Sleeping with Paris

by Juliette Sobanet

  When the man in the ball-hugging black jeans shot us the evil eye from across the aisle, we laughed even harder.

  “Seriously, though. I cannot and I will not do this for the rest of my life. Something has to change,” Fiona said, gaining control.

  “You dated Andrew for years before this though. Why the sudden arse obsession?” I asked, taking on my own British accent.

  Fiona frowned. “The only reason I can come up with is that sodding cow he dated for the past year. She must’ve been up for it. I’ve asked him if she was the one who put these filthy fantasies in his head, but he denies it. I know he’s lying though. He was never this crude before.”

  Katie shook her head. “I don’t know what to tell you, lady. That’s just not acceptable. You’re going to have to put your foot down. Or stop putting your fingers up.”

  The three of us broke into another fit of laughter as we continued our girl talk for the entire train ride down to Lyon. After everything that had happened the past week, it felt wonderful to spend time with my friends, to share in their lives once again, and especially to know that Katie wasn’t angry at me anymore.

  But even with all of the laughter and the silly stories we shared, I couldn’t get Luc out of my head. I peeked at my cell phone at least ten times during our two hour train ride, hoping he would call once he read my letter.

  But, there were no missed calls. No texts. No word from the man I loved.

  ***

  As we stepped into the Perrache train station in Lyon, a comforting twinge of familiarity masked my broken heart. It had been years since I’d been back, but nothing had changed. I took a deep breath and realized I was in a place that was mine. A place that had nothing to do with Jeff or Luc. A place that I had loved long before I knew either of them. And even though I so wanted to continue wallowing in sorrow and self-pity (on the inside anyway), a peculiar feeling crept up inside me—excitement.

  “The metro here is so much cleaner than in Paris. I like this city already,” Fiona said.

  “This is only the beginning,” I told her. “You’ll see. Lyon is a gorgeous city.” I was suddenly extremely grateful that I’d booked this trip with my girlfriends. If I had stayed alone in Paris, I would’ve been dangerously close to starting up an alcohol addiction while drowning in a pool of my own wretched despair.

  Katie’s eyes lit up. “We had so much fun when I visited you in college. Remember that crazy bar, Ayer’s Rock? We have to take Fiona there.”

  “Oh my gosh. That place was insane. I don’t know if they’d let me back in after all the trouble I got myself into there.”

  “What’s Ayer’s Rock?” Fiona asked.

  “It’s this Australian bar that Charlotte and her friends went to all the time—like almost every night of the week.” Katie shot me a sly grin. “A lot of table dancing and man grinding went down in that joint.”

  “Oh God, table dancing. So much table dancing.” I shook my head. “I don’t know if I’m up for all of that this time around.”

  “We at least have to go once, for old time’s sake,” Katie said as she nudged my side. “I barely get to go out with girlfriends anymore since Joe and I started dating, and you said this trip was all about us, so you have no choice.”

  “Alright, whatever you say. But let it be known that I am not going there to pick up random guys. I’m done playing that game. I’m twenty-five years old and it hasn’t gotten me anywhere.”

  “About to be twenty-six,” Katie said in a sing-songy voice.

  I sat up in my metro seat and thought for a minute. Amidst all the drama, I had completely forgotten that my 26th birthday was coming up the following week. “I guess I forgot.”

  “Well, we’re going to make this a big one, lady.” Katie said as she winked at me.

  Once we arrived at our metro stop, Bellecour, Katie and I dragged our oversized suitcases up the stairs while Fiona effortlessly carried her mini suitcase with one hand. Katie and I always over-packed.

  Huffing and puffing up the stairs, Katie yelled up at Fiona who was already waiting for us at the top. “How did you pack so light? We’re here for two weeks!”

  “I only brought the essentials, really.” She shrugged and smiled.

  I looked over at Katie as we neared the top of the never-ending staircase. “Fiona’s way more organized than we’ll ever be. Must be a British thing.”

