The week of Thanksgiving, I spend my free time texting with him and binge-watching cheesy Christmas movies while wrapped in a blanket Abue crocheted for me.
“What is wrong with me?” I say, frustrated, after checking my phone for the millionth time. Auggie hasn’t texted me back.
“You mean besides Chef Alonzo chewing you out for your reduction,” Tiff says from her room.
“Yes, besides that,” I grumble.
“I don’t know. What’s wrong, George?” she says.
“I’m in the greatest city on earth and all I want to do is melt into mush,” I say.
Everything is overcast here. The clouds have mostly been blocking the sun for a few weeks. And it’s getting colder outside which makes it hard to go outside. I can’t enjoy the sun like I normally do.
I’m so used to sunshine year-round. It’s so dreary and the exact opposite of the high I felt when I first got here. Maybe I just miss everyone back home—in Arizona and Colorado.
“Aw, don’t give up so easily,” she says. “Here, I’ll help.”
She jumps over the couch, landing right on top of me.
“What the fuck?” I yelp.
“You said you wanted to be mush!” she says.
“Warn a woman next time! I don’t need this kind of help.”
“Too late, this is a disciplinary hug,” Tiff says. “Try not to feel better.”
I grunt, trying to push her off me. “Get off, you heathen.”
“Fine,” she says. “But I give the best hugs. So you’re welcome.”
“Whatever.”
“Wow, this is George, grumpy edition, huh,” Tiff says.
“I don’t know, I’m just tired,” I admit. “And cold. And I keep having to make every meal for myself and it sucks.”
There’s a long pause before she speaks again.
“I’ll make you dinner,” she says seriously. “You can watch, or you can help. No strings attached.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I say.
“No, come on, I want to,” she says as she pulls me up. “You always listen to my drama and you’re overdue a pick me up. I made dosa batter this morning and it should be ready by now.”
“You’re a good friend, you know that?”
Tiff hugs me. “Right back at you.”
I feel a little better but not much. Why is it that I feel as if I’m missing a part of myself?
Twenty-One
George
Paris is beautiful this time of year.
Really, it’s beautiful any time of year but the winter just seals in how romantic this city is. The lights dance off the snow perfectly as gorgeous couples walk briskly to their homes and hotels.
Snow perfectly drapes on top of trees, windowsills, and flower boxes. Every shop glimmers in the afternoon twilight. The nights are longer but that only makes them more special. The love this city gives to its visitors ebbs in rhythm of every person here. The traffic, the fast pedestrians, the casual observer...they add beauty to this city.
Auggie would love Paris, I think. Sure, he’d probably get sick of the architecture, and he might find the food to be overrated. Actually, he might also think the people are too stuck up, even for him. But I know Auggie.
He’s a big romantic at heart. He would stop in front of every bridge with locks, running his fingers over the coolest looking locks, before making up a story about who the person was who left it and who was their love for.
Auggie would think the Louvre is overrated but still find something wonderful to say about the art in it.
He would buy macarons from bakeries all over the city and, after a bit of taste testing, unanimously decree that none of them are as good as mine. Partially because Auggie couldn’t say a bad thing about my baking if it killed him.
But also, because he’d be right; I’ve tried half the macarons in this city and they’re not as good as I expected them to be.
Fuck, this is the prettiest place on earth at one of its most beautiful times of the year. I should be enjoying the calming winter air. I should be living in the moment as my cohort walks ahead of me to a party. I should be laughing with Tiff about how the Dutch guy lost that bet last week and is still walking around with a blanket.
Instead, I’m getting lost in every store window—searching for everything Auggie would love and hate. Why is it that in this amazing city, all I can think of is what I left back home?
I pick up my phone and I text Auggie.
George: Can we talk?
Auggie: I’m in the middle of dinner rush. How are you?
George: Window shopping.
Auggie: Sounds like fun.
I look around and scrunch my nose. Not really.
George: It’d be more fun if you were here
Someday, Somehow Page 10
