by Kahlen Aymes
“The why didn’t you come talk to me?” The words sounded like they were pulled from him, but they still sliced through my soul. “And why won’t you say it?”
This was the second time he’d questioned me about loving him. The first time being when Meredith offered me the first promotion on his visit to New York for Valentine’s Day when he proposed. I tried to swallow the pain so I could speak, but it still crept into my shaky voice. “Just a little time, okay? Try to understand how it’s been for me.” I love you, but it hurts too much to be with you right now. “I just really need your understanding. Just for a little while.”
He sighed heavily. His voice was low and thick, laced with his own tears. “Okay. God, I’ll try. When we got married, sometimes you wondered if a love like this even exists, remember?” I remembered clearly; those words were part of my wedding vows. “It exists, or it wouldn’t hurt so fucking bad. But, only for us, Julia.” Ryan’s voice was deep, but thick with tears. “Believe that and… don’t forget to remember me.”
I gasped as Ryan said the words that connected us for the past five years. My heart broke anew, shattering instantly into a million pieces that ripped me to shreds. He knew those words would yank my heart right from my chest. And, they did. It was pure manipulation, pure guilt, pure heaven, and pure hell. Two could play at that game.
As if I could ever forget him. My eyes squeezed shut and pushed more tears down my cheeks.
“You forgot to remember me,” I said weakly.
I quickly hung up the phone right before I pushed my face into one of the plush white pillows and screamed. I needed him like he used to be. I needed the brilliance of us, like we were, or it would never be good enough. I cried and cried into the pillow, praying for the strength to get my head on straight.
I needed time without suffering Jane’s continued presence and the guilt I felt over being so angry. I needed sanity and peace and rational thought. I needed to be able to function and heal. But, I also knew that I’d never be able to breathe without him. Lately, I hadn’t been able to breathe either way. Yes, I owed Jane everything… but until Ryan could put things into perspective and take back our lives, I was out.
I got up and went to the suitcase, unzipping it, and pulling out the T-shirt I’d stashed there. I pulled it to my face and inhaled his scent as I went back to the bed. Still fully-clothed, I crawled under the covers, not caring if the sun ever came up again. I curled up and brought the shirt to my face, clutching it to me as I cried into the darkness. How quickly our lives had changed; the neat, perfect package was now so fucked up. Only one thing remained…the insane love. It was crippling in its intensity.
My fingers curled into the pillows and the fabric of the shirt as I sobbed softly into the darkness, aching for the arms that would ease the hurt, and the words that would assure me we’d be okay. I’d left him, but it felt like he’d left me. Like I was the one without the choice.
My broken words echoed around the room like they were coming from someone else.
“I just want you back, Ryan,” I said into the darkness. “I want us back.”
Half a world separated us, and I’d just severed my only connection to the one person I never thought I could live without. I’d walked away from the love of my life, in the desperate hope that my best friend would find his way back to me.
~12~
I’d finally fallen asleep after another two hours of crying, but it was the fitful, twilight-type that only made me feel even more exhausted. In the morning, I stood looking out the window over Paris with bloodshot eyes. The river looked dark sapphire, and the Eiffel Tower lifted against a bright azure sky. It was an artist’s dream to be here, and I’d always wanted to come. I’d just never imagined it would be without Ryan. At least, not after I’d gotten in the accident and missed the opportunity last year.
Ryan talked of coming here and Italy to tour the many landmarks and museums so central to my art education. I felt numb; as if I were having some out of body experience, an elaborate nightmare that I would soon awake from.
The plush terry of the hotel robe that wrapped my body felt real enough, and my wet head was wrapped in a matching towel. I sniffed in regret, willing myself not to allow a new torrent of tears. My phone was conspicuously silent this morning, but he was only doing as I asked. It had only been twelve hours since we spoke, but there was that part of me that was surprised, and if I were honest, disappointed. My feelings were all screwed up, and I did need to sort stuff out, but my needy, sore heart longed for affirmation that he wanted me back.
