Made In Paris

by Ana Newfolk

  It took us 2 years until we were back on our feet. By then I'd been in college for almost the same time and my focus turned from the family towards working on the only thing I could control, my grades.

  I received every single one of your letters. I couldn't open them. I couldn't bear to feel that I had let you down, and I silently hoped that for as long as they kept coming I wasn't alone.

  It was a lie and I was selfish, because the truth was that I was alone. I didn't let anyone in, I didn't make friends, I didn't go out and I even stopped spending time at home.

  I spent my days and nights at the University Library. People tend to be quiet there so it was a safe place. Inside I hurt so much but I didn't know how to reach out, especially after all the time that had passed.

  You could have confused me for a robot, or a zombie if you saw me. I was on automatic pilot, like life was happening but I wasn't in control.

  I couldn't see the words for all the tears running down my eyes. The thought that my best friend had suffered so much all alone broke my heart, but the thought that he hadn't sought me out for comfort was a different level of hurt.

  "Jean-Paul, mon chéri, what happened?" Mom said sitting down next to me.

  Reading the letters took me back to the past in such a way that it felt real, like the present moment.

  "Maman, I... I was reading the first letter he sent after his mom died."

  "Oh mon chéri. Why are you upset? You know what happened."

  "I know, Maman, but it's too hard to think he went through all that on his own."

  She kissed the top of my head and left me with the letters again.

  Nothing changed until this kid disturbed my peace. He wasn't older than 16. He started sitting next to me every night. I wasn't even sure how he got in the library. He used to pick up a book and sit there, not reading it, not looking at anyone.

  I wasn't sure what to make of him. He was a silent pest and I wanted to tell him to go away and at the same time I wanted to keep him there because I wasn't so lonely when he was there.

  One day, after about 6 months, he stopped coming in. It felt weird not seeing him there, but I figured he got bored. Three months later I was still thinking about the kid so I asked the librarian if she knew who he was.

  She wasn't allowed to give me any information but I think she was worried about him too because she looked around and then showed me a copy of his library card.

  His name was Justin Peters, JP, the same initials as you. It made me smile when I looked at the card.

  For a month I looked at newspapers, on the Internet, everywhere I could try just to see if I could find him. One day the librarian showed me a newspaper article in which a young kid of 17 years old with no identification had been killed on the street as the result of a homophobic attack.

  I don't know why but I had a bad feeling about it so I contacted the police and showed them the library card.

  I don't know what they did after that. I wasn't related to him so all I could do was tell them how I knew about Justin and let it go.

  After that I went to speak to the university counselor.

  It has taken me a lot to get to this point, and despite telling you the truth now, I still feel undeserving of your forgiveness, but I'm going to be selfish once more and ask for it anyway.

  Jean-Paul, I would like to see you. No, I need to see you. If I come to Paris will you see me?

  Please say yes.

  Yours,

  Dorian

  "Yes, Dorian, a million times yes," I said out loud to myself.

  Chapter Nine

  Dorian

  The three years after my mom died became known at home as the dark ages. It was kind of a joke but in a way it wasn't. We all suffered in our own ways. In the end we came thought it together. I just wished I'd sought help sooner.

  I’d missed out on so much stuff in Kat and Ash's lives and at some point, in my self imposed role of caretaker for everybody, including my dad, I forgot to look after myself, which meant I became unable to look after them.

  After I send Jean-Paul my apology letter I'd reassessed my life with the help of my therapist.

  I hadn't expected a reply from Jean-Paul, but I got it nonetheless. How could I doubt that he would be there for me?

  Even after all those years he was still my best friend.

  After that I did my best to make sure kids like Justin would have a safe place to go, a refuge. Somewhere where they could find someone to talk to, someone who would understand and offer them the support and education they needed.

  I had some money from my mom's inheritance that I hadn't used. Suddenly the business degree I had been so focused on took on a new purpose. I was going to open my own LGBTQ Youth Center.

  And I did.

  In the last six years we’d helped countless kids and I knew each individual one by name. I knew their story and I could proudly tell anyone all their achievements like a proud parent.

  There was only one place I was happier than when I was at the center, and that was at home.

  10 February 2011

  Jean-Paul Bertram

  47 Rue Des Fleurs,

  75014 Paris

  France

  Dear Dorian,

  I'm so sorry my first letter this year is coming to you so late. A lot of things happened and my mom had the flu so I spent a lot of time looking after her.

  She is feeling better now and sends her regards to you. She misses you too, although not as much as I miss you.

  First of all I have to say that even though we hadn't seen each other for years, seeing you at Christmas again was like no time had passed.

  Yes, we are both a little older and maybe have some more responsibilities, but we are still us.

