Paris Is Always a Good Idea

by Jenn McKinlay

  “In what way?” Eleanor asked.

  Jason shrugged. He looked as if he was grappling with my concept, but then he said, “That’s up to them, but the college with the most badass—er, resourceful—bot wins the coveted tournament cup.”

  “There’s a cup?” Robbie asked.

  “Sure. Like winning a Stanley Cup but for robotics. It could become an annual event, and every year the team’s name is inscribed, and it sits on display at their university for the year.”

  Robbie rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. “And you think this will increase awareness of the Severin Robotics brand as the premier employer for automation engineers?”

  “Yes,” I said. “It starts with getting them thinking about curing cancer and community needs—say, a drone that delivers medication to patients too sick to drive, or a companion robot who visits the homebound and keeps them company, or maybe it’s a nursing robot who can take their vitals—the students will become invested in making a difference in other people’s lives all in the name of fighting cancer. Plus, the most innovative robot will be declared the winner, giving the school and the students some seriously notable glory and giving Severin Robotics first dibs on the tech.”

  Jason gave me an assessing stare. I knew I had surprised him with my twist on his idea, which actually made me feel pretty good about the whole thing, especially since I had thought of it only right this minute. And yet I couldn’t deny Robbie’s instant interest or the obvious appeal of the proposal.

  “I like it,” Robbie declared. “It’s smart and imaginative. Well done, you two.”

  “Thank you,” I said. Jason echoed my words.

  I smiled as I gazed down at my plate. For the first time all evening, I felt as if I could appreciate the exquisite meal. Christian Le Squer, the head chef, was clearly a genius.

  “I’d like to talk more about this,” Robbie said. “Are we still set for the wine festival in Italy next week?”

  “Yes,” I said. “My friend Marcellino DeCapio is looking forward to having you tour his vineyard, Castello di Luce. They specialize in Chianti.”

  “Excellent,” Robbie said. “Jason, you’ll be joining us, of course.”

  “Actually, I’m—” Jason paused. He looked at me and then at Robbie. “Really looking forward to it.”

  What?! What was he saying? Jason was coming to Italy? With me? While I reunited with Marcellino? I wanted to scream into my napkin. Instead, I turned to Jason.

  “It would be great for you to join us,” I said. “But I thought you couldn’t miss that other business meeting in Boston.”

  I stared at him, right in his pretty eyeballs, trying to make my opposition to this change in plan obvious. Jason clearly had no feeling for his personal safety, as he took a casual sip of his wine, leaned back in his chair, and said, “I think I can reschedule.”

  “Excellent,” Robbie said. He looked delighted. “Call Eleanor tomorrow, and we’ll finalize the details.”

  It took everything I had not to show my distress. Instead, I smiled at Severin and said, “Great, this will be great.”

  I felt as if my smile was overly bright and possibly maniacal like the Joker’s, probably because I was trying not to pick up my knife and shank Knightley with the stealth of a ninja.

  He could not come to Italy with me. I had people to see—Marcellino!—and things to figure out, like where my happiness had been hiding all these years. Under a grapevine in Tuscany? Maybe. How could I clear my head of Knightley and his kisses if he was right there with me? Argh! This was a nightmare.

  In my bewildered and panicked state, feeling as if my quest to find my old self had just been hijacked by a man who thought my future was farming potatoes in outer space, I wondered if my only recourse was to quit my job once and for all.

  chapter twenty-one

  WE LINGERED OVER our coffee, the conversation pinballing from favorite television shows to artificial intelligence to what superpower we would choose—as discussions with Severin seemed to go—and when we walked out of the restaurant, I was relieved to be able to mentally stand down for a moment. Mercifully, I found myself beside Eleanor as we made our way through the tables.

  “Your presentation was smart,” she said. “You had all the facts and figures that dazzled and wowed, but tying it into what the company actually does—robotics—was a solid closer.”

  “I wish I could take credit,” I said. “The robotics portion was all Jason.”

