Sleeping with Paris
Page 27
He placed his hand on my shoulder once more. “You were always our favorite exchange student. I am so glad you have walked into our lives again.”
Wow, Mathieu had really grown up. What a sweetheart.
“Me too,” I responded warmly.
“I hate to run, but I am just going home for lunch, and then I have to get back to work. So, does seven o’clock work for dinner tomorrow?”
“That’s perfect.”
Mathieu leaned down and kissed my cheeks.
“À demain,” I called out as he headed toward his apartment.
“See you tomorrow,” he replied with a wink.
I was on cloud nine after my fortunate run-in with Mathieu. What a man he’d grown up to be. I couldn’t wait for dinner the next day.
I bounced south along the sparkly Rhone River, admiring the colorful architecture that lined the river banks. The buildings were painted in warm hues of yellow, orange and light pink, their red rooftops reaching toward the feathery clouds overhead. Even the bridges boasted all different shades of blue, red, green and bright white, making the gray buildings and bridges scattered throughout Paris seem dull in comparison. I crossed over my favorite pedestrian bridge, breathing in the scent of the water as I stood under its large, stone archways, and then continued to stroll toward our hotel. As I tilted my head up toward the sunlight and felt the warm breeze brush against my cheeks, I smiled. I had forgotten just how much I’d fallen in love with Lyon. There was something magical about this place, something that didn’t exist in all of the touristy sights in Paris that made me feel at ease, like I was home.
When I arrived back at the hotel, the girls were all dressed and ready to go for the day. I filled them in on Mathieu’s new, mature look and on our dinner plans for the next night. As I tossed my phone into my purse, it beeped.
I had a missed call.
Butterflies flittered through my stomach as I checked to see who it had been. Please, please, please let it be Luc.
But it wasn’t Luc, it was Lexi:
Just met with a new counselor. Hottest man ever. Not sure if I can be a good patient when I’m staring at his pecs entire hour. Still making progress though. Will try to not to F up. Thanks for being there for me Char. UR the best.
I wrote back:
Glad to hear you’re still you. At least counseling sessions won’t be boring. Don’t have sex with him though, k?
Lexi responded:
Honey, counseling sessions with me are never boring. Of course I’m not going to sleep with him . . . unless he initiates. How hot would that be?
I chuckled. Brad was right. Lexi was definitely coming back to life.
Later that morning, Katie, Fiona and I headed over to Vieux Lyon, the oldest and most charming part of the city, to feast on some delicious crêpes for lunch. I hadn’t had much of an appetite during our first week there, but after my run and my release of all of that baggage I’d been carrying around for years, I felt ravenous. Not to mention as light as a feather. As we strolled down rue Saint-Jean, the main cobblestone street that ran through Vieux Lyon, we passed by an endless string of French restaurants, pubs, and sweet smelling patisseries, their windows displaying row upon row of decadent French pastries. Fresh fruit, meat and cheese markets spilled out into the winding road, the scent of the food making my stomach growl as we found my favorite crêperie, Le Banana’s. After waiting for five minutes with no sign of the waiter, we decided to seat ourselves at one of the small, wooden tables against the window.
When the waiter finally appeared, I ordered a crêpe salée—a warm, meal-sized crêpe packed with emmental cheese, ham and tomatoes.
“Whoa, I’m impressed,” Katie said as her eyes widened in response to my big order. “Are you getting a dessert crêpe too?” All I had been eating since we’d arrived were side salads and water.
“Hell yeah, I can’t pass up a crêpe smothered in Nutella at my favorite place.”
“Eating Nutella again—you’re starting to come back to life,” Katie said with a grin.
“How was your jog this morning?” Fiona asked.
“It was really good. It gave me some time to think about everything, and there’s something I need to say to you girls.”
Katie and Fiona shared a curious glance before focusing their gazes back on me. “What is it, Charlotte?” Fiona asked.
“First, I want to apologize. Properly and fully apologize for not being a good friend this past year. Fiona, when you and Andrew got back together, and Katie, when you started falling for Joe, I know I was less than supportive of both of you, but that was only because of the crap I was going through. It had nothing to do with either of you. You’ve both been such great friends to me, and the last thing I ever want to do is lose you from my life.”
“Thanks, Char,” Katie said softly. “You’re not going to lose us. And there’s something I’ve been wanting to say too. I’m sorry for the things I said the night of the wedding. I know your blog wasn’t aimed at me or at my relationship. It just felt that way sometimes, but I shouldn’t have taken it personally. You’ve been through a lot this year between Jeff and your parents, and it totally makes sense that you would’ve wanted to renounce relationships. I wouldn’t believe in them either if I were you. And I want you to know that I really did love your article in Bella Magazine. It was awesome, and after the wedding, I didn’t want you to think I was lying about that just to be nice.”
“Thanks, Katie.”
“Ditto to that,” Fiona said. “I loved that article. And I know you’ve had a rough year. I went through the same thing when Andrew and I were over. Your blog gave me a lot of inspiration actually. It helped me stay strong when I felt like shit. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself Charlotte. None of us are perfect.”
