***

  Later that night, from the confines of a bathroom stall and the questionable comfort of a toilet seat, I smiled. I was thinking of James’s recent text, in which he’d told me he was back at the hotel room, accompanied by some extra cake he’d stolen just for me. Bless him for understanding my insatiable desire for baked goods! I finished up and stormed out of the stall on a cake-mission.

  As I washed my hands in the appropriate manner designated by hand-washing signs in office bathrooms from my former corporate life, the door swung open and in walked Sylvia, the angelic love of Erik’s life.

  I stared down at my hands as she rearranged her soft blond hair in the mirror. By now I’d been washing for longer than the appropriate time designated on standard hand-washing signs, leaving my fingers red and raw.

  “Hello,” she said, in the sweetest Danish-accented voice.

  I could barely hold in a gasp. Is this the part of my life story where I get murdered?

  “Hello,” I said, my eyes never leaving my red soapy hands.

  “I really like your dress,” she cooed.

  “Thanks, Laura helped me pick it out.” Her lips spread wide in a smile, with a perfect set of teeth underneath. I started to wonder if there was anything less-than-perfect about this girl, which again made me wonder what Erik had ever been doing with me in the first place; I was more and more convinced that I’d only been a messed-up fetish or a weird experiment.

  I rushed over to the industrial-strength hand dryer, hoping the intense noise would cancel any further conversation. But when my hands were fully dry and I turned back around she was waiting, facing me now with that same sweet smile. Or a serial-killer smile that was posing as something sweet. I would find out soon.

  “It’s okay,” she said.

  “Huh?”

  “I have no ill-will towards you.”

  Because of all the champagne, I almost started laughing at how strange the term “ill-will” truly sounded. Luckily I stopped myself and nodded quickly.

  “That’s nice of you.”

  “I mean what I say,” she said. “It was a rough time before, but now you have your own life, and Erik and I have ours.” I suddenly felt sick. “So no bad feelings to you, okay?”

  I had suspected that she meant to say “no hard feelings,” but the rest of the message was painfully clear.

  I somehow managed to nod, say thanks, and casually leave the bathroom. After that I was rushing down the corridor with tears in my eyes, wanting the night to end...

  Chapter Fourteen

  I was a long way off from the castle’s private guest rooms, so I finally slowed down once I made it outside, gulping in the fresh night air. The courtyard that had once been the site of the wedding reception was now nothing more than stacks of chairs, stained tablecloths, and empty glasses on ledges, which served as little clues of where the guests had been standing, and whether the conversations has been lively group affairs, or secret rendezvous for two.

  I left the scene of the party and made my way up the cobblestoned path, which curved along the side of the castle. I was in awe of the countryside view amidst the twinkling stars to my left, so I walked along with my gaze firmly planted there, never noticing what or who was in front of me. That’s why I bumped into a firm-bodied man in a suit.

  It was Erik.

  He grabbed me by the shoulders to steady me after our collision.

  “Are you drunk?” he said, with the kind of warm smile that was prohibited now.

  I wiggled my way out of his grasp. “I was just admiring the view.” I looked around at the deserted area. “Your girlfriend’s probably behind me; I should go.”

  “Actually, Dave’s cousins insisted on showing her the secret rooms of the castle. They’ll probably be a while.” The tweens like HER better than me? Traitors!

  “Are you jealous of them being alone with her?”

  He laughed. “They’re thirteen.”

  “In some countries that’s a marriageable age,” I said.

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  I had no idea why we were having this conversation, but it was starting to make me sick.

  “I have to go,” I said.

  “I was admiring the view as well,” he quickly said, gesturing to the starry sky.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I’ll admit, they’re attractive...despite being totally burned out.”

  He nodded but he wasn’t looking up at the sky. “Very attractive...”

  “I know that look,” I said.

  He smiled. “Tell me what it means.”

  “It means we both had too much champagne tonight.”

  “Romi, I am not drunk.”

  He was getting that serious look on his face, the one where profound thoughts were on the brink of pouring out; thoughts that wouldn’t lead to any change. I was sick of thoughts like that, but it was a lovely night and I wasn’t quite ready to leave. So I changed the subject instead.

  “Drunk or not, just promise me you won’t start pointing out the constellations.”

  He smiled. “They always do that in the movies.”

  “I know, right before the guy gets into the girl’s pants.” He laughed. “It’s true though! She’s always so amazed that he knows the name of some weird alignment of stars. As if it’s sooo shocking that a guy could’ve read a book at some point in his life; is that how low our expectations of the male population have become?! Memorize a few constellations and I’ll take my top off? Yeah right!”

  “You’re not entirely wrong; men from past centuries were constantly learning and growing. Now life is so convenient that using one’s brain on a regular basis seems a rare thing. ”

  “Exactly! Take Galileo, for example; he had to work tirelessly to prove that the earth revolved around the sun and not the other way around! I mean...imagine how much he got laid after that.” We both laughed.

  “So tell me, what does a man have to do in modern society to seem intelligent? Especially when so many amazing discoveries have already been made?”