  “Why do I suspect you’re being modest?” she asked.

  “I’m not,” I said. “The robotics nerd, a.k.a. Jason, wanted to do BattleBots. My sole input was to make them community oriented.”

  “A brilliant suggestion,” she said.

  “Thank you, but it wouldn’t exist without the original idea.”

  “Maybe. But Mr. Severin would still be interested in partnering with the ACC.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.”

  “I am,” she said. “Mr. Severin took the loss of his father very hard, particularly because he believes it was preventable. He’s a real advocate for early screening. Your name has come up several times in meetings as the person he would entrust a major gift to, and I’m pretty sure our dinner tonight just confirmed it.”

  She smiled at me, and I got the feeling it was something she rarely did. It felt like sighting a yeti or a mermaid, and it softened the unibrow that perched over the rim of her glasses. I felt the pitter-patter of optimistic feet trample through me. This was what I had lived for over the past seven years, raising awareness and money to fight the good fight. It felt wonderful even as I acknowledged to myself that I might be out of the game.

  We paused in the lobby to say good night. Severin didn’t shake hands with either Jason or me. Instead, he looked at us and said, “If you can, always be yourself, unless you can be Batman, then always be Batman.”

  With that, he turned on his heel and walked toward the elevator. Eleanor nodded at us once before she hurried after him.

  Jason and I made our way through the revolving door and out to the curb. He pulled me to the side and doubled over. I bent down to get a look at his face. Was he sick? Choking? Having a nervous breakdown?

  “Hey, you okay?” I asked.

  “Be Batman,” he wheezed. It was then that I realized he was laughing. A smile parted my lips, because yeah.

  I chuckled and added, “Or a potato farmer in outer space, apparently.”

  He laughed harder and I joined him. “Don’t mistake me,” he said. “I like Severin—I really do—but oh man, he’s—”

  “Shiny!” I said. I pretended to have my attention drawn to something glittery in the distance.

  “Yes.” Jason stood and threw an arm around my shoulders. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a conversation like that before. It was . . .”

  “Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride?” I offered.

  He grinned. “I was thinking more like the Mad Tea Party teacups.” He ran his free hand over his face. “My brain hurts.”

  “Come on,” I said. “Let’s go home.”

  It was almost ten o’clock, and I was exhausted. The hotel doorman immediately ushered us to a waiting taxi, and we climbed in.

  Jason gave the driver our address as I slid across the seat to make room for him. As soon as the door shut behind us, he collapsed back against the seat. “We did it! Can you believe it? A ten-million-dollar major gift, and we nailed it.”

  “We don’t have the money yet,” I cautioned. I wasn’t trying to be a wet blanket, but despite Eleanor’s enthusiasm, I didn’t want to get ahead of ourselves, as the disappointment if Severin changed his mind would be soul crushing.

  “Oh, no, it’s ours,” he said. “Robbie told me just now that at the meeting in Tuscany next week, he wants to finalize his donation.”

  “Are you serious?” I asked. “I thought we
had to present it to the board.”

  “Yaaas, I’m serious. The board presentation is a formality. That ten million is ours. Severin is eccentric, but I don’t think he’ll walk back his commitment to us.”

  I gaped at him for a heartbeat or two. Then I pressed my hand to my mouth. We did it! I was so overcome, I leaped on him, hugging him about the neck until he made a choking sound.

  “Sorry, sorry,” I cried. I let go of him and laughed, feeling equal measures of relief and joy surge through me, slamming the door shut on my doubts and sliding the dead bolt home. “I just . . . I can’t believe . . . Aidan.”

  Then I started to cry. Thinking about how much this would mean to Aidan caused me to come undone. I buried my face in my hands and happy sobbed.

  “Hey, hey. Chelsea, are you all right?” Jason’s arm came around me, and he pulled me in close. I pressed my face against his jacket, letting his solid warmth enfold me.