“Thanks guys. It’s just that I’ve been carrying around so much baggage for a long time now, and for the first time, I feel like it’s finally starting to lift. So, I want you both to know that from here on out, you can count on me to support you through whatever is going on in your life. And on the topic of the blog, I’ve decided to keep it going, but to make some changes.”
Katie took a sip of espresso out of her mini yellow coffee cup. “Ooh, this is exciting. What kinds of changes?”
“Well, for starters, I’ll probably change the title from Sleeping with Paris to something a little less . . . slutty.”
Our waiter appeared with our food right at that moment, and apparently he understood English because he started laughing.
“Bon appétit, Mesdemoiselles,” he said with a sly grin.
After devouring a huge bite of hot, melted cheese layered with slices of juicy ham and ripe tomatoes, I continued. “Besides the title, I want to change the message. I want to start writing more about love, relationships, friendships, family. Issues that all women deal with.”
“That sounds like fun,” Fiona said. “But don’t go and get all wholesome Suzy Homemaker on us. You’re still going to be real and write about sex, right?”
I lifted an eyebrow. “If you’re asking me to write a post about men’s obsession with the arse, you can forget it.”
Katie nearly choked on her food as all three of us burst out laughing.
“No, God. Please don’t ever write about that,” Fiona said, her face the shade of a cherry red tomato. “You know what I mean. Your blog and your article were so successful because you were real. Don’t give that up, okay?”
“I won’t. I’m just going to take the focus off the man-hating. That’s all.”
“And it won’t be focused on life in Paris anymore since you’ll be coming back to DC in a month once school is over, right?” Katie asked.
“I’m not sure. Truthfully, I haven’t decided where I want to live since I lost my chance at that teaching job in Paris. I do realize now though that working with Madame Rousseau long-term was never a good idea. I could never have become wholesome enough for her to like me. Although, I could’ve tried a little bit harder.”
I glanced out the window and felt my gut tighten at the thought of leaving Paris. Or really, at the thought of leaving Luc. “Yeah, that’s a possibility . . .”
Before I could go into the reasons why I did not want to leave Paris, the waiter arrived and cleared our plates. “Voulez-vous un dessert?” he asked, shooting flirtatious glances at all three of us.
“Trois crêpes avec Nutella, s’il vous plaît,” Katie ordered in her strong American accent.
“Tout de suit, Mademoiselle,” the waiter said with a wink.
“He’s cute,” Katie said, staring at his butt as he walked away. “You should ask him to come out with us tonight.”
“Oh, right. All I need is to add one more guy into the drama,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Well, we’re on vacation, and just because you’re not dating like a man per se, doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun.”
“Maybe, but I don’t really think I’m up for all that right now. I need to focus on getting the rest of my life in order first.”
A few minutes later, our chocolaty crêpes arrived in all their glory. Those shut us up for the rest of the meal.
“Mmm . . . this is better than sex,” Katie said as she savored a huge bite of Nutella with a tiny bit of crêpe.
“Definitely,” Fiona chimed in.
But as I thought of the last time Luc kissed me and held me in his arms, I wasn’t so sure.
***
On the morning of my 26th birthday, I headed back to the park for another run. Today’s sprint felt even better than the day before. As I jogged past a dedicated group of male roller-bladers, weaving wildly in and out of a line of orange cones in their tight little shorts, I couldn’t help but laugh. I thought about Fiona’s suggestion that I consider moving to Lyon. There was no doubt in my mind that I would love living here again. The only thing stopping me was the thought of leaving Paris and never seeing Luc again. But with no word from him and a world of damage done to our relationship, I had to accept the real possibility that Luc and I were finished.
Even with all of the freeing realizations I’d made the day before though, I knew I wasn’t ready to give up hope. I missed Luc. And I still wanted to be with him more than anything. My feelings for Luc were different from what I’d felt for Jeff, or for any other man for that matter. They were not born solely from my need to feel love and acceptance from a man.
I genuinely cared for Luc. I loved him.
So, as we spent my birthday doing our usual bout of open-air market shopping and city exploration, I secretly checked my phone every five seconds for a call from Luc. But when none came, I realized that no matter how strongly I felt for him, I couldn’t force him to forgive me. Luckily, the girls kept me busy right up until seven o’clock, when we took the metro over to my host-family’s apartment for dinner.
My heart overflowed with excitement as we found ourselves in front of the enormous wooden doors that I had let myself into so many times. I buzzed the upstairs apartment.
“Oui?” a female voice called over the intercom.
I knew that voice right away—it was my host-mom, Caroline. She had come home from Nice to see me!
“C’est Charlotte,” I called into the speaker.
“Ah, Charlotte! Viens, viens!” she responded eagerly.
We took the stairs up to the third floor, and there stood Caroline, Mathieu and Aurélie all waiting for us with huge, welcoming smiles on their faces.
Bisous were exchanged as they ushered us into the foyer and led us toward the living room to have an aperitif before dinner. That was another thing I loved about this family—and about the French in general. Tasty liqueur before dinner, wine during dinner, and drinks, dessert, chocolate and coffee after dinner. What could be better than that?