I huffed, chastising myself and sat down on the edge of the bed. What did I expect? How many times had my father told me that guys are literal and will take spoken words for gospel. ‘Men are easy, just don’t say anything you don’t mean,’ he’d told me once in high school when I had a fight with my boyfriend. ‘You’re confusing the poor kid, sweet pea.’
I never confused Ryan and he never confused me. That was part of the reason we were connected from the hip from day one, but things were so screwed up now. My own conflicted feelings for Jane held me back from telling Ryan how much she was bothering me when she first started getting under my skin. That was my big mistake. But… normally, he would have just known without my having to say a word. I pulled the towel loose from my still-damp hair, and it fell heavily around my face. I pushed it behind my ears and dialed Meredith.
“How’s Paris?” She was exuberant when she answered.
“I haven’t seen much of it yet. I thought I’d give some thought to that fill before I go into the office.”
“It’s Sunday, anyway, hon.”
“Oh, sorry, it’s all sort of a blur. Does the Paris staff know about the hostile takeover?” I asked, only half kidding. “I wouldn’t like it if someone showed up on my turf unannounced ready to rearrange everything.”
Meredith laughed. “They expected you six months ago, babes. But don’t worry, I told them it’s temporary and that you’re there because you’re an ace. You’ll show them how to get things done and that will be that. Unless… you decide you want to stay for good. In which case, Monique will be fired.”
My face screwed up at her nonchalant dismissal of another person’s worth. “No, Meredith. I promise… that won’t be the case.” Without giving her room to form an argument toward her cause, I asked when I could expect Andrea and Mike.
“Flying out tomorrow. John was sure pissed that I’m taking all of you. It’s beyond me why he’s scrambling. He knew it was coming.”
I wasn’t sure my New York publisher did, considering I had no intention of taking this job, given Ryan’s and my plans. I could understand how he would be put out, and I felt a flash of guilt for the short notice. “I’ll call him. That’s the beauty of wireless. I can still do my job from here, if I need to.”
“Honey, that’s admirable, but concentrate on the job at hand.”
“I want to be busy, so I don’t mind working for both of you.”
“Me first, John second. Got it?”
“Got it, but he would disagree. I did promise to do the fill for February. Two pages shouldn’t be difficult. How is that issue stacking up here?”
“Shitty, I’m sure.”
“Your confidence is overwhelming.”
“You have no idea,” she answered blandly. I could hear her pulling on a cigarette then blowing it all out.
“I’ll try to think of a feature we can use in both. That way, I can ease into it and, hopefully, not piss anyone off over here.”
“Who cares? Piss off whoever you need to, as long as you get the job done.”
After I hung up, I returned the call from my parents. I’d planned to make light of it all and just say I had an emergency fire, but when my dad told me Ryan called him, I had to come clean. Thank God I didn’t have to speak to my mother, but he made me promise to call her later in the week.
I dressed in jeans, a heavy wool sweater, and kept the make-up to a minimum. I didn’t feel like taking the
time, and I didn’t really care what I looked like. I hoped getting out and exploring Paris, most specifically the Louvre, would lighten my mood and spark my creative juices for the magazine article. My stomach felt empty, but somehow not hungry, so I didn’t bother with breakfast. I donned knee-high black leather walking boots and pulled on my long wool coat and mittens, shoving my phone into my purse and heading out of the hotel into the biting cold January air.
The city was far less bustling than New York, filled with sidewalk cafés and a lazy atmosphere that I welcomed. The street seating was, of course, abandoned for the warmth inside. It would be nice to visit again in the spring. Meredith said there was no place on earth like springtime in Paris. Again, my thoughts landed on Ryan and our plans to come together. Loneliness out-shadowed any wonder that I’d momentarily been able to conjure for my day’s adventure.
