Or—my imagination runs away from me sometimes. Sometimes a lot.
But I’d rather think about her than what to do about Mathew and Parvati. Or Jean-Paul and Mireille having their intimate conversation.
I grab the cell phone to call Mathew even though my stomach flips upside down with nerves. Too many questions hover in the universe about our relationship. I’ve done pretty good at blocking it during this trip, but now that it’s almost time to go home, fear is making my skin crawl.
Maybe all we need is a break for a while, but I’m not sure I can stand that. I still like him—I think I still love him—but I’m so confused.
If we have a vacation from our relationship, Parvati will have ample opportunity to finish the job she’s doing on Mathew’s head and leave me in the dust, forgotten like a hairball under a couch. Will he decide he wants her instead?
Maybe Mathew just sees Parvati as new and exotic and the fling will be over as fast as it started. Maybe it’s over already and he knows that he really wanted me after all. We’ll ride off into the sunset together. Do people still do that? Can I take that chance? What if I’m completely wrong? I’m not sure I can go back to Eleanor Roosevelt and watch them from the sidelines. I know in the recesses of my selfish, insecure heart that I don’t want to go back to school without being Mathew Perotti’s girlfriend.
I am so shallow.
But if we stay together, can I ever trust him again? Oh, why is this whole thing so complicated! I wish Parvati had stayed in India and left us alone. I’m not even sure she’ll ever be my friend again after The Worst Night of My Life. If Mathew chooses her, I know I can’t be friends with her any longer. Which makes me feel mean and small.
I’m going crazy thinking about it all so I finally punch in Mathew’s number, hoping he’s awake now. The phone rings and rings. I should have tried his cell. So I do. It rings once and immediately goes to voicemail. Okaaay.
I was sure I’d feel more sane if we could just talk for a couple of minutes. I’d planned to keep it light and friendly and remind him what time my plane arrives on Monday so we can go out for breakfast. Crepes sound nice. With strawberries and whipped cream. Maybe that new IHOP.
My blood runs cold as I listen to Mathew’s new voice message. “Hey, it’s Matt. You know what to do. Oh, and if this is Parvati, save me a seat at the auditions. I’ll get there as soon as I can after work.”
The beep comes and I can’t speak, let alone leave a calm, sane message.
Save me a seat at the auditions? What does that mean?
My heart hiccups inside my chest and my thoughts explode in ten thousand directions.
I hit the buttons on my phone in the fastest text of my high school career. What’s up with Parvati, and secret auditions? We agreed you’d keep it cool with her until I got home and we figured this out!
I punch the letters like a stupid, desperate girlfriend. My eyes dart around the room, half hoping a New York City phone directory will pop out from under the bed or float down from the wardrobe.
I want to look up every playhouse and theatre in Manhattan and find out which one is having auditions. I wonder what play it is. Or maybe it’s some musical to showcase their voices. Mathew has never breathed a word to me. I’m sure the director will think Mathew and Parvati will be great as the male and female leads. Like West Side Story. Or South Pacific. And they’ll have practice sessions for the passionate on-stage kissing scenes.
The universe is torturing me.
For the first time I wish I had a gorgeous voice and a drama background instead of cross-country legs. My singing is merely adequate and I took choir because it’s an easy elective. I suppose I could audition when I get home. Maybe there’s a second chance for kids on school Paris trips.
Maybe I’m being totally irrational.
I open the window and take a huge gulp of fresh air, but when I lean out, I see Jean-Paul and Mireille down below on the street and tears suddenly burst out of my eyes.
One Month Earlier
As Sera and I discussed the merits of whole wheat or sourdough with our ham and Swiss, the door opened and my breath caught like I’d just finished a five-miler and swallowed a gnat.
“Hey, uh, Chloe,” Mathew stuttered. He didn’t grab my hand, put his arm around my waist, or give me a kiss hello. Things we used to do without even thinking about it. I hated this out-of-control feeling. Like I didn’t know the people in my life anymore. I moved toward him just as Parvati slid through the shop door.
