One Week in Paris

by Roya Carmen

  “Well, let me help you.”

  I smile as he picks up a dishtowel. Corrie is still oblivious in the living room. This, I’m sure, is the result of years of having a cleaning lady who comes in every week, and a husband who is a bit anal retentive, constantly tidying the place. I remember watching a rom-com at her place once, and he was vacuuming the popcorn on the floor. Corrie is spoiled, is what she is.

  The hot water feels good on my hands, and it’s actually quite nice just chatting with Oscar about the day — we’re just friends, like we used to be. All my worries suddenly float away.

  I let him finish cleaning up the kitchen, and I move to the bedroom. First, I gather all my things and pack them up, setting aside the clothes and items I’ll need for tomorrow on the flight back. I pick up Oscar’s things too, and lay them on top of his opened suitcase. When I grab his favorite grey sweater, the one with the big pockets, a small blue velvet box tumbles to the floor.

  I pick it up, curious. I don’t open it. It’s ancient royal blue velvet — it’s obviously something old. I wonder if it could be for me. Maybe it’s for his mother. Could it be earrings? Or a necklace with a pretty pendant? My pulse races as curiosity gets the best of me.

  I look over my shoulder before opening it. He’s still in the kitchen, cleaning. My heart pounds against my ribcage as I spring open the lid, and discover the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen. It’s an antique sapphire gem set on white gold, circled by a myriad of tiny diamonds.

  It’s perfect. Perfect for me.

  My pulse races faster as I consider what this all means. This has to be for me. Who else would it be for? It’s crazy. It’s too fast.

  I know we’ve grown closer. We’ve been friends-with-benefits for about three years now, and we’re both at the age to settle down. But I’m not ready.

  What we have is so great… why mess with it? This could ruin everything. What happens if we get involved, and things don’t work out? We won’t be able to remain friends. I will have lost my best friend. And I’m not in a place in my life where I can lose my best friend. I often feel so unhinged… I need him to ground me.

  We can’t do this.

  I hear him shuffle around in the kitchen, and I hastily close the box and return it to the sweater. I carefully lay the sweater on his suitcase. Do I pretend I haven’t seen it?

  I don’t know what to do. If I act like I’ve seen nothing, I’ll go crazy anticipating the moment where he pulls out the box and gets on one knee. And what if he doesn’t? I’ll be even crazier then. And I can’t say yes. What if he proposes in public surrounded by a hundred tourists? It will be super awkward and embarrassing if I say no. As difficult as it may be, I need to address this.

  Oscar is all smiles when he pops into our bedroom. “All done,” he says, and my heart sinks. “Corrie is still stretched out in the living room, like the princess she is.”

  I smirk. “She’s annoyingly lazy, but I still love her.”

  He plops down right next to me on the bed, and makes the mattress bounce. I’m absentmindedly reading a French magazine. I’ve been waiting for him.

  I set down the magazine. “Listen…”

  “I didn’t know you could read French,” he says.

  “A little,” I tell him. “I mostly just look at the pictures.”

  He picks it up and flips through it.

  “Listen, Oscar,” I start again. I don’t know how to say this… This is so awkward.

  His gaze shoots up, and he instantly abandons the magazine. “What’s up?”

  “Where are you taking me tomorrow?” I ask again. He’d said it wasn’t the Eiffel tower. I wonder if it’s a romantic garden… there are hundreds in this city. My app says it’s going to rain all day tomorrow… this proposal is doomed, in more ways than one.

  He smiles widely. “It’s a surprise… I told you.”

  “Listen…” I say, yet again. “I’m really looking forward to it, and I still want to go—”

  “What do you mean… ‘I still want to go?’”

  “I mean…” I blow out a long breath. This is so much harder than I’d imagined. “I mean…” I walk over to his suitcase, and fish the box out of the pocket of his sweater. “I found this.”

  “Oh crap.” He throws his head in his hands. “I’m such an idiot. I should have hidden it better.” He looks up at me. “Did you open it?”

  I wince, feeling guilty as sin. “I did… I’m sorry.”

  He shakes his head. “So… what now?”

