I squeezed my way into the shop, past German tourists and the stacks of books that had yet to find a shelf, which left them teetering dangerously on the edge of collapse. Barb was behind her desk, overwhelmed with books and various stacks of paper. She reminded me of the 1920’s bookshop owner Sylvia Beach, the one I’d been reading about in her very own “Shakespeare and Company Bookshop” autobiography. Frazzled, passionate, overwhelmed...and searching for books on the Amazon website. Maybe not.

  “Isn’t the Amazon website like your version of the devil?” I said.

  She turned to me and smiled.

  “It’s more like an endless void. All I wanted to do was search for your new book, and the next thing I know I’m on a book page that’s all about the benefits of drying your own fruit.” She shook her head as I cringed and turned away from the screen.

  “I checked the book page once last night to make sure the damn thing uploaded onto the site, but that’s it! No reading reviews or checking sales for the next few days.” I shook my head. “I just need to bask in the thrill of being published before I start to obsess.”

  Her expression turned mischievous. “Are you sure you don’t want me to hit the ‘back’ button a few times? It’s just a few clicks and you can see what your readers are saying...”

  “That’s it,” I said. “I’m leaving. But this is for you.” I handed her the note and turned to walk away but she grabbed my arm. Her upper-body strength was impressive, which made her less and less like Sylvia Beach by the second.

  “Let’s have a coffee before you run off. Go sit outside, I’ll be there in a minute.”

  I knew she was telling me and not asking, so I headed for the door but collided with Carter as he came up the stairs. The German tourists were within our eye-line, so we stopped short of making out like we’d done in the basement that time. Another joyful moment in Paris. I should really add that to the list. I must’ve been smiling because he gave me a funny look.

  “What are you so happy about?” he said.

  “Like I need a reason, hot stuff?” I discreetly grabbed his ass, but his reaction was much less discrete.

  “Easy there, you aggressive Bengali tiger!” I laughed. “We still on for tonight?”

  “Yes. Nine p.m. reservation. I know you have to go home first so I’ll just meet you there.” He nodded. “By the way I looked up the reviews online, and it’s not just some fast-casual Italian place. Like I’m gonna have to comb my hair...you’re gonna have to wear a shirt that doesn’t have holes in it...” He elbowed me.

  “I don’t mind dressing up; I mean can’t a guy be classy once in a while?”

  “Carter!” Barb called out, from some unseen crevice in the shop. “Are you done with the new shipment yet?”

  “I think that’s my cue,” he said. He squeezed my hand and hurried off.

  I took a seat outside in-between two tables of books, and stared up at the sky as the sun warmed my face. A light breeze passed through this quiet pedestrian street, keeping me from sweating off the morning’s antiperspirant. First day of September in Paris....magic.

  “Is it a bird or a plane up there?” said Barb, as she approached me with two steaming cups.

  I smiled and took one of the cups. “Neither; I’m just basking.” She stared at me for a good five seconds, the kind of stare that made my smile dissolve into the cup. “Is something wrong? Because I feel like it’s more than you wanting to say I have crusty bits of toothpaste on my face.”

  She smiled. It was a worried smile. “I was talking to your friend last night.”

  I didn’t have to ask which friend she was referring to. “He’s not my friend.”

  “Yes, he seemed to know that too. He also seemed intent on explaining why it was so important for him to be there...and why he really needed to talk to you.”

  The blood rushed up to my face and my joy-injection mood was gone. “You don’t know the whole story Barb; he had plenty of time to say all he needed to say. Over a year and a half, with multiple opportunities to contact me and figure it out. I’m sick of talking.”

  “I understand that Romi, but--”

  “Actually you don’t understand. He already tried to talk to me at the end of the night, when you were inside packing up. We resolved it then.”

  “You resolved it?” She seemed baffled. “So you talked everything out?”

  “No, we resolved it because I told him to go home and never bother me again. He didn’t say anything back which means he agreed. So we resolved it.” I crossed my arms.

  “I see...” she said. “So he was right then.”

  I frowned. “Right about what?”

  “Right about the fact that you wouldn’t hear him out. Which is why he gave me this.” She pulled out a folded piece of paper with my name on it. What?! If this had been another time, that little note would have filled me with anticipation. But now it just made me angry. “So when I asked him to leave me alone...he knew all along his note would get read the next morning; what a jerk!” I shook my head. “Throw it out or use it for making a fire. Just please get rid of it.”

  “Forget the jerk for a minute,” she said. “It’s Barb who’s talking now, so why don’t you just hear me out?” I said nothing. “Have I ever steered you wrong before?” She hadn’t.

  “Okay I’ll listen.”

  “Good.” She took a long sip of coffee. “There was a time, back in Canada, when I was a hot little thing. Believe me.”

  I smiled. “I don’t need convincing.”

  “I had the best guy a girl could ask for; he worshipped me! He was definitely the guy I was going to marry.” She paused. “Until I met Guillaume.”

  My eyes widened. “A FRENCH guy?” Eww. “But how? And when?”

  “In the eighties. I was in Paris often, covering fashion shows, or opening nights at the ballet...”

  My eyes widened further. “You were a JOURNALIST? For FASHION?”