  “That’s easy; continually learn about the past to help build a better future.”

  He nodded. “And what do women have to do to seem equally intelligent?”

  “The same, though that doesn’t happen often enough. Instead too many women just rely on the double b’s.” He seemed confused so I filled him in. “Boobs and booty.”

  He laughed. “I’m going to remember that.”

  “Of course you will; it’s probably all you think about.”

  “Actually I think about the triple b’s.”

  I scrunched my nose. “A woman with three boobs?”

  He smiled. “Brains Romi, the third thing is brains.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  I loved talking to Erik, I really did, but if none of our talks could ever lead to us having a real shot, it all seemed pretty pointless; especially when we’d be headed back to our countries the next morning. I glanced past him at the winding path, realizing I still had a ways to go before getting back to my room. What if the icing had melted off the cake James had saved for me? It was certainly a pressing issue.

  “Well Erik, good night; and if I don’t see you in the morning when we’re checking out...” This next part was confusing to me, and it made my concerns about icing seem rather trivial. “Then I guess you should have a nice life.”

  I headed up the path so he wouldn’t see that glimmer in my eyes, the first warning sign of tears. If only my escape had been that simple; instead I heard him following after me.

  “Can you hold on a minute?” he said.

  I turned around. “What for? I mean really, what for?”

  “Are you telling me it doesn’t feel wrong to you? That we may never see each other again?”

  It was very clear that Erik was about to ruin our lovely chat by bringing out the pointy spears of my rage. Whatever, you asked for it.

  “Do you know what felt wrong? Saying goodbye in New York. Do you know what else felt wrong? When you instantly gave up, just because there was an ocean between us; it was only water, but you acted like I was as far away as the decomposing stars in the sky.” I crossed my arms. “Do you want me to go on?”

  “I wish I had all the answers but I don’t.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’ve heard that before. Do you even have any of the answers?”

  He just stared at me. I waved my hand in front of his face. “Hello? Anyone there?” I sighed. “Erik we’re not friends; do you agree?” He nodded. “So if we’re not friends, and we’re not ‘more than friends,’ well what are we?”

  “Maybe we’re two people who should be more; that’s why I’m trying to figure out what happens after tonight. ”

  This time I wanted to punch him more than ever before. So I did. The punch landed on his shoulder, but next time I would aim for his face. “Should, might, maybe...I’m so sick of these indecisive words, and the more you use them the more it makes me sure that nothing happens after this!”

  “Don’t say that.”

  I glared at him. “I already said it so too bad. Let’s face it; we were forced to see each other because of a wedding, and now that wedding is over. So one plus one equals leave me alone!”

  “Are you really sure about that Romi? Because seeing you today has made me realize--”

  “Do NOT finish that sentence. Do not say another fucking word.” His eyes widened with fear just like I’d hoped. Right now I was running on rage and champagne and bad memories. The fuel of champions. “Whatever you’re feeling right now, whatever this day stirred up, it doesn’t matter. None of this matters because you made your choice along time ago, and you know what? It was damn fine choice, because I talked to her just now, and she’s actually really sweet, and beautiful, and has great teeth…she’s the whole package, so you totally did the right thing man!” I patted him in the shoulder. “You picked door number one and you got your prize; congrats!” My fierce speech was cracking behind my watery eyes, so I turned towards the view and stared hard.

  “Am I allowed to say anything here? Or is this just the Romi show?”

  I dried my tears and rolled my eyes. “It’s not my fault if I’m the main event. You’re barely an opening act.” I didn’t know why but I started laughing. And so did he.

  He came closer and the laughter faded out. “Listen. Seeing you today made me realize a lot, about who I was then, and the decision I made because of that.”

  “But you still made the decision; the only person who got you to do that was you, and I’m guessing you promised her the world just so she’d give you a second chance.” He looked away. “Are you really going to risk all that because we talked for ten minutes here or there?”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “Exactly. See? Whenever it comes down to the tough questions, you never have a proper answer. You talk the talk, but you’re never going to change your life so we can have a real chance. And that’s why I have to go. So let me go. And let this go.” I stared at my feet. “And promise me something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Promise that you’ll let me forget you. I mean it. Don’t write me when you get home,” I looked up, “please don’t ever contact me again.”

  Instead of accepting my terms, he stared at me for a second, said nothing, and walked away, leaving me there in the night...

  ***

  When I stumbled back into my room I was emotionally drained and physically exhausted. All of that disappeared when I noticed James in the moonlight, his shirtless body relaxing in bed, with a big plate of cake beside him. I took off my sandals as fast as I could and leapt right onto the bed, landing onto his hard body. I kissed him urgently and had him in my clutches but he managed to pull away. “Are you alright then?” I nodded quickly. “You sure? Because I noticed some moments tonight when you seemed a little...lost.”

  I smiled. “Those were just the moments before letting go completely. And now I’m never going to see him again, so who cares, right?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Never is a long time.”

  “I don’t even know if it’ll be long enough; I already wasted so much time on him.” I sat up and stared out the window.