The bitter wind whipped my hair into my eyes, and my gloved finger curled around a piece that found its way into the corner of my mouth. I pulled up my GPS app on my phone and entered the current address and that of the Louvre. It was northeast of my hotel and across the Seine River, but less than a mile. The wind would make my ears ache, but I chose not to hail a cab. My time in New York conditioned me to walk blocks and blocks without hesitation, so I didn’t give it a second thought. I passed the French Institute, admiring the architecture, and promising myself to visit before I left the city. Today, though, my heart needed the more direct diversion that the Louvre and its magnificent contents would provide. I could just wander and keep to myself, which was all my fragile state could handle.
I hoped getting lost in the works of Michelangelo, da Vinci, Degas, and Monet would occupy my mind and ease the ache in my heart. I felt sick inside. Leaving just made a tough situation worse. I knew it even before I left, but I just couldn’t stay. The abyss between Ryan and I made it difficult for me to tell him where I was, and I would be no better off than when I left. I sighed, telling myself that he needed the distance to gain perspective as much as I did.
I wasn’t even sure what I expected Ryan to say to Jane, but after the bathroom scene at the gala. I was done with her. I couldn’t feel sorry or empathetic anymore. The conflict I felt was now centered around Ryan, alone.
Despite my whole self-talk about perspective, I did want him to come after me to miss so much he wouldn’t rest until he found me. Making him work for it was selfish, it would be detrimental to his residency, and there was no way I’d want his career to suffer, no matter what was going on between us. Ever. Even if I lost him completely, I’d never wish him anything but the very best. In that moment, I made the decision to call him later that night and tell him where I was. I had so much weakness where he was concerned, yet when we were together, he gave me so much strength. Longing just to talk to him became overwhelming.
My eyes filled with tears, and as quickly as one fat drop fell onto my cheek, I hastily brushed it away. I turned onto the bridge that would take me across the Seine and to the museum sitting at the end of it. I could see it from here, and its magnificence was nothing less than I expected.
I drew a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. I’d never questioned that Ryan and I would be together forever, and I wanted to trust that. Except, this shit with Jane was the first time he’d chosen not to be available to me. Even in college when we were friends, and his girlfriends came and went, I knew that if I needed him, he’d drop everything in a heartbeat. That knowledge and my sketchpad were the only two things that held my heart together on those long, solitary evenings. Now, here I was again, with my art and uncertainty. I felt sad because I had to do something this drastic to motivate that kind of devotion.
I couldn’t begin to guess what he’d do now. Had I done enough damage to make him walk away from me? I didn’t want to consider it, but my heart sank to the pit of my stomach. My brain reeled so much I felt dizzy with it.
Seriously, I shouldn’t have been surprised when he didn’t call me this morning. Isn’t that what I’d asked of him? It wasn’t like him to give up all control and accept it without a fight, so doubt dug away at me. Would he throw it all back in my face? Ryan was proud and stubborn, but we’d always been connected on some celestial level that was a force stronger than either one of us. I closed my eyes, my throat beginning to tighten. I clung desperately to that connection, praying it would be strong enough to get us through it all. I stopped and grabbed the metal railing on the bridge for support as regret washed through me. I shouldn’t have left.
I wanted to turn right around and go home, but Meredith would be angry that I started something I wasn’t prepared to finish. It would certainly put my job in jeopardy, and if God forbid, Ryan and I did break up, work was all I’d have to get me through it.
The cold wind once again whipped my hair back and pushed the remnants of my tears back toward my ears. Angry at the mess I’d created for myself, I wiped them away with my cashmere glove and straightened my spine.
I continued on my way, noticing many couples on the bridge despite the icy temperature. Some passionately kissing, some talking or laughing, but all wrapped up lovingly in each other’s arms. As I drew closer to the center of the river, I noticed the railing and fence were covered from top to bottom with all shapes and sizes of padlocks. Glancing around, I watched the couples and lifted a few of the locks to inspect them one by one. Some were expensive and some the dime store variety. All of them had two names and a date written with marker or scratched into the metal; some adorned with ribbons, yarn, or charms. I placed my elbows on the top of the fence and leaned over to look down at the murky water.
