Never or forever year of.., p.18
Never or Forever (Year of the Chick series), page 18
And suddenly both of our secrets were out in the open. First we burst into laughter. Once that was done, each of our revelations sunk in.
“The younger guy?” said Claire. “The one who’s very over-confident?”
I nodded. “I think the word you mean is cocky; don’t worry though, I know how to put him in his place.”
“So what are your plans?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t you move back to Canada in six weeks?”
I frowned. “Can you please not be a buzz-kill on something that only just started?” She was right though; I hadn’t even thought about it.
She smiled. “Of course; you should enjoy this!”
I managed to relax a little. “I was so scared to tell you; I thought you’d get mad because it would get in the way of our fancy nights out, but apparently you’re too busy for that anyway, you little undercover lover!” She blushed again. “Okay, in the whole time I’ve known you you’ve only blushed twice, so he must be someone pretty special.” I took a long sip of cider. “Tell me everything; all I remember from that night is some guy in a suit.”
She closed her eyes and smiled. “Well...he’s the most incredible man the world has ever seen!” Her eyes shot open to see if I would share in her reaction.
I could only raise an eyebrow. “You’re being a little dramatic right now, so can you please calm down and tell me some real facts?” Why did I sound like such a mom? Age was creeping up on me like no other year before it. That’s why I date twenty-four-year-olds.
She took a deep breath. “Well he works in finance--”
“Boo.” I put my hand over my mouth as she glared at me. “Sorry, I used to know someone who worked in finance; it was a knee-jerk reaction.” Stupid Erik. One more month and Erik would dissolve from my memory for good. Can’t come soon enough. “Tell me more; where’s he from?”
“Well he’s living in Paris.” She nodded and tapped her fingers on the wooden table.
“Is your English getting worse? That didn’t answer my question at all.”
“Does it really matter where someone is from?”
“Of course it does; you said you wanted a German. So did you snag yourself a German? Hmm? Is his name Klaus?” I wiggled my eyebrows up and down suggestively. I noticed the bar’s yellow lighting reflecting off her forehead. Was Claire actually sweating? She whispered something fast but it was barely audible. “Speak up please!”
She buried her gaze in her glass of wine. “His name is...Francois.” I smiled. And then I nodded. And then my mouth hung open for a while, until I could eventually speak.
“Oh my god...” I said. “Oh my god he’s FRENCH?”
Every grungy local in the bar was staring at me now. I waved at them and huddled back into our conversation. “You know this is a really big deal, right?”
She pointed her nose up in the air. “It is no different than meeting any other man.”
I reached over and pushed her. “What are you talking about?! Remember when I got here almost a year ago? Remember how you warned me about how overrated French men are? And guess what, you were totally right until now! Unless...hold on; is this guy from the countryside or something? Does he live on the French/Swiss border?”
She lowered her gaze once again. “He was born and raised in Paris.”
“He’s PARISIAN?” The grungy locals stared at me again. “So basically you’re telling me this incredible man comes from the very same group that gave us such hits as ‘following you down a street at one a.m., harassing you about where your boyfriend is, and grabbing at your hand to see if there’s a wedding ring.’ That’s what you’re telling me right now?”
“A Parisian man grabbed at your hand?”
I nodded. “It happened to me yesterday on Boulevard Saint-Michel. First he asked me how old I was because he said I only looked eighteen, then he asked me if I was married, then he grabbed my hand so he could see for himself, then he told me my hand was greasy. EXCUSE ME for moisturizing.” I rolled my eyes. “Those Parisians...they’re quite the charming group. No wonder you found a winner!”
“What is the old saying? There are exceptions to every rule?”
“I guess so; I was just so sure this particular rule was hardcoded into the system. Huh.” I chugged the rest of my cider and marvelled at this stunning revelation. The more I thought I was sure of something, the less my knowledge became. Was this the definition of wisdom? If so, the whole concept of wisdom was highly overrated.
“She was right you know,” said Claire.
“Who was right?”
“That dating advice woman; Cassandra. She was right because I met Francois at her singles event!”
“Wait, what? No, no, no. If that woman was right, then single girls should pretend to like seafood to meet sexy men at oyster bars. As per dating tip number five. Do you think that’s right? DO you?”
She laughed. “Okay, okay, she’s still horrible.”
“Exactly; you got lucky.”
“Or maybe it was fate, non?”
I sighed. “I used to believe in fate.” Why did I sound so old again? “But now...now I believe in hard-bodied twenty-four-year-olds.”
Claire burst into laughter, and I left her there to recover while I got myself another drink.
Not only had I mellowed out since dating Carter, but now I was also coming to terms with how little I understood about life.
Ignorance is bliss...
Chapter Twenty-One
On a hot August day I relaxed in another favourite spot, way up in the hills of Montmartre. My definition for a favourite spot was easy; all it had to do was be perched up high so I could see the whole neighbourhood below. It wasn’t a lot to ask for, nor was it difficult to come by in Paris. It made me recall the flat streets of Toronto with a shudder.