  “You don’t really believe that.”

  “I believe I’m very hungry for some cake.” I reached over but he blocked my arm.

  “No experience is a waste of time; not as long as you learn something from it. So tell me, what have you learned?”

  I scrunched my nose. “Never trust a man who’s visually impaired?”

  He smiled. “Roms, you’re not trying hard enough.”

  “Won’t it take a while for me to figure out the lesson? I should probably have some cake first.”

  He moved the plate out of my reach. “No answer, no cake.”

  I frowned. “Okay, well...I guess I learned that...it’s good to feel things.”

  “Go on...”

  “Because it reminds you that you’re alive...”

  “Correct. And?”

  “Well it also makes me feel very angry!” I scowled.

  “But anger is still an emotion. Isn’t anger better than not feeling anything at all?”

  “I doubt that’s what they say in anger-management class.”

  He laughed. “Anything else to add?”

  “Well...just that...for the brief time I had it...it was totally out of this universe. That’s how amazing it was. So I’ll try to remember that.” This was a total lie. The only thing I would remember was that Erik was weak and didn’t care enough to make it work. But I wasn’t about to tell that to the man who held the keys to dessert.

  “Alright Roms, you answered correctly, so you may now proceed with your second helping of cake.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Seriously man? You really have to remind me it’s the second time tonight I’m having cake?”

  “Get over here.”

  He dragged me onto the bed until I landed on top of him for the second time that night. With hands all over and lips intertwined, I started to forget the dull ache in my heart; physical gratification was a drug in that way. So was cake, only my cake-gratification was ruined when James rolled me onto the plate. I gasped as I felt the frosting seeping through my dress. “It’s ruined!” I cried. I stuck a hand under my butt and pulled out a pile of smashed cake.

  James tried his hardest not to laugh. “I’ll pay for the dry-cleaning.”

  “I’m not talking about the dress, forget the stupid dress. This cake used to be a four-layer masterpiece. Now it’s…this.” I examined the ruin in my hand.

  “I’m sure it still tastes the same.” He took my handful of cake and smashed it against my face. I screamed and burst into laughter. What an asshole. But actually what a clever asshole, for putting on this clown show and helping me forget...

  Chapter Fifteen

  I’d been sitting at my computer staring at his e-mail for half an hour. It was incredible how a few simple words could turn my whole world upside down. But that was the effect of Erik.

  The words this time were brief, and they raised all kinds of questions: “Can we talk? It’s important.”

  I’d only been back from Italy for a week when his words fluttered into my inbox, words meant to reel me in and pique my curiosity.

  As I stared at the words, it was clear to me now that hope was a dangerous thing. Hope was the thing that asked new questions, stirred old feelings, but never quite came through with noticeable improvement.

  Hope was a drug.

  Not only had I forced myself into “hope rehab” on the night of Laura’s wedding, but I’d also specifically asked him to support me in this quest to forget. All he’d been told to do was never contact me again; the absence of doing anything at all...it couldn’t have been easier! But he had to disobey me anyway.

  I didn’t like it when people ignored my requests, it made me angry and impulsive and merciless. Which is exactly how I felt when I deleted his e-mail, blocked his e-mail address, blocked him from Facebook, and as a final measure, blocked him from the e-mail address that was publicly available for readers including him. No e-mail for you!

  “Whoa!” I said, breathing heavily now. I paced back and forth in my one-room apartment, my eyes now filling up with tears. “Did I just do that?! Like whoa!” I opened the kitchen drawer and pulled out a corkscrew. In seconds I was furiously opening a bottle of red. Once the cork was out I chugged it straight from the bottle, an act that would horrify any self-respecting Parisian. By the time I put down the bottle my eyes were watering even more, this time from the wine. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

  I sat back down in front of the computer, his name no longer at the top of my inbox. My eyes travelled up the wall to my list of Parisian goals, and in that moment of wine-chugging clarity, I realized how stupid they were. A list of goals? And then tracking the goals? What was this, a corporate project? I tore the page off the wall and tossed it in the trash, realizing then that a year in Paris wasn’t about achieving this or that, because I’d already achieved so much just by getting here! I also now realized the goal of “get-over-what’s-his-face” wasn’t something scientific. I had no idea when I’d fully get over him, so maybe it was time to stop judging myself about the timeline.

  On a fresh sheet of paper I wrote down a different heading: “Joyful Moments in Paris.” In just a couple of minutes the page was almost full, with everything from “strolling down a quiet street biting into a fresh baguette,” to “reading a book in the Jardin du Luxembourg and working on my tan.” I pasted it on the wall and promised myself to update it often, for these last three months of living in Paris.

  “Only three months left? Holy shit.” I went straight for the bottle and took another chug. The chugging didn’t change the fact that it was June now, with only three months to go in this incredible city. It was one of those thoughts that could drive a person to drink, but A: I was already drinking, and B: I was late to the train station to pick up my Canadians Eleanor and Amy, the one-two punch of single-gal fun...

 

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