  As we emerged from the metro, the bright sun shone down on the red, sandy courtyard, which by midday, was bustling with people. I gazed up into the deep blue sky to find that the luminous white basilica, Fourvière, stood majestically up on the hill just as it always had. The tension I’d been holding in my shoulders relaxed and the knots that had taken up residence in my stomach dissipated as I breathed in the warm breeze and felt like I was home.

  I had booked us an adorable hotel room right off the courtyard, on rue Victor Hugo. The room was as French as it could be with a charming balcony overlooking all of the trendy shops and open-air markets that lined the cobblestone street below. After we unpacked and hung up some of our clothes in the miniscule closet, we headed out for our first afternoon of city exploration.

  During our first week in Lyon, I successfully kept the three of us occupied every moment of the day so that I didn’t have time to think about Luc, Jeff, my lack of future employment, or anything in between. Instead, I focused on my friends. We ate out, shopped, strolled along the rivers, rode bicycles through the city, and visited pubs and cafés in the evenings.

  The only times I felt myself sinking back into self-pity mode were late at night after the two of them had fallen asleep and in the mornings before they woke up. I lay in bed tossing and turning and replaying the wedding events over and over again in my mind. Incessantly asking myself the same tiresome questions as if maybe all of the questioning would somehow change the outcome.

  Why couldn’t I have resisted Jeff? Why did I let him kiss me in the elevator? Did I really think I still loved him? Or was I just acting out in revenge against Brooke? I mean, no matter how nice of a person I thought I was, I certainly didn’t mind hurting her in that whole process seeing as how badly she and Jeff had hurt me. Despite my ill feelings toward Jeff and Brooke though, my thoughts kept coming back to Luc.

  Luc was the one person I didn’t want to hurt. What had he ever done to me? Only wonderful things like take me to the ballet and feed me chocolate in bed after giving me multiple orgasms. Jeff didn’t even hold a candle to Luc. What was I thinking? I mean seriously, what in the hell was I thinking?

  As these self-destructive thoughts auto-played through my mind every night, I was desperate for Luc’s touch. Desperate to run my hands through his hair again. Desperate to go back and change the way it had all played out. And unbearably desperate for him to call me and accept my apology (and it wouldn’t hurt if he’d also say that he was madly in love with me and that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me—but I guess I couldn’t expect all of that just yet).

  So, every night, I slept with my phone by my side. It was my only possible attachment to Luc. In the miraculous event that he decided he needed to get in touch with me after reading my letter, God forbid I wasn’t there to pick up the phone the second he called. I hid my obsessive phone checking from Katie and Fiona because even though they said they understood what I was going through, they didn’t. Neither of them had ever ruined their love lives like I had just done. Sure, they had both been burned before, but they didn’t know what it felt like to be the one who had done the burning. And to regret it so badly that you would do anything—absolutely anything—to fix it.

  I also thought a lot about Lexi. Brad sent me regular text updates to keep me in the know. He’d taken her back to New York City, where they were staying with their aunt and uncle for a little while. Lexi was seeing a good doctor, and as Brad had said, she was starting to come back to life. What I’d seen that night at the hospital had scared me though. I wanted to talk with Fiona and Katie about it, but Lexi had e
mailed me and asked that I keep her situation private. So, I did my best to keep my fears about Lexi and losing Luc to myself, and instead arranged a smile on my face and stayed happy for my friends . . . even if, on the inside, I wasn’t always feeling it.

  One early morning, as we kicked off our second week in Lyon, Katie and Fiona sat on opposite sides of the tiny hotel room, ears glued to their cell phones, making their daily love-bird calls to their significant others.

  “I miss you so much, Joe,” Katie said.

  “I know, love. Only two more weeks and I’ll be in London,” Fiona said.

  I was happy for them. I really was. But as I stared at my silent phone, I realized I was only human. And if I had to listen to any more dying couple talk before I’d even had a chance to drink a cup of espresso, I would vomit. So, instead of listening to another I love you being spoken over every phone in the hotel room except mine, I decided to head to my old favorite park, Le Parc de la Tête d’Or, for a morning jog.