  “I’m fine,” I said. I sniffed and took a calming breath. “I just really wanted this for Aidan, especially now.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.” He pulled away and ran his hand up and down my back. “We should call him when we get to the apartment. It’s still early in Boston. He might even be in the office.”

  “That’d be great,” I said. My lips wobbled, and I pressed them together, realizing that phone call would be my opportunity to give my notice, and now that Severin was committed to the ask, it seemed more timely than ever. I couldn’t keep getting sucked back into my career at the expense of finding myself. Decisions had to be made.

  “You know, it’s a damn good thing you lost your phone and I flew over. We make a hell of a team, Martin. This campaign is going to be huge. This could go even bigger than the hot-wings challenge. There is so much we can do to promote this. It’s going to be amazing.”

  “I think you’re going to be brilliant,” I said.

  He looked at me and his brow furrowed. “Don’t you mean we?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “When we call Aidan about Severin, I’ll be giving my notice, effective immediately.”

  His eyes went wide with disbelief.

  “When you say ‘notice,’ you mean notice of how awesome your coworker is, right?” he asked.

  “No.” I shook my head, trying not to smile.

  The taxi stopped in front of Café Zoe, and Jason stepped out, holding his hand out for me. I noted how warm his fingers were, while mine were icy cold. Jason didn’t let go while he paid our driver, forcing me to wait. I knew he was going to have more to say about me resigning and he probably didn’t want me to get away. It was unnecessary; I wanted to clear the air before I called Aidan.

  When the cab drove off, he turned to face me and I glanced up at him.

  “Are you quitting because of last night?” he asked.

  “No,” I said. “I’m quitting because you don’t need me for this anymore,” I said. “And I have things I need to do, things that aren’t about the ACC or . . . you.”

  “So if it isn’t about last night,” he said, running an exasperated hand through his hair, “is it because I punched the jackass?”

  “No, it isn’t,” I insisted. “It’s about me being on a journey to figure some things out and not being able to do it, because I’m a crazy workaholic who is still working when I’m supposed to be on leave and getting my life together.”

  “You just scored a major ask for the ACC. How much more together could your life be?”

  “A lot,” I said. I shivered against the evening cold. Jason immediately let go of my hand, shrugged off his jacket, and, ignoring my protests, dropped it about my shoulders. “Which reminds me, why the hell did you tell Severin you’d meet them in Italy with me? You know I have plans.”

  “Are you kidding?” he asked. “For his ten-million-dollar donation, I’d agree to meet him in the burning fires of hell with my body oiled in flame accelerant and wearing a grass skirt, or on a potato farm on Mars.”

  I tried not to laugh at the mental images and managed it, mostly. “You had no right,” I protested.

  “Maybe not,” he said. “But if it means the difference between us getting the ask or not, I’d do it again.”

  Before I could respond, he took my elbow and escorted me into our building and up the stairs. He paused outside the door to my apartment while I searched for the key in my clutch bag. When my cold fingers grasped it, he took it and unlocked my door for me.

  His voice was low when he said, “Listen, you don’t have to quit. We can figure out a way to keep the work thing separate from your . . . quest.”

  I shook my head. “You know that’s not how this industry works. It’s all-consuming. I have to make a clean break.”

  We stared at each other. His head was tipped to the side, and he shoved his hands in his pockets in that slouchy way he had. His mouth tipped up on one side.

  “Chelsea, you can’t leave. You can’t leave me,” he said.

  It reminded me so much of our conversation in my office just a few weeks ago that I smiled. He must have said it on purpose, because his lips twitched and he added, “I stand by it. Now more than ever.”

  “I have to,” I said. I reached up to adjust my earring, but he caught my hand with his. He laced our fingers together, and I remembered that he’d noticed that was my tell when I was upset. I forged on, refusing to be charmed by him.

  “You know, there’s no guarantee you’re going to be able to find the old Chelsea in Italy,” he said. “This guy you’re meeting could be married with kids.”

  “He’s not.”

  “Or in jail.”

  “Nope.”

  “Or gay.”

  “Not gay,” I said.