“What a coincidence,” she said. “Mathew and I chose the same deli at the exact same moment. Isn’t that funny?”
“Hysterical.” My voice came out flat and Mathew raised his eyebrows at me.
“You in a bad mood?” he asked.
I bit my lip, then forced myself to smile. “Not at all.” I slipped my hand through his arm.
“So what are you going to order?” Sera asked Parvati, breaking the awkward moment. We all pretended to study the menu on the board behind the counter. I wondered if Parvati was trying to get under my skin, or just completely ignorant of how she affected everybody around her. I wondered if she had some secret spy network tracking my boyfriend. I knew I wasn’t thinking clearly, but I had no idea what to do about the situation, and was starting to feel irrational. I was in a train with no brakes going downhill. A train wreck happening—to me.
Sera handed me a Dr. Pepper and I suddenly had this urge to throw the soda at Parvati and cool off the steamy, annoying vibes she was giving off.
I pictured her gasping at the shock of cold ice, imagined it dripping down her face. Brown sticky soda staining her yellow spaghetti strap tank, then seeping into the waistband of her shorts. The waistband that was at this very moment hugging her hipbones so low it was almost pornographic. I thought Indian girls wore modest saris. Or was that only in the movies?
Another image popped into my head—Mathew coming to her rescue as he pushed aside customers and grabbed a wad of napkins to mop up Parvati’s arms and stomach. Dabbing at her chest under the wet tank top—
Stop! I ordered the film in my head. Hit rewind.
I clutched my drink and smiled like there was absolutely not a single, crazy thought in my head.
“Chloe? Hey, earth to Chloe!”
I looked up. Mathew was staring at me. “What?”
“You looked like you were—gone or something. What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing.” I felt my face flush. “Just trying to decide which sandwich to order.”
Mathew frowned and glanced away.
I felt like a total idiot. I must have looked stoned.
He muttered, “You’re doing the weirdest things lately.”
Parvati’s lips turned up at the corner as she watched us whispering. I wondered if she knew she had me rattled.
My phone is beeping but I’m staring so hard out Elise’s bedroom window that it takes me a second to click into the sound. Sera’s home number shows up on the screen. How can she be calling from New York when she’s in the Loire Valley with the rest of my French class?
“Hi, Chloe,” Sera’s little sister, Lainey, says into my tear-soggy ear. I scrounge around for some tissues, but remember there’s only bathroom toilet paper so I end up wiping my nose with my sleeve.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Are you homesick?” Lainey says cheerfully.
“Actually, no,” I tell her, feeling a twinge of guilt because my mother is absolutely certain she’s never going to see me again.
“I’d be scared to be alone in a foreign country without any money or my passport. I think I’d be crying and homesick all the time.”
“How do you know all this?” I ask, even though Lainey manages to hear gossip about an event before it’s even occurred.
“Sera, who else? She said you hung up on her, too.”
More guilt. “I’ve been having trouble with my cell phone.”
“They won’t let you back in the country without a passport,�
�� Lainey tells me as though she’s an expert on these matters.
“Even if I have to wait until Monday when the Embassy is open again, I can get a new passport. They probably give out dozens to scatter-brained tourists like me every day. If they need blood, I’ll even donate a little of that,” I add, trying to make a joke.
Lainey makes a snapping noise. Cherry Scrumptious Bubble Gum. At thirteen, she really needs to get over that. “I hear you’re at some kind of dessert shop. Is it weird to stay with some strange French family?”
Hearing the Duprés described that way seems odd. Jean-Paul and his mother are so homey and comfortable it’s like I’ve known them longer than just a day.
“They’re pretty ordinary. It’s a bakery shop, not a castle.”
“Sera told me you fell hard for French pastries. I think that’s hysterical.”
I could fall in love with more than a lemon tart, I think, then scold myself for being so disloyal to Mathew.
Now that the tears are under control, I’m starting to feel pissed. I find out about Mathew’s full-time job from his mother and now he’s auditioning for some role on the stage – and he never breathed a word to me.
Sera’s little sister has gone quiet. A prickling sensation runs along my neck. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” Lainey says, but there’s an odd tone to her voice.