“So...” I said, sipping lemonade in the shade of the quiet terrace.
“So...” said Claire, sipping on fizzy water. Maybe the proper term was sparkling water, but they could call it diamond water for all I cared, and it would still be disgusting to me. I sneered at her glass then remembered what I was trying to say.
“What do you think the weather will be like two weeks from now?”
“Hot, but also cool,” she said plainly.
I frowned. “But what the hell does that mean?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “You haven’t noticed this by now? Sun? Hot. Shade? Not hot. Afternoon? Hot. Nighttime? Bring a sweater.”
I chewed on my straw. “Yes...I’ve noticed. So as an expert, what would you wear on August thirty-first at seven p.m.?”
She smiled. “Well it’s not MY book release party.”
“Normally I wouldn’t care,” I said, “but these pictures are going to be on my website, my readers are going to see them...and it’s Paris right? Such a literary town; I’d like to look classy but also cool. Is that possible?”
“Anything is possible.”
“Okay...well where would one go to find cute but not-that-expensive dresses?”
She beamed. “Leave that to me.”
I did not beam back. “Just so you know, not-that-expensive doesn’t mean three hundred euros.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” She clapped her hands and smiled. “Shall we do this now?”
“I guess we shall...”
For the next few hours, Claire and I tore up Rue de Rennes in Montparnasse. Here you could actually buy a new wardrobe with less than a month’s rent, from a multitude of clothing stores all crammed together on one street. In the end, Claire made the executive decision, deciding that since August thirty-first was practically autumn anyway, a cute little number in navy would do the trick; it was almost like a neutral that would draw more attention to accessories and hair. I couldn’t have been happier to have a French woman’s counsel, and I couldn’t believe that in a month I’d be saying goodbye.
I also couldn’t believe I’d be saying goodbye to Carter, and wondered where all this “be a free spirit and have a good time” would lead...
***
With only seven days left until the book release party, I received the strangest text message from James: “I’m in Paris; can we meet?”
He’d accepted my invite to the party, and had said he would arrive the night before, so what the hell was he doing here on a random weekday morning? Did that mean I’d have to tell him about Carter? I hadn’t even practiced that conversation.
I arrived at a nearby terrace and there he was, gazing out across the river, with a fresh tan and the always-impressive forearms.
“Salut!” I said. He smiled and stood from his chair to give me a hug. It felt nice and made me remember how good we’d been together, in those rare but lively encounters.
But now there’s Carter.
“You look well,” he said.
I smiled. “I am well! How could I not be? My entire year in Paris all comes down to this lifelong dream next week.”
“Well if there were ever a bookshop you’d want to see your titles at, you really can’t beat a bookshop in Paris.”
“You really can’t.”
“Is that the only reason you’re doing well?”
I avoided his stare and blushed. Did he already know about Carter? But I hadn’t even posted any pictures of us on Facebook. Changing the subject was my only way out of this. “So why are you in Paris a week before the party? Were you hoping I’d show you around?”
He smiled. “That would’ve been nice. But as it turns out...I won’t be able to make it for your party.”
This statement was confusing. He wouldn’t be there? It was the biggest night of my life and he was a writer too. So how could he not understand how important it was? All I could say was “Oh.”
“Paris is just a pit-stop,” he went on. “I’ll be on my way to L.A. tonight.”
“Oh,” I said again. “What’s in L.A.?”
He took a sip of his coffee. “Just a director who might actually require professional help. He’s gone from screaming at the crew, to randomly firing the crew, to demanding that I follow him around and do re-writes whenever he has a new thought. I will actually be writing and walking at the same time. Or running. I’m not sure yet.”
Sometimes I forgot that James was a successful screenwriter, since he rarely ever shared any details.
“Well good luck!” I said, quickly getting up from my chair. I knew he couldn’t help missing the party, but I still felt a little bit hurt.
He laughed. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving already.” He ordered me a café crème and I sat back down. How did he know I wanted a café crème? I mean it definitely was what I wanted, but he always took charge like that. And I wasn’t sure how I felt about it anymore.
“You know I really wish I could be there.” He squeezed my hand, and the presumptuous ordering of my drink was all but a memory. You can do whatever you want.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll make sure there’s a cardboard cut-out of you at the party. Like with extra forearms and everything.”
“A three-armed cardboard cut-out?”
I laughed. “At least!”
“So when does your time in Paris come to an end?”
“Let’s not call it an end. Let’s say it comes to a ‘pause’ in three weeks; I can see myself coming back.”
“And what will you do after Paris?”
I looked off into the distance. “If the digital sales of the second book take off? Well I guess I could be doing all kinds of things...”
He smiled. “That’s the spirit.”
My coffee arrived and we both took turns taking sips.
“So...” I said.
“So...” he said.
I laughed. “We keep coming back to this moment!” My face turned serious all of a sudden. “But we never move forward.”
“Well now, this conversation took a turn.”
“Don’t worry, I was just thinking out loud.”
“But thinking out loud means I heard it. So tell me Roms, do you want more?” I was silent for what seemed like minutes, but maybe it was only seconds. “I think you just gave me my answer.”
