. She couldn’t get over feeling she was walking around inside a story. The sights, sounds and smells were completely unlike her suburban life in California. They stopped in front of a building with two stunning towers. “Is that a castle?” Pauline asked.
“It’s a church, a very, very, old church,” said Claudia. “The name is long, Santa Maria Maior de Lisboa, most call it the Se.”
“It’s so beautiful.” Pauline tilted her head all the way back to take in the pointed tops.
“The church was built in the twelfth century and rebuilt many times,” said Claudia. “Flood, fire and earthquakes.”
“I’ve read a little about Portugal history, I can’t wait to read more. And I’d really like to learn Portuguese. I wish I’d learned it when my Papa asked me to.”
“It’s never too late to learn.”
The street was quieter here, less foot traffic, the sound of music was distant. They walked through the enormously tall, deeply arched entry of the church and up the stone steps to the magnificent doors. The sounds of the street became even more muffled.
“I brought you here to tell you my story.” Claudia touched the far right corner of the church threshold by the scarred wooden doors. “When the priest opened the front door on May 5, 1950, I was lying there. He said I didn’t make a sound and at first he didn’t see me. When he did see me, he thought I was dead, I was so still. But I was alive and perhaps one or two days old. The priest called some people, including his good friend, Carlos Mendonca. Carlos and his wife, Dores despaired of having a child after many miscarriages and I had the great good fortune of being adopted by those wonderful people who I’m so proud to call my parents.”
They walked down the steps, shoes tapping on the cold stone. “Maybe the woman who gave birth to me thought I ruined her life. I don’t know her story, was she raped, was she poor, was she sick, was she abandoned by a careless boyfriend? I hope she’s happy now, it’s the only reason I would like to know her. I wish I could know that she’s happy and not tormented by her choice.” Claudia motioned to Pauline and they headed back towards the town center. “Pauline, your parents care for Jewel as if she were their own daughter. They couldn’t possibly love her more if Wilma had given birth herself. Jewel is going to be healthy and happy and you don’t ever need to think you abandoned her.”
“I know,” Pauline said. “My mom is probably happy I’m gone so she can enjoy her granddaughter. I haven’t been nice to my parents for a long time. Or my friends, my friend Kate especially. I wasn’t nice to Jewel and sometimes when she would look at me, I felt like she was afraid of me.” Pauline stopped in front of a little art store and peered inside. The store was closed but she could see colored pencils and chalk, tubes of paint and brushes of all sizes. The windows were protected with decorative metal bars. She put her hands on the side of her face and peered through the bars to get a better look. “This is the kind of store my mom would bring Jewel to shop.”
“I’ve seen one of Wilma’s paintings, at the Davis house. It’s a beautiful watercolor of Mount Diablo and the foothills.”
“Yes, that’s one of my favorites,” Pauline said. “I’m glad for my mom that Jewel likes coloring and drawing and stuff like that. Mom tried to get me interested in art but I don’t remember ever enjoying it at all.”
“Perhaps you haven’t found the right art to express yourself? Or you could just choose to be a person who is happy in the moment. If you’re not enjoying the moment, you have an obligation to your spirit, your soul, to ask yourself, what else could I be doing? And do that thing.”
Pauline laughed. “You make it sound easy.”
“Oh, no,” Claudia shook her head, “I didn’t intend for it to sound easy!”
Pauline’s first night in Portugal had been magical, barnacles and green wine, fado in the Alfama, Claudia’s story, the beautiful buildings and cobblestone streets. But that was a day of vacation, Claudia had been with her every moment. When they arrived in Porto, Claudia had a job and a life. Pauline had a job waiting for her and would be expected to make a life.
The phrase ‘fish out of water’ would not leave Pauline’s head. She had a mental image of herself as a plump, scarred trout resting in peace on the bottom of a cool, green, murky stream without a thought in her head, carelessly opening her mouth and catching bits of food as it drifted by. She swallows something shiny and now she’s hooked, jerked into blinding, ferocious light, the nerve endings in her pale and tender skin screaming. She could have let the shiny new life pass by, no one forced her into the sunlight but she had swallowed the hook, even knowing it would hurt.