  Le Parc de la Tête d’Or is in the 6th arrondissement of Lyon, an upscale neighborhood lined with fancy apartment buildings, clean streets and corner boulangeries. I’d had the privilege of living in this quiet, peaceful area of Lyon with my host family, and I’d gone running at the park regularly by myself while studying abroad.

  It was my first time back in over five years, and as I walked underneath the massive green and gold-plated gate that protected the park, a sense of relief swept over me. I’d loved this place so much, and it felt so comforting to be back.

  Two curly-haired little French girls romped with a floppy brown puppy as their mother lounged in the grassy field facing the lake, smiling to herself as the girls’ laughter filled up the open space. Three lean male runners whizzed past me, their pale, thin legs stretching out in full strides as their tiny shorts just barely covered their butts.

  I grinned as I broke into a jog behind them, and soon my jog morphed into a full-out sprint. All of the toxic emotions I’d been bottling up over the current state of my life seeped out of my pores as my feet pounded into the pavement.

  As I rounded the first corner, something Katie had said to me the night of the wedding shot through my head.

  What was it about Jeff that made you go so nuts?

  Katie had a point. What was it about Jeff, about my attachment to him, that had made me even consider being with him again? After the online dating debacle, I should’ve had nothing left but disdain for that man.

  But as a slight breeze whistled through the trees lining the running path, I finally had time to think. To recognize, for the first time all year, what was at the heart of all of this madness.

  Cliché though it was, I had Dad issues.

  Major Dad issues.

  Ever since I’d discovered my dad cheating on my mom at the age of thirteen, I’d gone stark-raving boy crazy. All through high school and college, I hadn’t spent so much as a day without a boyfriend. And if there was even a small gap in between long-term relationships, I’d filled it with dates, hook-ups, one-night stands, you name it.

  I couldn’t be alone. And as I thought about all of those years after my dad’s indiscretion, after the love had evaporated from our home, I realized that all I’d ever wanted was to have my family back.

  And my never-ending quest for a man was just that—a search for family. For the kind of unconditional love my family had shared before my dad had cheated. I knew now that I saw his cheating as not only a betrayal to my mother, but also a betrayal to me.

  If he had really loved me enough, wouldn’t he have had the foresight to see what he was doing to me? That he was sweeping the stability right out from under his young daughter, taking away the comfort I’d grown to depend on as a child, and leaving me searching, frantically for someone who would bring that love back to my life.

  My dad had broken up our family, and in Jeff, I’d seen an opportunity to get it back.

  With this monumental realization, my pace slowed, my heart still pounding inside my chest. Jeff was seven years older than me, a grown man with a solid career. He was charismatic, unbelievably handsome, and an amazing lover. I fell for him hard and fast, but now, looking back, I realized that I also fell for the idea of him. Jeff’s extreme physical passion for me in the early days of our relationship had led me to believe that he would never tire of me. That he would never stray, as my dad had done. And when I thought back to the night he’d proposed at the Georgetown waterfront, I remembered clearly the feeling that had coursed through me at the sight of him down on one knee.

  The love I felt for him was real, yes. But it wasn’t only love I felt that night.

  It was relief.

  Relief that someone loved me enough to stay with me. To commit to me for a lifetime.

  Because even though my parents had stayed together after my dad’s infidelity, I knew that in his heart, my dad was somewhere else, and that in choosing another woman over my mom, he’d left our small little family. Then, when every single boyfriend I’d dated continued on that same cheating streak, the message my dad had sent repeated relentlessly in my head.

  You’re not good enough. Every man you love will leave you for someone else.

  With Jeff’s proposal, I’d wholeheartedly believed that the streak was over. That I’d finally found the man who would love me forever. Who would make me feel whole again. Who I could create a life, a home, a family with.