  I sit next to him, the ring box in my hand. “Were you going to…”

  “Propose?” he asks. “Yes. I was. I just bought the ring. I don’t know… maybe it was stupid. You know how impulsive I can be sometimes. It was stupid.”

  “No, no. You weren’t stupid, Oscar. You’re sweet.”

  He shakes his head. “Sweet… that’s just what a guy wants to hear.”

  “But you are…”

  He turns to me with such vulnerability in his beautiful brown eyes. “You were going to say no, weren’t you?”

  I really don’t want to answer this question, but the least I owe him is the truth. “I… I… yes, I was going to say no.”

  His whole body slouches, and his face falls. I might as well have just punched him in the gut. I’m sure he’d much prefer that.

  “It’s not that I don’t care about you, Oscar. It’s just that I care about you too much. I don’t want to risk it,” I struggle to explain. "You know me and relationships… I suck at them. And what if we get married, and it doesn’t work out. Then I’ve lost my bestest friend in the whole wide world.”

  He nods, but he’s clearly not happy. “I see… it’s not me, it’s you.”

  “Well, yeah… it is me.”

  “I’m forever destined to be ‘the friend’, the hook-up. I’m just not good enough for you, not marriage material. I’m sure someone like Matt would be more up your alley. Who wants to marry a coffee boy?”

  My jaw is hanging. “It’s not that. At all,” I insist. “What kind of person do you think I am? You know it’s not that.”

  He springs off the bed. “I’m going for a walk.”

  I scurry after him, like a jittery little mouse.

  He grabs his jacket, and slips on his shoes. “Don’t follow me.”

  I watch him as he slams the door and heads out. I stand still for the longest time, staring at the door.

  Corrie is suddenly by my side. “What happened?”

  I shrug. “Oh, now you’re paying attention. Do you realize we cleaned the whole kitchen while you just lazed about and watched TV?”

  Her eyes are wide. “What? I thought you guys were having fun… chatting and giggling like teenagers. I didn’t want to be a third wheel.”

  I cross my arms. “How convenient.” I turn on my heel, and head to my bedroom.

  She nips at my heels… of course. “What happened? I know you’re not mad at me. What happened with Oscar?”

  I sink onto the bed and cross my legs. My eyes well up. Corrie settles right next to me… she’s not letting this go. “What happened?” she asks again. Seriously, the woman is relentless.

  “I… I messed up,” I tell her, now officially sobbing.

  She takes me in her arms. “What happened?”

  If she asks me that one more time, I will clobber the woman. “He bought me a ring,” I tell her. “And I found it.”

  She pulls from me, her eyes full of excitement. “Really?”

  I gesture to the suitcase. “See that sweater over there?”

  She nods and ventures over. She picks it up. “Yeah, this old thing?”

  “Look in the pocket.”

  She digs the box out, and eagerly pops it open. “Wow,” she says as soon as she sees it. “It’s gorgeous. It’s so you.”

  “I know… Oscar knows me well. I love it.”

  “So what’s the problem?” she asks, completely confused. “You two are perfect for each other. And he’s super sweet… and kind
of hot, I have to admit. A little rough around the edges but—”

  “I can’t,” I try to explain. “I like him too much.”

  She tucks the box back in the pocket of Oscar’s sweater. “Oh, that’s a new one. You can’t marry him because you like him too much.”

  “I know it sounds stupid,” I say. “But if things go sour, I’ll lose my best friend. I can’t lose him, Corrie. Half of marriages end in divorce… I mean, look at you and Jacob….” My words trail off.

  She cuddles close to me again, her small skinny legs pressed against mine. “You’re scared, Kayla. I get it. Your dad walked out on you and your family and broke your heart. You can’t trust anyone, and you’re too afraid to commit to any guy. Classic fear of abandonment. It’s all your dad’s fault.”

  I can’t help but smile. “Well, look at you, Dr. Freud.”

  “Yep, that Psychology 101 class in college really stuck with me.”

  “Well, you may be on to something. I am totally messed up.”

  “Well, not as fucked up as I am,” she says. “But yeah, you’re quite a mess too. But if anyone can make sense out of your mess, Oscar can. For what it’s worth.”

