by Katia Rose
She looks fearless.
“Let’s do it.”
I grab Roxanne’s hand and take off running with her tripping along behind me before I can change my mind.
I bounce on my heels as Roxanne shows the guy at the booth the tickets on her phone. She gives me a few concerned looks, but I just shake my head as I pull sharp, short breaths in through my nose. If I hesitate, I’ll lose my nerve. I need to do this now. We have to sign some kind of waiver thing and listen to an explanation before they hand us our helmets and harnesses. The adrenaline is rushing through me, pumping in my ears so loud I don’t hear any of the safety guy’s speech.
When they finally say it’s time to climb to the top, I take off up the stairs that lead to the starting point like I’m trying to win an Olympic medal. There’s a guy with a man-bun waiting up there. He’s pretty hot, actually, but I’m too terrified to even give him a flirty smile. My stomach is churning, and my heart is beating so damn loud it makes it hard to hear what he’s saying.
“You ready?” he asks.
I close my eyes and nod. I hear him chuckling as he checks my harness and attaches me to the line.
“You remember what they told you at the bottom?” he asks.
I shake my head. I still have my eyes closed.
He chuckles again. “It slows down and stops on its own when you get to the bottom, so all you’ve got to do is sit back and enjoy.”
“Enjoy?” I laugh like a crazy person for a few seconds and then tap one trembling foot against the platform. “How do I get off this thing?”
“You jump.”
“I jump? Can’t you just push me?” I peek at him with one eye and see he’s shaking his head.
“Nope. It’s all you.”
All me.
I let out one shaky breath, and then another, and another. I think man-bun guy is starting to get annoyed with me, but my knees are shaking so bad I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to jump. I don’t know if I could even turn around and walk back down. I’d probably fall over.
“All me,” I say under my breath. “It’s all me.”
I shuffle a little closer to the edge. I can feel the line bouncing and swaying now that I’m attached to it. I look up at the cable. It’s not very thick. It could probably be a lot thicker.
All me.
I close my eyes again. I stand straighter.
All me.
Then I jump.
Someone screams very loudly, and it takes me half a second to realize it’s me. The wind whips through my clothes and rushes along my skin. I open my eyes just enough to see the toes of my sneakers hanging high, high above the people walking up and down the boardwalk below.
I scream again, but I force myself to keep my eyes open. I look up from my feet and out at the water. I can see the bay between two piers where people are renting pedal boats. The giant Ferris wheel is slowly spinning above it all. I’m close enough that I can make out the shapes of heads and shoulders inside the tinted pods.
I look farther, swivelling my head to see the bridges stretching over the Fleuve Saint-Laurent in the distance and the little doll-sized cars zooming across them. I know I must be going very fast, but everything seems to slow down for a few seconds.
In this moment, the city is so distant from me. The whole world is tiny and far away. I’m not a part of it, and it’s not a part of me. I’m alone with the wind and the breath in my lungs.
I’m alone.
The ground is zooming up closer now, and I can feel the pulley thing I’m hooked into starting to slow me down, just like the guy said it would.
I’m alone.
My feet are stretched out to land at the end of the pier.
I’m alone.
And I’m okay.
Nothing bad happened. For five seconds of my life, I was completely cut off from everyone else on Earth, and I was fine. Maybe it wasn’t long enough to matter, and maybe I’m being stupid and making a big deal out of something that should have just been a fun zip line adventure, but my legs still shake when I land, and my chest still feels twisted and tight—not from fear, but from something bigger than fear. Something that makes people stand up to fear. Something that sends fear running far, far away.
“Are you, uh, okay?”
I realize I’ve been staring at the zip line crew guy with a huge, dopey smile on my face. He has a man-bun too. It seems like it might be part of their uniform.
“I am merveilleux!” I shout. I try to jump down off the landing platform and come zinging right back.
He hasn’t unclipped my harness yet.
“Glad to hear it.” He laughs to himself as he frees me, and then steps back, scratching the back of his neck like he’s suddenly nervous. “Hey, uh, I know this is kind of random and weird, and feel free to tell me to fuck off, but you’re gorgeous, and—”
“Alone!” I shout, throwing my hands up and doing a mini dance routine. “I am riding solo, my friend!”
He blinks a few times. “Uh, okay, I take it that’s a no, then.”
I pat him on the shoulder. “One day you will find a beautiful girl who likes carabiners as much as you do.”
Then I do a Broadway musical-style jump off the platform and wait for Roxanne to arrive. It’s only another few seconds before she’s speeding down the line, letting out something that sounds like a mix of a laugh and a scream.
“Câlisse, that was fun!” She jumps down to meet me after getting unclipped and holds her hands up for a double high five.
We watch the next person come speeding down, taking in the sight of how fast we were going just seconds ago, before turning to head down the pier. I grab Roxanne’s arm, and she laughs and drags her feet when I try to get her to skip with me.
“You screamed so loud,” she teases, “but it seems like you had a good time.”