As I entered the living room, I noticed that the older, more classic furniture pieces that Caroline had kept when I’d lived here had been replaced by a modern blue sofa paired with light, gray armchairs and a black and white rug. And sitting on the new sofa was a petite brunette holding a baby girl.
Mathieu placed his hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Charlotte, this is my wife, Florence, and my daughter, Nathalie.”
Mathieu was married? And he had a daughter? I’d had no idea. What was with these French guys and their hidden families?
Florence smiled at me and brought baby Nathalie over to meet me. “Mathieu is very happy to have you here,” she said in a thick accent. “And we are so happy for you to meet our little girl.”
“She’s beautiful, Mathieu. She has your eyes.”
He smiled. “Everyone says that.” He leaned down and kissed his baby on the forehead. “I wanted to surprise you. I knew you would never believe that I was married and had a baby.”
I laughed. “You’re right. I wouldn’t have. But I’m so happy for you. So the three of you are living here now?”
“Yes, after my mother moved to Nice, she let us have the apartment to raise Nathalie . . .”
Mathieu kept talking, but I couldn’t focus on his words as I watched him put his arm around Florence and cuddle with his baby.
They seemed so happy together. So in love.
This was what I wanted. I didn’t want to date like a man any longer. I wanted stability. A home. A family. And I wanted it with Luc.
“À la table!” Caroline called from the kitchen, snapping me back to reality.
Having dinner with the family was just like old times. Constant laughter, messed up translations, and ridiculously good food. Katie only knew some basic phrases in French, so my French family made an effort to speak English during the meal, which of course provided us all with endless entertainment.
Toward the end of dinner, we ended up discussing my future plans, and as soon as Fiona mentioned the idea of me moving to Lyon, the family jumped all over it.
“You can stay here with Mathieu and Florence in one of the spare bedrooms,” Aurélie offered as she downed the last sip of her red wine and poured herself another glass.
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose,” I said, hoping to God this was a real offer. I would so love to come back and stay with them for a while.
“You wouldn’t be imposing,” Mathieu chimed in as he looked over at Florence for approval.
“Of course it is not a problem,” she agreed.
“Yes,” Mathieu continued, “You can stay here while you search for an apartment.”
I glanced over at Katie to see what she thought. “It sounds like a really good option,” Katie said. “I mean, as much as I want you back in DC with me, you do love this city.”
“It all sounds great, but I’d have to find a job of course,” I added, taking another sip of wine.
“I have a friend who teaches English at a language school nearby. If you want, I can put him in touch with you.”
“Really? I’d love to talk to him. I’ve been teaching English to a French medical student up in Paris, and I’ve really enjoyed it.” I started to feel hopeful until I saw Mathieu feeding baby Nathalie, which made me think of Luc and his daughter.
Could I really leave Paris and give up any chance of reconciling with Luc?
“I’ll call him tonight, and I’ll give you his number. Okay?” Mathieu said as he fed Nathalie another spoonful of mushy bananas.
“Sure, that sounds great,” I said, knowing that despite my hesitation, I needed to take this seriously. Luc may not come back around, and moving to Lyon could be the path to getting my life back on track.
After we finished the main course, Caroline cleared the table and served us one of her magnificent pear tarts for my birthday dessert. Then she placed three bars of Lindt creamy milk chocolat
e on the table for us to savor with our tiny cups of espresso. Besides the fact that eating Lindt chocolate made me think of the last time Luc had fed me chocolate in bed . . . damn . . . the rest of the dinner went off without a hitch. Fiona and Katie had a ball talking with the family, and I realized I felt more at home than I’d felt in my own skin in a long time.
Later that night, despite missing Luc, my spirits were up after the wonderful dinner we’d had with my host family, so I decided it was time to let loose and have some fun with my girlfriends.
I smiled over at Katie and Fiona as we walked through the cool night air toward the river.
“Girls, I think it’s time for a trip to Ayer’s Rock.”
Katie grinned. “It’s about time, lady. It’s just over the bridge, right?”
I nodded as the three of us took off over the sparkling river and weaved past three college-aged girls who were hiking the bridge in short black skirts and three-inch heels. I glanced down at my more conservative dark jeans, my long-sleeved raspberry-colored top, my black heels, and I smiled to myself. I felt relieved not to have to dress up in those skin-tight outfits anymore. Granted, these girls were probably headed to the same bar as we were, but with both Fiona and Katie in serious relationships and me on my new mission to stop using men, I had a feeling that our night would be very different from theirs.
After crossing the bridge, we turned the corner into the Place des Terreaux and zigzagged around the rows of miniature fountains that bubbled up in front of the Hôtel de Ville, which illuminated the deep blue sky like a radiant palace.
We wound up a skinny alley and passed by a tiny corner market before finding ourselves at the entrance of Ayer’s Rock—the bar where I had spent many a night dancing and having the time of my life back when I’d studied abroad. A rush of excitement flowed through me as we bounced into the crowded pub, a Prince song blaring over the speakers, the bartenders banging on the metal bells overhead, just like old times.
After we ordered a round of Sex on the Beach from a buff Swiss bartender, the three of us shoved our way onto the packed danced floor, took a few sips and got down to dancing.