On the train to Porto, Pauline had hours to feel like a fish out of water. Claudia had her briefcase open and was reading papers. All around her, Pauline could hear conversations and she didn’t understand a word, it seemed no one was speaking English. She recognized German, French, Spanish and of course, Portuguese, which she once thought was such a pretty language and now the shushing sweep of sibilants sounded like they were all whispering.
fishoutofwaterfishoutofwaterfishoutofwaterfishoutofwater
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When they got off the train in Porto, Tony Louro was there to greet them. He was the driver, the handyman, ‘whatever they need me to do’ man and married to the housekeeper/cook, Rosa. They lived at the Mendonca family quinta which was another hour by car. Pauline watched the scenery change from a slightly seedy big city to an out-of-this-world countryside of breathtaking charm and beauty. The feeling of being in a story came back as she gazed at elegant terraced hills, every square inch of usable soil put to work growing food in this ideal climate.
Claudia pointed. “There’s the quinta.”
Above the downhill march of grape vineyards, Pauline could see a grand house, two story gleaming white stucco with yellow trim, dignified arches and the inevitable red tile roof. Tony pulled into the circular driveway and stopped in front of a wide wooden double doors.
Inside, the house was silent and cool, the front room cavernous with high ceilings, whitewashed walls, blue and white tiled floors. The chill in the air gave Pauline goosebumps. Claudia led Pauline down a narrow hall to her bedroom. “This is the original part of the house,” said Claudia. “I would prefer to be on the more modern side but my parents and other family members with more seniority have those rooms.” Claudia grimaced. “Even though they’re rarely here.”
“It’s the most perfect bedroom I’ve ever seen,” said Pauline, a little breathlessly. More whitewashed walls and blue tile floors that peeped between shaggy blue and white area rugs. She went to the window and almost wept at her view, row after endless row of dusty, green leaves and gnarled vines of ancient grapes glowing in the last light of day.
Pauline cried a little that night, feeling homesick and overwhelmed with newness. Sitting up in bed, wiping tears with impatient flicks, Pauline wrote in her journal: I will not give up. This is an opportunity to be someone besides boring, brown, stupid Penny. She wrote: I don’t know where this path leads but I’m on my way. She thought she would never fall asleep but the bed was exquisitely comfortable. Pauline drifted off with tears still seeping from her closed lids.
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On her first day of work, Claudia asked Pauline to do an inventory of the two hundred year old library. Pauline gazed around the room with wide eyes and open mouth. So many books, so much time on her hands, it was a dream job.
“Check the books off this list and please look for publication dates on books that have this space blank,” said Claudia. “There’s no deadline, feel free to take your time, clean and inspect the books for damage. I hope you enjoy this part of the job. Some would find it tedious.”
“It sounds like the perfect job to me.” Pauline couldn’t stop grinning. She could be alone and read and get paid for it.
Three days a week, six hours a day, Pauline worked in the library. It was a peaceful cocoon filled with muted colors, musty smells and the minute rustlings of the bats who lived in the library and ate the bugs that were attracted to the old books. Some of the rustlings were probably rats, she didn’t want to know. The library was instantly Pauline’s favorite place to be on the property—besides her glorious sunny bedroom. The library was grand, dignified, gracious, humbling, and her duties left plenty of time to daydream. Cleaning up the bat shit was the worst part of her job and that wasn’t nearly as bad as she imagined. She opened each book to check for a publication date and flipped through most of them, stopping to read a passage or a page. Pauline already had a stack set to the side for reading later and she had plenty of time to read.
It was rare to see another person on the days she worked in the library and Pauline treasured her solitude. Sometimes she sang while she worked, the notes reverberated in theatrical acoustics against the stacks and the timeworn wooden walls and Pauline sang her heart out. Maybe it doesn’t sound good to anyone else but I like it! She thought about getting a radio but it seemed wrong for the library, disrespectful somehow.
Pauline didn’t have a dress code in the library but two days a week she worked as a tour guide and she had to wear a uniform on those days. Black slacks, black blazer, white shirt and a name tag that said Miss Azevedo. Her first day of training, Pauline met Josie. Josie was small, shorter than Pauline and curvy with abundant black hair, cherry red lipstick and dark snapping eyes. Josie made no attempt to hide a sneer as she looked Pauline up and down. She hissed something in Portuguese.
“I don’t speak Portuguese.”
Josie narrowed her eyes and pointed at Pauline’s badge. “Azevedo? You’re American?” Her accent was thick. “How do you know the Mendonca family?” Josie snarled.
Pauline assumed that Claudia would have told people something about her and how she came to be here but apparently not this girl. Josie’s hostility was unnerving. “Claudia is a friend of my family. I’ve met her a few times over the years and she offered me a job.”