“I did!” I reply. “I’ve seen that zip line before, and I never wanted to go on it. When you said that’s what you had tickets for, I wanted to turn around and, I don’t know, steal a pedal boat and get away from here as fast as I could, but...”
“But what?” she prompts as we reach the boardwalk.
“I guess then I just thought, ‘Fuck it.’ I’m supposed to be facing my fears, and here they are.”
Roxanne gives my arm a squeeze. “Facing your fears, huh?”
She still doesn’t know what happened with Zach. Even though today was supposed to be a fun adventure, all I want to do now is sit and talk. There are so many thoughts and ideas bubbling inside me, fighting to be the first to get out. I’d probably sit down on a bench and talk to myself if Roxanne wasn’t here.
“You want to get tacos?” she asks as we pass a food truck. “I’m starving.”
We get two tacos each—fish for me, chicken for Roxanne—and take our cardboard containers over to an empty bench.
“It’s beautiful out,” Roxy comments after scarfing down her first taco in just a few bites.
I stretch my bare legs out in front of me. It’s probably too early for shorts, but I don’t care. I’m a ‘sun’s out, Daisy Duke’s out’ kind of girl.
“It is. I missed the summer so much.”
My zip line high starts to fade a little as we eat. As big as the moment felt, I know it didn’t change everything. My whole life isn’t going to fall into place because I got attached to a cable in the air and rode down it screaming for a few seconds. There’s still work to do—but I think the difference is now I feel ready to do it.
“Is the right choice supposed to make you sad?” I blurt.
Roxanne raises her eyebrows and swallows her last bite.
“What did they put in your tacos?” she jokes.
“Crack,” I joke back. “But really, I’m serious.”
“I know.” She sets her container down beside her. “Um, hmm, that’s a big question that probably deserves a lot of thought, but I’ll just go with my gut and say yes. Sometimes making the best choice is really fucking hard. Sometimes the line between wh
at’s right and what’s wrong is so thin you feel like you can’t win either way, but I still think that line is always there.”
If anybody knows what it’s like to break up with someone you still love, it’s Roxanne.
“So how do you know which choice is the right one?”
She settles onto the bench a little more. “Monroe would have a more profound answer, probably supported by a quote from some nineteenth century novel, but I guess...I think you just know. Even when both options are painful, one is going to hurt in a way that slowly tears you apart, and one is going to hurt in a way that lets you get a little bit stronger with every day that passes.”
I bring my hands together and applaud. “Monroe would be proud.”
She laughs for a moment and then turns so her body is facing me, leaning in close with an expression so serious I can’t look away. “DeeDee, what happened with you and Zach?”
I want to learn to be alone, and unloading my whole story on Roxanne seems like the opposite of independence, but I’m starting to see there’s a difference between holding onto someone so tight it hurts you both and simply leaning on a shoulder.
So I lean on Roxanne for a little while. I start at the very beginning. I share a bit of how I grew up, and I even hint at what happened with Clém before telling her about Zach and I. She sits in silence the whole time, squeezing my hand whenever I stumble over my words or pause to take a few breaths before going on.
“And now he’s working that new job for Monroe, so I won’t even see him at the bar anymore. He’s just gone. This is exactly what I was afraid would happen, and I’m the one who made it happen. I asked for it.” I wipe a few tears away, angry they’re falling. I want to be stronger than this. “I know this is what I needed. I know it, but I keep thinking of the way he sounded when he said he needed me.”
I let out a long, shaky breath. Roxy stays quiet beside me for a few moments.
“Well, that’s bullshit,” she finally says.
I gawk at her.
“The him needing you thing,” she clarifies. “That wasn’t a fair thing to say. He didn’t just need you. In order for a relationship between you two to work, he needed you to be sure and committed to a future together. You weren’t in a position to give that to him, so you left. That’s a brave thing to do. Forcing yourself to stay in something you weren’t ready to be in would have hurt you both.”
I nod and let that sink in.
“Is that what happened with you and Cole?”
“Kind of. I...” She trails off and starts playing with her wedding ring. “It sounds stupid and cheesy, but I think even through all those years of hurt and distance and confusion between us, we always knew, somewhere deep down, that we would find our way to each other. We did have to take some time apart, though. Sometimes that’s the only way to grow.”
A family walks by in front of our bench. The dad is pushing two babies in a stroller that have to be twins, a third kid running around both the parents with a giant cookie from one of the food trucks in her hands.
She spots Roxanne and I and stops so fast she almost falls over.
“Maman!” she starts shouting, pointing right at me. “Maman! Regard ses cheveux!”
She keeps telling her mom to look at my hair over and over again, calling me a princess and begging to have pink hair just like me. The mom tries to get her to move on, but she stands there with her cookie, refusing to move.
Roxanne and I are laughing and waving at her. I decide to get up off the bench and say hi.
“Hello there,” I say in French, crouching down so we’re almost eye to eye.
Her mouth turns into a big ‘O’, and she blinks at me before whispering, “Are you a princess?”
“Not exactly,” I tell her, “but sometimes my hair makes me feel like a princess.”