  I reach in for a hug. “Thank you, Corrie. You’re a good friend.”

  “Not as good as you, but I try.”

  She suddenly jerks back. “Oh no, does this mean he’s not taking you to that special place?”

  I bite my lip. “I don’t know. I hope not. I’m dying to know what it is.”

  “Okay, well, you need to make up for at least a day,” she tells me with a smile. “I know you guys will make up. You two are inseparable.”

  I ponder her words. Yes, we kind of are.

  Inseparable.

  37

  CORRIE AND I SHARE A TEA, and when she practically falls asleep on my bed, I kick her out. The last thing we need is for Oscar to come back and find her sprawled out on his side of the bed. Is he even going to want to sleep in the bed with me? Is he that mad?

  I’m mulling over these questions when I hear someone fiddling with the lock of the front door. My heart races as I stand frozen, studying the door. I know it’s Oscar, but it’s dark and late, and I’m scared.

  I let out a sigh of relief when I see his face. He’s still upset. I run up to him, full of questions. “Are you sleeping in our bed tonight?”

  He shakes his head. “I thought I’d crash on the sofa tonight.”

  My heart sinks. “Why?”

  He walks past me, toward the washroom and ignores my question. I follow him in.

  He grabs his toothbrush and brushes his teeth.

  I stand close behind him, and wrap my arms around his waist. I study his reflection in the mirror. He’s still upset, but his eyes soften at the sight of us. I hold him tighter.

  I stand back, and pull up his thick sweater. I press my lips against the warm skin of his back.

  “Don’t,” he says, but I can hear the vulnerability in his voice, the desire.

  I don’t stop. I trail my mouth down his spine. I hear the water running. He rinses his mouth. I’m on my knees.

  He jerks around, and I stand again to face him.

  “Don’t,” he says again.

  I don’t listen. I pull his sweater up again. He closes his eyes. I trail my hand along the hard ridges of his stomach. His skin is so warm. I press my mouth against his skin again, just above his navel. I feel him breathe in.

  “Don’t,” he says, one more time.

  My hand travels south, over his jeans. He’s hard. He tells me to stop again, but I know he doesn’t want me to.

  He pulls at my arm and jerks me up. “You want another fuck? Because that’s all I’m good for, right?”

  “No—”

  He grabs my ass, and swings me around, so fast, my heart stops for a second. He tugs at my sleep shorts, and tears them down, along with my panties. The door is not even closed. He props me on the edge of the sink.

  I eagerly undo his fly. I’ve never wanted him so badly. I wrap my hand around his erection, and close my eyes at the sensation of him in my hand, so warm and hard, for me. I throw my head back, wanting this so much.

  He doesn’t kiss me. He doesn’t whisper sweet nothings, not even a dirty word. He grabs the flesh of my hips hard, and presses his hard cock against my sex, eager for me to let him in. I close my eyes as he teases me, and I enjoy him when he finally sinks into me, hard. No foreplay, no care. It hurts a bit, but also feels so good. I want more.

  He presses his mouth on my shoulder and bites at the flesh softly as he pumps into me. I wrap my legs tightly around him, desperately wanting to come. He jerks hard, once, twice, and then he’s done. He pulls from me, and doesn’t even look at me before he turns and leaves.

  I deserved that, I guess.

  I can’t sleep. Too full of emotion and worry. He hates me. Or does he still love me? We didn’t use a condom. Because of the nature of our open relationship, we always use protection. I’m not worried about pregnancy because I’m on the pill, but… I know he hasn’t been with anyone else.

  What will happen now? Are we still going to his secret destination?

  I toss and turn until I finally fall asleep. But sleep comes in fits and starts, interrupted by crazy colorful dreams.

  I wake early in the morning. Oscar is still asleep on the sofa, covered by a measly throw. I drag my blanket from our bedroom and cover him. He tosses and fusses, still sleeping. I watch him slumber, a hint of a smile and the flutter of his thick lashes. I wonder what he’s dreaming about.

  I grab a banana from the kitchen and watch him sleep. I’m not leaving until he wakes up. I watch the clock on the wall, and the hands seem to move so slowly. I listen to the sounds coming from outside. Corrie is still sleeping too. She’s pretty lazy, and always gets up late.