  She frowned. “Don’t let the plain T-shirt and khakis fool you.”

  “Sorry,” I quickly said. “I just didn’t think...I mean you never told me any of this. So tell me what happened!” I was invested now, elbows on the table and heart overflowing with excitement.

  Barb nodded as a twenty-something couple entered the shop. “We’re having a sale on art books today!” She lowered her voice for the next bit. “Guillaume wasn’t what I needed, but he was everything I didn’t know I needed. Do you understand?”

  “Actually I don’t.” But I did.

  “I had all the security I could ever need, you know?” I nodded. “I didn’t even have to think, and the future would probably unfold right in front of me, step by step by step, and year after year after year; the way a map unfolds exactly the way it’s supposed to. But I didn’t want to be a map.”

  I nodded slowly. “You wanted to be a piece of origami...”

  Barb burst into laughter. “I love you, kid.” Too bad I wasn’t a kid anymore. “You’re not exactly wrong,” she added. “What I had with Guillaume was unexpected and challenging; there was no way of knowing how our time together would unfold, or even how each conversation would unfold. And somehow all of that was electrifying. It’s like every day my mind and my emotions were put to full use. So how do you abandon all of that? How do you go back to a twenty-percent usage rate?” She stared at me expectantly for an answer, but it felt like a complicated math problem.

  “Wait...is this all a made-up story? Is Guillaume even real?”

  “If he’s not, then I guess I married a ghost.”

  “You ended up marrying Guillaume?” My eyes grew wider than ever before. “Wait...YOU’RE MARRIED?” I glanced at her naked ring finger and felt confused.

  “Married for twenty-two years this October. And I’ve been living in Paris for twenty-three.” She smiled and stretched her arms. “Guess I forgot to mention it.”

  “Right...how did you wind up together though? And what the hell happened to the other guy?”

  “Well it only took a few times of seeing Guy to know what I really wanted. I mean maybe I could’ve kept going through the motions with Chris, with Guy as just a lovely memory, but once you realize it hurts a person more to stay with them when you’re not your most passionate, you tell them the truth pretty fast.”

  “So what’s married life like now? Are you bored with him yet? Do you think it was a mistake?”

  “You’re really not shy with the questions,” she said.

  I hid my face with the coffee cup. “Sorry.”

  “I can tell you it’s not perfect, I can tell you we argue, and I can tell you there are times when I could throw something at him. But I have passion, and what else really matters?” She pulled out her phone and showed me the image on the home screen. It was Barb, Guy, and two young adults. “Best decision I ever made.”

  I simply couldn’t take any more of the shock. “You have KIDS? Where’ve they been this whole time? And where’s Guy?” I looked behind me as if he would suddenly appear.

  “They don’t come here very often. And anytime you ask me personal questions I change the subject. I like to keep a low profile.”

  “Huh...” I said. “Sneaky.”

  She pushed the folded paper to my side of the table. “I don’t know everything about you and Erik, but as someone who knows what it’s like to question everything before you really figure out what you want...well it was my duty to pass along his note.”

  I took the piece of paper off the table just as Carter came outside.

  “I’m having trouble finding a book on the Prussian war,” he said to Barb. “Do you think we still have it?”

  She slowly rose from the table. “Let’s see, let’s see.” She winked at me and went inside. Carter quickly followed, glancing at me for a second but looking serious. Had he been listening the whole time?

  Their absence left me alone, with one empty cup of coffee and a note I was too afraid to look at...

  ***

  Half an hour later, I sat in the shade of Luxembourg gardens, eating the best almond croissant that Paris had to offer. There was a certain satisfaction to this, because no matter where I was at in my life, no man was going to keep me from enjoying simple pleasures. I was finally becoming a true Parisian woman in that regard.

  My spot was near the garden’s big gazebo, where a stack of chairs signalled a recent orchestra performance. Under the shade of trees with leaves changing colours, I saw lovers and families and groups of friends all around me, their chairs strategically placed over the sandy dirt, whether for cuddling, face-to-face chats, or lounging mid-afternoon. My chair was an island of its own; just the solitude I needed to focus on important thoughts. I finished my croissant and wiped my hands in obsessive detail. Next I unzipped my bag. After that I unzipped the smallest pocket, and there, in the place where the tampons were stored, I took out the folded piece of paper. A streak of sunlight made its way through the trees, and I held up the paper to the light. I was trying to see if I could read what was inside without having to open it. No such luck. Near my feet, two pigeons fought furiously over a cigarette butt. Wow, desperate much?

  The croissant I’d eaten had come in a small paper bag, and inside the bag was a whole pile of crumbs. I poured the crumbs over Erik’s note and laid it on the sandy dirt; I was hoping the pigeons would peck their way through the crumbs until the note magically opened, so it wouldn’t be my fault if I accidentally read what he’d written.

  The pigeons briefly sniffed at the crumbs, before going right back to the cigarette butt.

  Is there cocaine on that cigarette?

  I sighed and picked up the now dirty note.

  I sighed again, closed my eyes, and finally unfolded the note. Ten seconds later I built up the courage to open a single eye. With my limited vision I read:

  --------------

  Hi Romi,

  Can you meet me tonight? There’s something very important I need to tell you.