  And when Jeff had betrayed that trust, I snapped. Hence, the man-hating blog. My unwillingness to commit to Luc or to let him in. My inability to support my friends in their happy relationships. And my choice to take Jeff into my hotel room that night.

  Because that night, he’d chosen me over Brooke. And somewhere in the back of my messed-up head, his desire for me was the validation I needed to believe that I was worthy of a man’s love.

  About two-thirds of the way around the wide path that encircled the park, I slowed to a stop. I plopped down in the grass and lay on my back as I stared up at the fluffy white clouds floating overhead.

  And as I listened to my heavy breath, in and out, my chest rising and falling, I knew what I had to do.

  I had to let it all go.

  My dad’s betrayal. All of the broken hearts I’d suffered since.

  Jeff’s online dating profile, and my streak of bad decisions this past year.

  I couldn’t change any of it. But I could let it go.

  So, with each breath, I released a little more, and still more, until finally, the knot that had settled itself in my chest at the young age of thirteen released. My heart relaxed. I could breathe. I could finally breathe again.

  I was worthy of a good man’s love. I had won Luc’s.

  But even more important, I realized that I didn’t need that love to validate me any longer.

  I knew Luc may never come back to me. He may never even want to talk to me again. But I would be okay on my own. And if anything, he’d shown me that good men do exist. They’re not all evil. They’re not all cheaters.

  I peeled myself up off the ground and thought about my blog and my article in Bella Magazine. Despite my man-hater attitude, and despite the fact that I’d encouraged Hannah to stray, inspired my mom to leave my dad, and alienated Katie, I still believed that I’d reached out to a lot of suffering women, given them something to laugh at, and maybe even a bit of empowerment.

  But I’d learned a lot this past year. And I needed to modify my message. I thought how Lexi had let her past dictate her future, and to a lesser extreme, I had too.

  And that was going to stop.

  ***

  With a flutter of new, exciting ideas swirling through my head, I left the park and walked briskly down the quaint little rue where my host family had lived, wondering if they were still there. I had become really close to my host-mom, a sweet, yet strong-willed little school teacher who had done a hell of a job of raising four kids all on her own, keeping up a beautiful five bedroom, antique French apartment, all the while having a delicious
homemade dinner on the table every night. She was a super-mom if there ever was one. Her two youngest children, Aurélie and Mathieu lived in the house with me while I was there. Aurélie was a few years older than me, and Mathieu a year younger. They’d become like a second family to me, which was one of the main reasons why I’d been so happy when I’d lived here, why I’d always looked back on my time in Lyon with such fondness. But, unfortunately, as time had passed and life had gotten in the way, we’d lost touch.

  I reached the old stone building where their gorgeous apartment sat up on the third floor, and in my new resolve to take charge of my life, I decided to ring the bell.

  After a minute or two, there was no answer. But just as I turned around to leave, a man’s voice called my name.

  “Charlotte? C’est toi?”

  I blinked to make sure I was seeing him correctly. It was Mathieu. But a taller, buffer, more grown-up version of Mathieu. I smiled at him.

  He rushed toward me, placed his hands on my shoulders and leaned in to kiss me on the cheeks. “I cannot believe it is you. What are you doing here in Lyon?”

  “I’m studying in Paris this year, and I just came down with my friends for a visit. I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. I wasn’t sure if you were still here.”

  “Yes, I am still living here, in the same home, and Aurélie lives just down the street. Maman has moved to Nice to take care of her parents, but she comes up frequently to visit.”

  “Wait a second, your English is perfect! What happened?” Mathieu hadn’t been able to say much more than “yes,” “no,” and “hello,” when I had lived with them.

  “After you left, I studied in England for a time, so now I can speak English.” He smiled his warm, familiar smile, making me feel better than I had in weeks.

  “You must come for dinner tomorrow. I will call Maman to see if she can take the train up. She would love to see you.”

  “That would be wonderful.”

  “You can bring your friends too if you’d like.”

  “Thanks, Mathieu. I can’t believe it’s you. It’s been five years, you know.”