“You live in the quinta? I suppose you will get all the special privileges and the other employees will get the shit.”
“I don’t know what privileges you think I have here besides a bedroom. What shitty job would Claudia make you do?” Pauline snapped. “Other than cleaning up bat shit, which is my job.”
“You work in the library? That is the shit.” Josie chuckled. She seemed to relax a fraction until a man walked in. He was tall, dark and handsome and clearly aware of his effect on women. “My boyfriend, Filipe,” Josie said, rigid again.
Pauline could see the territorial gleam in Josie’s eyes as she introduced them.
Pauline was miserable every time she worked with Josie but she refused to complain to Claudia. It took weeks before Pauline convinced Josie she wasn’t interested in Filipe. Or any man. “I had my heart broken very badly, Josie, very, very badly. And Filipe adores you! He can’t help it that he flirts, he literally can’t stop himself. It’s just his way.”
Josie reluctantly concluded that Pauline wasn’t lazy, a management spy or a boyfriend stealer. “You’re okay, for an American, Paulie.”
Pauline didn’t like her new nickname at first, she associated it with ‘Polly wanna cracker’ but she wasn’t going to tell Josie that.
Claudia was gone a lot, luckily Pauline felt a connection with Tony and Rosa right away or she would have felt even more lonely in the early days when Josie hated her.
“You remind me of my Papa,” Pauline said to Tony.
He laughed. “I’m not old enough to be your papa!”
Rosa said he was plenty old and stop acting a fool. Tony taught Pauline some Portuguese words, he named things around them like door (porta) and window (janela). Pauline helped Rosa in the kitchen and she remembered all the times her mother had asked if she wanted to help her cook and Pauline said no. She spent all those hours reading in her bedroom, hiding in her bedroom. I should have helped Mom when she asked. This isn’t so bad, cooking is actually kind of fun.
Pauline slipped into her new life, her new routine, and sometimes she marveled at the memory of that first night when she had felt so afraid.
After months of working together and getting to know each other, Josie and Filipe invited Pauline to spend a weekend with them in the city. They showed her the wild side of Porto night life. Soon it became a regular weekend routine to start the evening by singing at karaoke bars. Pauline, Josie and Filipe all had decent voices and there was enthusiastic support from the regulars. Pauline felt like all those years of singing to her hairbrush didn’t go to waste—even if she had been stupidly singing to Johnny.
By the time she had been there a year, the three of them were practically living together on weekends. When they walked into karaoke clubs or bars, friends and regulars would greet them with shouts, “Ola Josie! Ola Filipe!” and soon those same people recognized Pauline and would shout, “Ola Paulie! Sing Journey for us!”
The deafening pulse of the music pounded the last lingering thoughts of homesickness and guilt from her head. Pauline’s new friends were so zesty! They loved to eat, drink, dance, sing and laugh, preferably all at the same time. Their exuberance was contagious and exhausting. Pauline discovered a large part of their pep was due to the countless cups of espresso they casually called cafe like it was normal coffee and not the concentrated shot of pure caffeine that is actually was. The cafe and the alcohol flowed in cheap rivers, weekends passed in a jittery haze of sleeplessness and drunkenness.
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Pauline woke up in tiny increments, from unconsciousness to omg my head is killing me and then I really need to pee. A sickening wave of deja vu washed through her body, this is how I felt the morning after my night with Johnny. She slowly opened one eye, terror ran through her body in a hot-and-cold spike, her eyes widened and she sat upright in bed. Where am I? She looked down at herself and saw a shirt she didn’t recognize. She felt a scream building inside her chest and struggled to calm herself. What’s the last thing I remember? Her breath was ragged and her heart felt like it was going to burst from her chest. Her head pounded in sympathetic agony with each heartbeat. Pauline gingerly felt her crotch, I don’t feel like I had sex. She was wearing her own underwear, that was a particle of relief. She looked around the room, not much different than Josie and Filipe’s apartment but definitely NOT their apartment. She heard a tap on the door and a male voice.
“Paulie? Are you awake?”
She recognized the voice. It was Henri, a friend of Josie’s they had partied with many times. Henri had always been flirty but respectful. Did I finally go too far? Pauline pulled the covers up to her chin. “Yes, I’m awake.” Her voice trembled, she felt the dam holding back her emotions crumble at the sound of his voice and she started to sob. “What happened last night? Henri? Please tell me! Did we have sex?” Pauline’s sobs verged on hysterical.