  Jason didn’t look happy about my certainty on that point.

  “Chelsea, I understand that you need to do this,” he said. At my look of doubt, he added, “I do, but I think we can figure out a compromise.”

  I lifted my eyebrows. I was willing to listen.

  “Five days,” he said.

  I shook my head, not understanding.

  “Take five days in Italy all by yourself,” he said. “If you’re going to find true love, your laughter, or the happy, carefree girl you used to be, you’ll be able to find her within five days.”

  “That’s pretty arbitrary,” I said. “How do you know five days will do it?”

  “Because both Ireland and Paris were resolved for you within two days,” he said. “Good or bad, I’m betting Tuscany won’t take any longer than that.”

  I opened my mouth to protest.

  “If you need more time, we can arrange it,” he said. “I’ll stall Severin, or heck, I’ll even take him to the wrong vineyard. Just don’t quit, not now, not when you don’t know how everything is going to play out.”

  “What are you going to do while I’m in Italy?” I asked.

  “I’ll fly back to Boston and get the paperwork and contracts for Severin’s gift started,” he said. “And I’ll check on Aidan.”

  He had me hooked right there and he knew it.

  I turned the knob on my door and pushed it open. “All right, Knightley, I won’t quit tonight, but I reserve the right to change my mind.”

  His smile was blinding. “You’re still in the game?”

  “Allora, I suppose,” I said, using the Italian word for “well then.” I shook my head, thinking I must be crazy. “I’ll see you in Italy.”

  He looked like he was going to step forward and hug me, but I could not allow that, because when it came to him, I had no common sense or self-preservation. Healthy boundaries were the only way to maintain my equilibrium. I slipped inside my door, and with a little finger wave, I shut it, but not before he sent me a knowing wink. Incorrigible.

  * * *

  • • • •

  AH, FIRENZE. WHEN I’d bee
n here seven years ago, I’d spent my last hours before I departed curled up in a ball at the airport, awaiting my flight while clutching the tiny pocket prayer book with the title ovunque proteggimi, meaning protect me everywhere. No bigger than a matchbook with an embossed image of Saint Francis of Assisi on one side and his prayer for peace—or pace—in Italian on the other, I held it like a talisman that would get me back home to my mom as quickly as possible. I still had the prayer book. I kept it in the top drawer of my nightstand at home.

  It occurred to me when I arrived in Boston after that desperate flight home how ironic it was to get the call about my mom while in a city and country that so revered the woman’s role as a mother. The Madonna and child were by far the most prevalent images in the city to the point where I had begun to feel an affection for them, as if they were always watching over me.

  My favorite representations were the ones where the mother looked affectionately exasperated with the child, who was usually depicted as a toddler in those poses. When I thought of my time in Italy, it was the ever-present Madonna and child that came to mind.

  I reserved a room at a small hotel near the station where I would catch the morning bus to the vineyard, Castello di Luce, where I had worked with Marcellino. It was located about twenty miles outside of the city, nestled in the rolling hills of Tuscany. There was a small village adjacent to the vineyard, and I was looking forward to seeing what, if anything, had changed during my years away.

  At the moment, I sat at a small wrought-iron table in the courtyard of the hotel, brooding over my espresso while admiring the massive terra-cotta dome of Il Duomo in the distance, which stood out above the city’s skyline. I wished I had the energy to go browse the shops on the Ponte Vecchio, a bridge over the Arno River in the heart of town, but I hadn’t slept well and I was exhausted. I knew there was nothing I could buy that would distract me from my current bout of self-doubt.

  I breathed in the sweet air and tried to be present and enjoy the moment I was in right now instead of being full of worry about the unknown. It was a struggle, but I focused on my surroundings. There were exquisite tile mosaics on the walls, depicting, of course, the Madonna and child, and small orange trees were planted in enormous terra-cotta pots stationed all around the perimeter of the courtyard. On each table was a blue glass bottle with a fistful of daisies, a cheerful splash of color against the black tabletop.