“What about you? Do you want more?” Now he was the one who was silent. “Exactly, you don’t, and I’m strangely okay with that. It’s just so weird that after everything...I feel totally at peace being friends.”
He smiled. “That’s a pretty peaceful spot for me too.”
I shook my head. “I should’ve known it would never take off for us...it was so obvious.”
“I wouldn’t say it was obvious, we had some pretty intense times.” He stroked my hair.
“Yes...I remember.” Boy do I remember. “But we never argued, I never got mad at you, I never even wanted to strangle you...not once!”
“You’re a really violent person.”
I laughed. “You know what I mean; it was just too nice and easy, and there’s something weird about that.”
“I won’t argue there; the best things in life are a struggle; that’s how you know it’s worthwhile.” I wondered if Carter and I would struggle after I left Paris. I wondered if he even wanted to struggle like that. Was Carter my “I’ll strangle you goddammit!” partner in life? I turned my attention back to James.
“Most people would take the simple road,” I said. “Just because it felt nice and you didn’t have to think as much.”
“Most people aren’t us.”
“I know, we’re so strong right? It’s ridiculous.” I put up my hand. “This calls for a high-five. Up top.” We slapped hands to our mutual awesomeness, and just like that, not having him at my party didn’t seem like such a problem after all. “Even though we’ll never be together,” I went on, “we’ll still be friends forever, right?”
He seemed hesitant. “Does this require wearing matching friendship bracelets?”
“Don’t worry I would never subject you to that...‘cause why wear a bracelet when you can wear an anklet?” I looked down at his feet. “You’d look really good in a gold ankle bracelet.”
“And you are insane.”
“Then I guess you dodged a bullet!”
We both laughed, and once that settled down I regarded him with the warmest smile.
“What’s that smile about?” he said.
“I’m just...remembering.”
“It’s quite a winding path, the one with all our memories.”
“I know! I can’t believe you found me by commenting on my blog; to think that something so small led to here! What if you had commented on some other girl’s blog instead?”
“Then instead of being here today, I might’ve been in some American city, chained to the bed of a psychotic woman resembling Kathy Bates in ‘Misery.’ Needless to say, I’m relieved.”
“I guess you got lucky,” I said.
“What do you mean lucky?”
“You know...like it was a lucky coincidence that you didn’t wind up with the ‘Kathy Bates’ kind of girl.”
“You don’t really believe that life is just a series of coincidences involving dumb luck, do you?” I shrugged my shoulders. “That’s not the Romi I know.”
I frowned. “So wait...James Caldwell believes in fate? No way.”
“You’d be surprised what I believe in.”
“Like what? Leprechauns? Unicorns? Big Foot?”
“That’s a discussion for a different day.”
“Alright then; would you like to meet again for that different discussion? In a city to be determined say...six months from now?”
He smiled. “That sounds very agreeable.”
We chatted away for the rest of the morning, as one part of my life finally found a peaceful closure...
***
With only three days left until the party and copies of my book not yet shipped to Paris (hurry up!), Carter insisted I take some time to relax. At first I was only pretending, but when the glasses of rosé started going to my head as we lay on the lawn of Sacré Coeur, I was finally starting to believe. This white basilica behind us was on top of the highest hill in Paris, which offered a bird’s eye view of Paris. The only difference between the view here and the view at the top of Belleville park was that here you couldn’t see the Eiffel Tower. Belleville wins for night-time kisses.
I stretched out on the grass and turned to my side, where I beheld the craziest sight. It was a Middle-Eastern man in a black T-shirt and black jeans, with thick gold rings and a gold chain bracelet. But that wasn’t the crazy part. It was the women he was sandwiched between. One wore a slinky cocktail dress even though it was the middle of the afternoon, and the other was a chubby woman with massive amounts of cleavage. Both of them were caressing him, snuggling up to his arm, and kissing him gently on his face or forehead or neck. All the while he played with his cellphone.
I elbowed Carter. “Look what’s beside me!” I whispered.
He looked over and smiled. “Now that’s how you get things done.”
I sneered at Carter. “First of all, you’re gross. Second of all, are they both his girlfriends? Are they prostitutes? And why are they so happy to share him?”
“Not all girls are selfish like you.”
He tried to kiss me but I slapped his face away. “I knew a guy who used to play both sides...only both sides didn’t know until the day it all blew up.”
Carter raised an eyebrow. “This guy sounds like a real class act.”
It was the first time I’d thought about Erik in days, since sending the book to the printers was supposed to have been my closure. Maybe I wouldn’t have closure until I started the next book. I needed to get back to Toronto and figure out a game plan. I never thought I’d say: “I need to get back to Toronto.” I remembered that going back to Toronto would mean leaving Carter behind. With only two and a half weeks left, we still hadn’t talked about it once. I couldn’t delay it any longer, so I softened things up with a kiss. And then another kiss. His hazel eyes were brimming with arousal, so I knew it was the time to strike.
“Hi,” I said sweetly.
“Hi.”