  Finally, Oscar stirs and rubs at his eyes. He doesn’t seem surprised to see me looming over him. “Hey,” he says.

  “So are we still doing that thing today? Or are you too mad at me?”

  A whisper of a smile traces his lips. “Yeah, we’re still doing it. It’s been planned for over a month. No way I’m canceling. I still want to take you there.”

  My heart swells. “Good. That makes me happy.”

  He grins, but then his smile fades. “Uh… about last night… I’m sorry.”

  “About what?” I ask. I know why he’s sorry, but I want him to say the words.

  He smiles. “For… you know, taking advantage of you, and leaving you hanging. I was an ass. I was just so upset.”

  I chew on my bottom lip, picturing him naked, over me. “Yeah, you did… leave me hanging.” I throw in a pout, just to make him feel guiltier.

  His grin is playful when he says, “I could make it up to you.”

  My curiosity is piqued, and so is my sex. “How?”

  He grabs my arm softly and pulls me to him. He presses his hot mouth against my ear. “You know what I feel like for breakfast.” His words are ragged. “Your sweet little pussy.”

  I close my eyes for a second, imagining him pleasuring me. Without a word, I take his hand and pull him into our bedroom.

  “What should I wear?” I ask Oscar. I have no clue where he’s taking me. On the plus side, I’m giddy with excitement. But on the other hand, I have no clue how to dress. “Will there be a lot of walking?”

  Stretched out on our bed, he leans back on his elbows, intently watching me as I rummage through my clothing, completely overwhelmed. “There will be some walking, so I would wear comfortable shoes,” he tells me. "There might even be a little bit of cycling,” he adds with a smirk.

  “Cycling?” I ask. “At night? In Paris?”

  He grins widely and runs a finger across his lips. “I’m not saying another word.”

  I settle on a black turtle neck and long black skirt, and the Doc Martens I’ve brought along. All black — very Paris. I lay the items on the bed. “What do you think?”

  “Perfect,” he says. “You’ll want to brin
g a jacket too,” he tells me. “We’ll probably be spending some time outside.”

  I bite my lip, mulling over all the information I have. He hasn’t divulged much so far. All I know is that it’s something in Paris, something he thinks I will really like. There will be walking and possibly some cycling.

  “How is your French?” he asks.

  “Why?” I ask nervously. “Will I need to speak French?”

  He smiles. “You might have to. You will definitely need to understand it. I’ll be completely lost. You’ll need to translate.”

  I shake my head. “You’re driving me batty, Oscar. You know that, right?”

  He laughs. “Of course I know it. That’s what I love about it.”

  “Give me a few hints at least,” I beg. “Just two or three.”

  He sits up and leans back on the tall upholstered Victorian headboard. “How ‘bout this? How ‘bout I let you ask me three questions.”

  Yes!!! I hop once or twice, completely giddy. I chew on my bottom lip while I think about what to ask. He watches me with a big grin, thoroughly entertained.

  “Is it inside or outside?”

  He smiles. “Both. But mostly inside.”

  What could it possibly be? A museum of some kind? He knows I enjoy art. But I’m not crazy about it or anything. It’s not a garden. It’s not the Père Lachaise cemetery where Jim Morrison is buried. It’s not the catacombs. He’s already been, and he knows I’m not into that ghoulish stuff. Could it be the Eiffel tower? He knows I’ve already been with Matt.

  What do I like? I like yoga. I enjoy journaling. I like books. I like anything old, anything vintage. We’ve already been to a flea market, and I’ve already been to Shakespeare & Company.

  “What arrondissement is it in?” I ask, hoping to Google a Paris map and narrow it down.

  He cocks a brow. “Twelfth, I think.”

  I nod. Interesting. There’s not much in the twelfth, touristy wise. “Okay… one more question… is it entertainment? A show?”

  He smiles. “Yes, sort of… there are shows, I think.”

  “Have you ever been?” I ask.

  He grins. “That’s your fourth question, my lady. But since I’ve never been to Paris, that one is pretty obvious. No, I’ve never been. I don’t quite know what to expect either.”