  I’ll be at the riverbank at nine p.m. Head down the stone steps in front of Notre Dame Cathedral and I’ll be waiting by the water.

  If you don’t show up, I promise never to bother you again.

  I hope you’ll be there.

  Erik

  --------------

  I was still mostly shielded from the sun, but my face felt incredibly hot. I couldn’t decipher my emotions in that moment, so I simply sat there staring. A minute later the prevailing feeling was back; the one I’d always felt around Erik since he’d first abandoned our love: rage.

  You send me a note that tells me NOTHING?! And now I have to go FIND YOU? Dick.

  Nine p.m. would be here soon enough, and all of a sudden my schedule was double-booked.

  I picked up my garbage, stuffed the note in my pocket and left my “island chair” behind.

  The rest of the day would be spent on a long walk, as I tried to figure out who I’d be with at nine p.m., and who I’d be abandoning...

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  At nine p.m., the sky was almost dark in Paris, signalling the end to another day, and the end of something else as well. The lit-up buildings of Paris glimmered in the river’s reflection, but nothing stood out more than the Notre-Dame Cathedral in the night sky.

  Across the river, just off the main quay on a little side street, I entered a small but fancy Italian restaurant. The candles were exquisite, the tablecloths were real, and quiet classical music added that extra touch.

  At a table by the window, Carter was checking his phone and looking spiffy in a shirt and tie. He’d even gelled his hair back a little; a truly handsome All-American guy. For my part, I wore a simple black dress and hadn’t even bothered with accessories. I also hadn’t spent much time on my hair, as I’d been too busy crying to focus on my appearance; could he tell?

  “Hey handsome!” I said, leaning in to kiss him before I took my seat.

  “You made it,” he said. His smile was a bit reserved.

  “Of course I made it, it’s like five minutes away from me.” He was looking at me weird so I buried my face in the menu. We didn’t speak for two whole minutes.

  “Well I know what I want,” I said, placing the menu on the table.

  “You do, huh?”

  This was definitely getting weird now.

  “Yes, tagliatelle bolognaise. Mmm.” I smiled. He kept looking at me funny. “What about you?”

  “Oh, I knew what I wanted before I got here.” His smile was all kinds of smug. Something was definitely going on.

  “What’s your problem?” I whispered.

  Just then, our spindly French waiter appeared, and I plastered on a friendly smile. I wished he’d been a jovial Italian who would make Carter laugh, but this was Paris after all, the land of grim, unsmiling waiters for the most part.

  We ordered our meals and were soon flying solo again, with no administrative restaurant things to distract from our conversation. Yet he still wouldn’t answer me.

  “Are you okay?” I said.

  He sighed. “I read your book today.”

  It took me a second to process this implausible scenario. “What are you talking about? You worked all day.”

  “I read it while I was supposed to be re-organizing the basement.”

  I had to laugh. “Man, you don’t really get a lot of work done in that basement.”

  He didn’t return the laughter. Instead he was...pouting. Was this real? Before I could ask him if another dog had stolen his bone, the waiter reappeared and poured the wine, still not saying a word. Tension was thick in the air, and the sound of pouring wine seemed thunderous amidst our silence.

  A few quick strides and the waiter was gone, with Carter’s revelation still hanging in the air.

  “Most of it was fictionalized,” I said.

  “Was the guy at your book party fictionalized too?” His voice was getting louder by the second. “That was Lukas!”

  A couple at a nearby table looked over at us. They started whispering a moment later, and French had never sounded so judgemental.

  “His real name is Erik,” I said quietly.

  “Ah, so he IS real. What’d you guys talk about last night? I saw you, you know.”

  “For your information I told him to never bother me again.” My voice was wavering now. “I told him to go back home and never come back.”

  “But he’s not home, is he. He’s down by the river right now, wishing and hoping that you’ll show up any minute.” My mouth gaped open as he checked his watch. “You’re ten minutes late already.”

  “Barb showed you the note?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Nah, I saw it on her desk when she was making you coffee; so I read it.”

  Suddenly I was seething. “You asshole!”

  At the worst possible moment the waiter was back, carrying two plates of pasta. Since when did fancy restaurants serve food so damn fast?

  “Parmesan?” said the waiter.

  “Non merci,” said Carter, probably wanting the waiter to get out of our way.

  Unlike Carter I said “oui,” so with a big block of parmesan and an ancient-looking grater he set to work.

  It was...the slowest distribution of parmesan I had ever seen in my life. But was I really going to let each passing awkward second deter me from the right amount of cheese? I love parmesan, sue me.

  Once the waiter was gone, I swirled and twirled the tagliatelle in my plate, hoping it would calm the rage of invaded privacy.

  “So what do you want?” said Carter. “Or maybe ‘who’ is the better question.”

  I didn’t look up from my plate. “Actually it’s a stupid question.”

  “Really? ‘Cause your book made it sound like you guys are these EPIC soul-mates.” He rolled his eyes and for the first time, I started to notice the difference between a twenty-four-year-old guy and a thirty-five-year-old guy.

 

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