  I also have to apologize for Pierre's behavior. He's a good friend but he shouldn't have treated you like he did. I know I already apologized to you when it happened but I have since had a conversation with him.

  Pierre told me he had feelings for me and that he was jealous of our friendship. I don't know why he would be jealous but anyway I told him I didn't like him in that way so he decided he doesn't want to see me any more.

  The other reason I waited to write to you is that I have some exciting news.

  A few weeks ago I did a video audition to apply for a placement at the Palm Court Restaurant at the Plaza in New York as Sous Chef. They were happy with my skills and asked me to go to New York so they can meet me.

  This means I'm going to New York!!!!!! In 3 weeks to be exact!!!!!

  I won't be there very long but I hope we can still meet up. I'd love to visit the sights with you and also meet your dad, Kat and Ash.

  Until we meet again,

  Jean-Paul

  The day Jean-Paul called me to say he was moving to New York for good was the second best day of my life. His visit months earlier had been so fleeting we'd only spent a day together.

  He thought it was more important to meet my family so we spent the day at my dad's house with Kat and Ash.

  I'd been living on my own for a little while and looking for a roommate, not because I needed one, but because I wanted the company. Once Jean-Paul said he was moving to New York we decided he would live with me.

  Kat and Ash suddenly became really interested in the activities of my apartment and teasing that I was living with my boyfriend.

  I knew they were teasing but inside there was nothing I wanted more. Jean-Paul was my best friend and my rock. The proof of that was that when I'd stayed away my life had more or less imploded.

  With him in my life everything made sense. All the colors were brighter and everything tasted better.

  And that was why I couldn't afford to lose him if it turned out he didn't share the same feelings for me.

  Chapter Ten

  Jean-Paul

  "Maman," I called out and my mom came to the room within mere seconds.

  "Yes?"

  "Can I ask you a question?"

  "Bien sûr."r />
  "How did it feel when I said I wanted to go to New York?"

  She stared out to the street through the glass windows and looked thoughtful for a moment before she sat down next to me putting her hands on top of mine.

  "I was sad. All of your life it was always you, me, and then Audrey. When you wanted to go to New York I knew I couldn't make you stay. It was your destiny, and it was only a matter of time before you left. To be honest I'd been waiting for that to come for quite a long time, Jean-Paul."

  I squeezed her hands. She'd known I would one day want to go to New York? How?

  "How did you know?"

  "Oh Jean-Paul, you've been in love with that boy since before you knew you liked boys." Her gaze was soft and all knowing.

  "He was my best friend."

  "Yes, at the time he was, but he became more, didn't he?"

  she asked.

  "Oui, Maman, he did."

  She looked at the clock on the wall, "You're going to be late."

  "I'll finish up here soon."

  She got up to leave but I stopped her.

  "Maman, thank you for all this. The room, the letters, everything."

  She squeezed my hands. She knew everything I was thanking her for.

  "Well, one thing's for sure, this apartment isn't going to be as quiet any more. And I’m really happy to have you closer to me for the next year."

  I smiled, feeling lightness and heat radiating from my chest.

  All of the letters, they told a story of growth, knowledge, exploration, conflict, fear, excitement, and love.

  Those feelings would be present in my life forever and would take different shapes as I grew older, that I knew, but I could still draw a line on the sand.

  The line that would mark the life before Stephanie, and the life with Stephanie.

  I started putting the letters neatly back in the box.

  It was time to start the next part of the journey. My whole body tingled with excitement and I felt like jumping to burn the energy that suddenly rushed through my body.

  When everything was tidy I got up to leave the room, picking up the box and looking around for any last minute adjustments.

  I paused and looked again at the box in my hands. It belonged here, in this room. It had been here all those years ago that I read them for the first time, and also here that I’d written all the replies.

  There was a space on the top shelf of the bookcase so I placed the box there and left the room.

  My mom was waiting for me in the kitchen with a big smile on her face and a letter in her hand. When I saw it I stopped in my tracks.

  It had been years since I received any correspondence of importance to my mom's address. I took the letter, feeling the thick and expensive looking envelope in my hands.

  "Open it." Mom said.

  "But what if..." I couldn't even finish my thought.

  "Just open it!"

  "Fine."

  My hands shook as I opened the envelope and carefully took the letter out. My eyes zeroed in on the most important words.

  "We wish to offer you a position of Head Chef Pâtissier at our Champs Élysées branch."

  "Yes! Yes! I got it, Maman. I got the job!"

  I couldn't believe it. I'd wanted to work in that same restaurant where I'd tried my first macarons only aged ten, well since I decided to study pâtisserie, and now I was going to not just work there but run it. This was the biggest opportunity of my career.

  The moment I thought it my heart sank.

  "What's the matter?" Mom asked.

  "I can't accept it."

  "Why not?"