“Spit it out, Lainey. I know something’s going on.”
“I just—today—it’s probably nothing.” She pauses and I can practically hear her brain whirring across the Atlantic. “I don’t want to worry you.”
“Yeah, right. You’re so thoughtful that way.”
I should move away from the window, but I’m rooted to the glass with invisible Super Glue. Down below, Jean-Paul and Mireille have stopped at the corner. Elise’s bedroom overlooks a narrow street, almost like an alley. Pedestrian traffic has thinned and only an occasional bicyclist passes by.
“Okay, I’ll tell you,” Lainey begins. “But prepare yourself, okay. Your mom called yesterday to ask me to help her at the mall for her book signing. You know, because you weren’t going to be back from France yet.”
I nod even though Lainey can’t see me. Mireille leans in close to Jean-Paul and he bends his head as if to hear her better.
“The signing was nearly over,” Lainey continues. “And your mom sent me out to get us some lunch, you know, out in the food court.”
I feel like I’m watching a movie. Mireille and Jean-Paul have probably walked home like this a million times. How lucky are they? I mean—Paris! The city for lovers at Mireille’s doorstep. With no jetlag. While I live in noisy, smelly New York. There’s no comparison. Paris oozes romance and old style class. Okay, I love New York, don’t get me wrong. It’s my hometown. It’s got tons of great places to see and good Chinese take-out and lasagna to die for, and celebrity sightings and funky musicians on the street, but at the moment I’m in love with Paris.
My brain orders me to stop watching, to sit down, and shut the window, but I’m not very obedient.
“I mean, it was like three o’clock before we could take a break,” Lainey goes on. “Customers just kept coming and coming. And then there was this old lady at the very end of the line and your Mom looked like she was about to faint from lack of food so I had to go, right? I mean, you don’t blame me, Chloe, for going? To get lunch?”
Jean-Paul puts his arm around her, bringing her in close to his chest. I can only imagine what that feels like. His hands, the fabric of his shirt, the touch of his fingers brushing my cheek—I mean, her cheek.
“Chloe? Are you there?”
I swallow hard. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here.”
Now they’re talking in earnest, facing each other, and Jean-Paul is holding both of Mireille’s hands in his. It’s starting to look really intense.
“So, I came out of the shop and there’s—Mathew.”
“Uh, huh,” I say, to let Lainey know I’m listening.
I imagine the feel of Jean-Paul’s warm breath on Mireille’s face. Good Lord, this weird jealousy is making me ill. Any minute I’ll start swooning like one of Mom’s drippy romance heroines, and need smelling salts so I don’t hit the floor and get a concussion.
Get a grip! What do I have to be jealous about? Mireille has a hot boyfriend and so do I, but I’m so envious I feel green. Paris and Jean-Paul are making my head explode. What is wrong with me?
“And Parvati.”
I barely hear Lainey. I’m in the middle of a daydream where Jean-Paul is looking into my eyes as if I’m Mireille, and he’s laughing at my silly jokes.
“I knew you’d be mad if I told you!” Lainey suddenly wails.
Her whiney voice wakes me up. I haven’t been paying attention, but Lainey’s words are beginning to register. “What are you talking about?”
“Mathew and Parvati! Haven’t you heard a word I’ve been saying?”
“Of course! I’m listening.” And drooling. “Parvati and Mathew are friends. We’re all friends. They can talk to each other at the mall.” See how mature I am?
“I can’t be positive,” Lainey says hesitantly. “But it looked like they were together. As in together.”
“Yeah.” I say, totally agreeing. Those two down below in the alley are completely together. Jean-Paul and Mireille’s relationship is long-term. It’s obvious they’re serious. This is where my Paris depression goes full-blown.
I’m such an idiot. I have to stop these insane thoughts. I have to get out of here and go home, the faster the better. I wonder how much a taxi to the Loire Valley costs? Actually, it could cost fifty euros, but it doesn’t matter. I have no money for anything.
“Well, they were—I mean—” Lainey sounds like she’s in agony.