I reach up and squeeze one of my space buns. The little girl gasps.
“Can I touch your hair?”
Her fingers are covered in melted chocolate and cookie crumbs, but I still bend forward enough for her to grab onto my hair. She tries to smooth a few loose strands into place before giggling and backing away.
“Maman, she’s a princess!” she screams as she runs back to her parents.
I look up and see the mom mouthing merci to me before they all move on.
Roxanne has this sappy look on her face when I get back to the bench. “That was adorable!”
“She was très mignon,” I agree.
“You should have hair dyeing business cards,” Roxanne jokes. “You could have scored yourself a new client there.”
“Hmm.” I tap my chin and pretend to think about it. “Seems like she wanted to steal my look, though.”
We watch the crowds pass by for a few minutes. I know she was only joking, but Roxanne has the wheels of my brain turning.
“Maybe this is a weird thing to say,” she announces, “but I just want you to know I’m really proud of you. I know it all seems hard and maybe even a little pointless right now, and not that you need my affirmation, but I think you made the right choice. I’m really excited to see where you go from here, and I’ll be here to cheer you on.”
I lean in and throw my arms around her.
“Merci, ma belle.” I pull back, grinning ear to ear as I think of the little girl’s face lighting up when she saw my hair. “I’m excited too.”
Twenty-Three
Zach
FROST: the act of freezing a glass to create a layer of frost before pouring a drink inside
Six thousand dollars.
I made just over six thousand dollars off my business in the month of May. That’s gross profits, not net, but still, I’ve never made anywhere close to that amount in a single month before.
My sales skyrocketed after taking the online marketing job at Taverne Toulouse. Some of the terms I set before taking it weren’t ideal for Monroe, but I didn’t back down on what I needed, and we reached an agreement that works for both of us. I rearranged my whole schedule to make ecommerce my top priority the way I should have done months ago, and the results are, quite literally, paying off.
I stare at the number in my bank account as I figure out who to call first. This feels like the kind of achievement that requires triumphant phone calls.
I know who I want to call. I can practically hear her stream of excited French swear words echoing through the phone. I can feel the weight of her leaping into my arms after rushing over here to congratulate me. I can smell the flowery shampoo scent of her hair. I can taste her tongue in my mouth, imagine her curves under my hands as I’d carry her to bed.
It’s enough to make me feel like the wind has been knocked out of my chest. I grip the edge of my desk, shaking my head. The effect is minimal. The clarity dulls, but the picture is still there. All my senses are reeling from the impact.
It’s been like this for weeks. I lock her up in the back of my head, but she always slips out, like sunlight through the gap beneath a door.
I consider calling my parents, but it’s the middle of the afternoon on a weekday, and they’ll both be at work. I try Hope and don’t get an answer. She texts me a few minutes later and asks if something’s wrong. After telling her I’m fine and have some news about my business, we agree to call tonight.
I head into the kitchen. I’m not even sure if Paige is home, but I rifle around in the freezer, thinking the sound might lure her out to protect her beloved ice cream sandwiches. Her door stays firmly closed. In the end, I settle on calling Dylan. He’s in town for some kind of poetry festival. He and Renee are big in the poetry slam scene, and I’m going to see their features this weekend. I figure he might be free for a celebratory drink in my honor tonight.
“Zacharyyyy,” he drawls into the receiver. “How are you, man?”
“I am...prosperous.”
I hear him chuckle. “Are you running low on words of the day?”
“No, that’s actually accurate. I’m calling to invite you to drinks on me tonight because
I am officially a rich bitch.”
“Did you win the lottery?” he demands.
“No, I broke the six K mark on my monthly business income.”
I feel like a kid holding up a painting he’s really proud of, but I have to share this with someone, or I’ll just sit in my apartment all day wishing I could share it with DeeDee.
“No shit!” Dylan exclaims. “Dude, that’s awesome!”
“Not bad for a farm boy,” I joke. “Renee is welcome to come too, of course, if you guys are free. I just thought a little happy hour might be in order.”
“That actually works out perfectly. Renee and I are seeing a movie with one of her friends from school tonight, and we thought we might get drinks beforehand. You should come along! And buy us beer!”
“I feel used.”
“You’re a rich bitch now,” he reminds me. “Get used to it. Renee is going to be really happy—to see you, obviously, but also because her friend felt very awkward about being a third wheel, and now we’ll have a little double date thing going on.”
“Oh.”
The line goes silent for a second.
“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it would be an actual date. I know you’re not...I know it’s only been a month...”
Dylan took one look at me after I walked back into the bar on May Flowers night and demanded to know what the hell was going on. I just wanted to get through my shift and blew him off with a few excuses. I only made it a half an hour into the night before I was so worked up I dropped an entire tray of glassware, tripped on the pieces, and sliced my hand open after landing on the floor. Dylan got most of the story out of me while patching me up in Monroe’s office.
“It’s fine. It’s just...hard.”
“You doing okay?”
“I’m fine.”
I’m not.