  "Because of Stephanie, Maman. I won't have time. Stephanie is more important than this."

  "Jean-Paul, I am only going to say this once. You can do everything you want. You are determined enough to fight for it. You have plenty of support and you have me too. Go home and think it through before you make a decision, oui?"

  "Oui, bien sûr, Maman."

  I kissed her on the cheek and grabbed my coat to leave.

  There was one more stop before I could go home.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dorian

  I looked at the clock on the wall and realized I didn't have much time left but there was something I wanted to look for inside the box.

  I mentally calculated how much time I needed and ran to the master bedroom with the box in my hands.

  The king size bed was perfect for it. I sat down and flipped the box's contents on top of the bed. So many letters, some inside envelopes, some loose, some in packs marking some kind of life event.

  "There it is," I mumbled to myself.

  When Jean-Paul moved in with me we didn't stop writing to each other, we simply changed from letters to sticky notes.

  Everyday we exchanged multiple sticky notes. Sometimes, they were something as simple as saying when we'd be home or that we needed more milk, other times they were random thoughts.

  My favorites were the full-blown conversations we'd have via post it notes.

  The absolute highlight of my days was finding those sticky notes Jean-Paul left for me in the most random of places, and I loved doing the same to him.

  When I was at work I'd wonder if he'd be up yet and had seen it on the bathroom mirror, or inside the fridge as he picked up the milk for his coffee.

  I'd totally lived for those little messages, and even when I'd dated other guys, nothing made me happier than finding one of Jean-Paul's notes.

  I'd kept all of them, stacking them in a way they were roughly in date order or by topic of discussion.

  There were two sets of double doors in the bedroom right in front of the bed, leading to the garden and right in between them there was a wall that still remained empty of any photos. It was perfect for what I had in mind.

  JP,

  Are you free after work?

  Meet me at O’Neill’s at 9.

  D

  ___

  D,

  Kat is coming over to bake with me.

  You may want to stay away for the afternoon.

  JP

  ___

  JP,

  Those brownies were to die for.

  I'm gonna marry you one day so I can eat them forever.

  D

  ___

  D,

  What the hell are you on about?

  Laura is so going to win ANTM!

  JP

  ___

  JP,

  Venue: O'Neill's

  Time: 8pm

  Reason: Dorian's broken heart...again

  :(

  ___

  D,

  Drink the orange juice and take the Advil.

  I'll be back soon with ice cream and groceries.

  We're staying in this weekend.

  JP

  ___

  JP,

  Hope you know you're cooking tonight, again lol

  And yes, I deserve it if I have to hear you talk about that asshole T.

  D

  ___

  D,

  Ugh, sorry I was stuck at work last night.

  I don't even want to talk about T. I'm done with him.

  Can we have a night in? I'll cook.

  JP

  As I read the notes and stuck them in a pattern on the wall I felt my heart soar with happiness. That had been the start of a new chapter in our life in so many ways and it was all captured in those little notes, in my messy handwriting and Jean-Paul's freakishly neat one.

  Baby,

  :-D Fuck, I love calling you that.

  I'm out to get us coffee and croissants (yeah, I know they won't be as good)

  DO NOT leave the bed.

  Love

  D

  I would never forget the day we finally admitted our feelings for each other. Seven years after our first kiss.

  Now, looking back I wanted to shake my younger self. How had I not realized that we were both in love with each other?

  Even when we dated other guys
, we still spent the majority of our free time with each other.

  We travelled to Paris together to spend the holidays with Jean-Paul's mom, had my family round for dinner all the time and even my brother and sister seemed to enjoy hanging out with us. No wonder none of our relationships had succeeded.

  That day Jean-Paul had come home from work as usual. As a chef he worked long hours and was always home late, but I'd gotten used to catching up with work while I waited for him.

  "I don't want to talk about him, Dorian. He's a cheating bastard who doesn't even deserve us talking about him," he'd said as soon he walked in.

  We'd ended up on the couch eating Chinese takeout and wondering why we never seemed to find nice guys. I knew why I hadn't found someone. There was only one person I wanted, Jean-Paul.

  He was the only person I had the kind of connection, chemistry and intimacy I wanted from a partner. All the others were poor attempts at finding that when I needed to be physically close to someone.

  "I just want a guy that I can talk to, who won't complain about my long hours, who will just get me. I want a guy like..." he'd paused and looked at me.

  "Like?" I whispered.

  During our conversation we'd ended up getting closer and closer to each other. I hadn't realized how close we really were until his face was mere inches from mine.

  "Like you, Dorian." He'd said and then he moved forward to take my mouth in his.

  I'd kissed him back fiercely, taking all I could because I wasn't sure it was real, that he really wanted me in the same way I wanted him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jean-Paul