I watch Mireille throw her arms around Jean-Paul’s neck. And then they’re kissing—full lips, full body contact. Full everything.
“You know—Mathew and Parvati—they were hugging and—stuff.” She can hardly say the last word.
I have to sit down, my legs are shaking. Instead, I lose my balance, trying to keep from putting weight on my sore ankle and use my rear end as cushion. My phone skids across the floor like a skater. I’m going to have bruises on both hips.
“I’m sorry!” Lainey wails again, and I can hear her even though the phone is two feet away.
I crawl across the floor, and grab my cell phone which managed to fling itself under the bed. Lainey’s words are beginning to sink into my brain, but I’m having a hard time getting the image of Jean-Paul and Mireille, in their locked embrace, lip-to-lip under the streetlight, out of my mind.
Rubbing my sore hip, I say, “Are you sure you saw Mathew and Parvati? Maybe she was with some other guy who just looks like Mathew. You know how guys are around her. She attracts them like moths to a flame.”
I’m trying to talk Lainey out of her story. I really don’t want this to be happening right now. I’m not sure I can handle it. The two hottest guys I’ve ever known kissing other girls. Not kissing me. I don’t want to hear this. Not after what happened two weeks ago. Not after Mathew’s promise not to see Parvati until I got home and we had The Talk.
“I didn’t want to tell you, Chloe, but I knew nobody else would.”
“You’re a real friend,” I say, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. I’ll bet Lainey enjoyed every moment of the mall scene and being able to personally give me the scoop. She’s probably high-fiving herself right this minute. With a bunch of her dopey friends giggling in the background.
“What are you going to do?” Lainey asks a little too eagerly.
I have no idea. The news feels unreal and I don’t know how to process it. Mathew and Parvati feel so far away, like a very bad dream. A nightmare.
“Okay, start at the top again, Lainey,” I tell her, forcing myself to concentrate as I dump myself back on the window seat. This time I ignore the window and stare at Elise’s name on the wall.
“I was at the mall,” she repeats like I�
��m five years old. “And I got lunch for your mom and me.”
“I got that part.”
“Across from The Gap, I saw them. She was hanging on his arm. And then she pulls his head down and kisses him. On. The. Lips.”
A sudden sharp pain jabs at my chest. I want to scream and cry and throw something. Parvati kissing my boyfriend—and I’m almost four thousand miles away and unable to do a single thing about it. Even though I’ve been working on being more mature about my life, what I really want to do is pull her hair out. Why, I want to cry to Mathew? How can you love me for so long and then let Parvati come between us? Just tell me why!
I take a breath, trying not to start screaming or throwing things. “Okay, don’t jump to conclusions or go into hysterics,” I tell Lainey. She gives a snort of laughter. “Are you sure? I mean, didn’t you just get new contacts or glasses recently?”
Lainey gives a dramatic sigh. “I saw their faces. And I think Mathew sort of saw me, too.”
Just then my phone beeps. Call Waiting. My chest lurches and the last éclair I ate rises in my throat. Mathew’s number lights up the screen. He’s doing damage control. I know I can’t talk to him right now, I have to think about this first, figure out what I’m going to say to him.
My instinct is to yell a few good cuss words. Give him ultimatums, all that stuff high school girls are good at. But I’m about to start college. I need to stay cool, calm, and collected and learn the whole truth. There could be a simple reason for what Lainey saw. Once I know the facts—the real facts—I can figure out how to deal with it.
Even if the story is horrible, especially after The Worst Night of My Life, I’m still thousands of miles away which means I shouldn’t do anything rash or stupid, like suddenly break up with Mathew and go home to no boyfriend at all. I’d kick myself my entire freshman year. Everybody knows college can be miserably lonely without a boyfriend. Not having dates for Saturday night could be catastrophic, especially if my friends or roommates are bringing guys home for the night. Watching Saturday Night Live with a lap full of Twizzlers and caramel popcorn while there’s headboard banging going on just across the hall would make me want to slit my wrists.
Paris Cravings: A Paris & Pastry Novel Page 10