The couple standing next to me were obviously tourists, speaking in German. I observed them in my peripheral vision without looking at them directly. The young man put the padlock onto the fence, kissed the key then offered it to his girlfriend. She took it in her hand and gave it her own kiss. In a romantic gesture, the man placed his hand over hers, and laughing, they flung the key into the Seine. I’d never felt more alone than I did in that moment. I literally ached for Ryan to be beside me; to slide my hand around his bicep and lean my head on his strong shoulder. I swallowed back the lump of emotion in my throat. It should be us throwing our own key into the river below.
It was obvious from the expanse of locks on both sides of the bridge, and the many couples adding to it, that this was a long-standing lover’s tradition. I wondered about the details of how it originated, whether it was connected to some mythical legend, and if the city would let them remain in place. Obviously, it was a pledge of unbreakable bonds symbolized by a lock that could never be undone since it was nearly impossible to recover the key. It would be so easy to burst into tears and sob my heart out. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself or impact the happiness of these couples. I left the happy couples behind me and hurried on to the museum, the whole time fighting the emotions trying to erupt from within.
Two hours later, as I stood in front of the miracle that was the statue of David, the gravity of what’d I’d done to Ryan by leaving, without telling him, was still too fresh to allow thoughts of anything else. The subject of Jane seemed impossible for Ryan and I to discuss without blowing up at each other. The pain of not being able to talk to him, with the same ease that we communicated about everything else was the root of the problem. More than Jane’s blatant attempts to take him; I was completely devastated that the intimate closeness we shared did not apply to this.
I admired the perfect outline of Michelangelo’s most famous work and admitted to myself that David had nothing on Ryan. He was my very own miracle.
I was tired, and longed for a coffee shop that would allow me the Sunday ritual that had always made me feel close, despite the distance. I found one close by and ordered Ryan’s soy cappuccino double shot instead of the iced coffee that was my usual. It was a small comfort, but it was something.
It was much stronger than I was used to, but I sat with my hands wrapped around the cup, gazing into the blazing fire from the centra
l, stand-alone fireplace. The pipe that served as makeshift chimney ran directly up to the vaulted ceiling. How ironic that our choice of drink mirrored each of us so well: Ryan’s so much stronger than mine. At least, that’s how I felt sitting here, uneager to return to my empty hotel room and the even emptier bed. At least here, I could imagine he was also having coffee at the Hill of Beans near our house or even in the hospital cafeteria. My mind couldn’t help reminding me that Jane was, no doubt, at the hospital tagging along after Ryan like a dog. I deeply resented how she invaded my thoughts of him, as she invaded our life together.
It began to get darker, the sun dropping to a place low in the sky and shone pink and orange in the violet sky below the edge of the clouds that were moving to the east. I looked forward to seeing the blue sky again tomorrow. In New York when you looked up, the sky got lost in the metal, bricks, and glass of the towering mass of buildings. The big expanse of sky and the art were my two favorite things about Paris so far.
I pulled out my phone, and though it was almost seven in the evening, it would be two o’clock on Sunday afternoon in New York. I was unsure if Ryan would get the message, but I had to send it anyway.
Having coffee and thinking of you. I know things are messed up, but I miss you…
I waited for twenty minutes for a response that never came and finished Ryan’s cappuccino, feeling bereft.
“Mon belle… Pourquoi avez-vous l’air si triste?”
I looked up to find a very finely dressed gentleman bending slightly at the waist as he inquired of me. I could tell by the inflection in his voice he was asking me something but I had no idea what. I took in the fine wool material of his black suit and the silk of his sienna tie, just the briefest shade darker than his shirt. I scrambled to pull up the English/French dictionary on my iPhone. I only knew a few basic phrases and had no idea what he’d just asked.