Henri tried to reach for her and she scrambled back against the wall.
“Paulie, no, what kind of man do you take me for?” Henri’s dark eyes were solemn and concerned.
“Did you take my clothes off?” Pauline couldn’t catch her breath. The only thought she had was I can’t get pregnant again, I can’t get pregnant again.
“You hurt me, Paulie, that you think I would take advantage of a drunk woman.” Henri walked back to the door. “Your clothes are in the chair.” He pointed. “I loaned you a t-shirt and you changed your own clothes last night. There’s aspirin in bathroom and cafe in the kitchen.” He closed the bedroom door behind him.
Pauline covered her face with both hands and rubbed her forehead hard. I need to get my shit together. She dressed quickly and used the bathroom gratefully, chugged four ibuprofen with handfuls of water from the tap before looking in the mirror. “I look like death on a dirty plate.” Pauline moaned at the mirror. Her eyes were blood-red and ringed with smeared mascara. She found some soap and a washcloth and scrubbed herself presentable before she faced Henri in the kitchen.
“Paulie, you were talking to some guy I’ve never seen before, he kept trying to stick his hand up your dress and you were laughing and pushing his hand away but I could see he was bad news. You don’t remember me dragging you outside? You kept saying you didn’t want to leave. It was easier to bring you here than Josie’s place.”
“Thank you, Henri, thank you for watching out for me. I’m sorry for being mean to you, I know you’re a good guy.”
“Maybe you should not drink so much?” Henri said over the top of his steaming mug.
“I definitely should not drink so much.” Pauline decided from that moment forward, no more than one drink per hour. No exceptions, no excuses, she had to keep her wits about her. I can’t get pregnant again! Pauline had no intention of having sex with anyone. She didn’t miss sex itself as much as the sexual tension, she enjoyed being admired, the banter, the suggestive looks. Pauline always felt powerful walking away from steamy encounters, knowing the man she left behind was baffled. Getting blackout drunk was clearly not the way to control that type of situation. I can’t get drunk again. I can’t get pregnant again.
“Henri really likes you,” Josie said.
“I know. I like him, too.”
“But not enough to date him? Not enough to kiss him?”
“Josie, remember I told you I was never having sex again? I wasn’t kidding. If I kiss Henri once, he wants another. Next thing you know, he’ll want sex.” Pauline pointed to a poster of Superman behind the bar. “You know what kryptonite is, Josie?”
Josie nodded.
“When I think about having sex, it’s like vagina kryptonite.” Pauline clapped her hands together with a loud smack. “My pussy slams shut and dries up. No kissing and no sex for me, thanks.”
Upon reading the synopsis for Thanks, Universe by Cheri Krueger, I was enticed by its female-focused storyline. The entirety of the story itself did not disappoint, and I was deeply intrigued by the coverage of three generations of women in one family. None of the featured women are perfect, and their flaws are put out on display, making the novel increasingly real with each page.
Thanks, Universe starts off by following Penny (Pauline), a young mother who leaves her life and her child behind to begin a new life in Portugal. Only when an accident occurs is Penny (Pauline) faced with the decision to go back and face her mother and the daughter she left behind or remain in Portugal where she has built her new life.
Author Cherie Krueger’s writing is description-heavy, which at times comes off as quite wordy to the reader. I found myself skimming some of the adjective-heavy descriptions as I like to create the image of the story for myself in my mind. However, readers who enjoy more descriptions to help them visualize the novel will be pleased. This is just something to be aware of before considering Thanks, Universe for your next read.
The characters in Thanks, Universe are often unlikeable, but I found this to be mandatory over the course of the plot. Krueger doesn’t necessarily want the reader to like the characters; instead, she has created them to be flawed to mirror real life. I found myself painfully attached to the characters as the novel went on, even though I did not like Penny at all in the beginning. These complicated feelings solidified for me how well developed the characters are. Upon finishing the novel I am stuck with a whirlpool of feelings within me, and this is exactly how I like to feel after reading any coming-of-age or young adult novels.
Thanks, Universe is a beautiful coming-of-age novel that will have the reader wrapped up with complicated feelings and long periods of deep thinking upon finishing the novel. If you are a fan of young adult or coming-of-age novels that feature imperfect mother/daughter relationships, then this is the pick for you.