by Autumn Avery
“You should feel his arms,” I say, managing to squeak out a joke.
“Honestly though, where is this going, Mia? Did he tell you where he’s been?”
“No,” I admit, more to myself than to her. “I want to know…I do. I need to, but at the same time, I don’t want to know. I mean…it’s Joey. I know it sounds stupid, Cass, but when I look at him, I see him. The same guy I knew six years ago.”
“You kind of knew him, Mia,” Cassidy corrects me, always the pragmatic one of us. “I mean, what if he’s like a serial killer and he was running from the cops all this time?”
She also has a flair for the dramatic and a more than ample imagination. I scoff at her and close the window and slump down on the wicker chair in front of her. It’s unbelievably uncomfortable. I don’t even know why she keeps the thing, but I’m in too much of a mood to care. In a way, it’s almost more fitting with my mood to be pissed off at a chair.
“Ian is a good guy,” she continues. I let out a huge sigh. “He is, and you know it, or you wouldn’t have been dating him this long. You’ll be happy together.”
“Cass. Doesn’t this sound familiar?”
She raises her eyebrows at me.
“Back when Brad asked me out? Sophomore year? You told me to forget about Joey and that he was weird and stalkerish?”
“Yeah, and then I supported you when you said you liked him, and look where that got you!”
She has a point. She always does. It’s kind of annoying, actually.
“Well, I don’t know what to say, Cass. All I know is I can’t marry Ian. At least not until I get some answers.”
“So what are you going to do? Call him?”
“I don’t…have his number,” I say, realizing what a predicament I’m in.
I literally have no way of contacting Joey, and if he doesn’t show up again, I’ve done all of this for nothing. How long will I have to wait for him? It could be another six years, or more.
“So what are you going to do? Drive around town screaming his name out the window?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I’ll just wait. He’ll come.”
“How do you know?”
“I just know.”
Later, as I sit alone in my apartment sipping cranberry seltzer and picking aimlessly at a bag of pretzels, I have to admit to myself that I don’t know, and that I’m freaking out wondering if he’s ever going to show up again.
This has all become some sort of twisted game; Joey arrives when I’m on the brink of making a major relationship decision, screws everything up, sends me into a tailspin and then vanishes, leaving me to crash and burn. Yet for some reason, here I am, still holding out hope that he’ll return this time to pick up the pieces.
It’s a cold night, and I’ve got layers on, and am curled up on the couch beneath a white afghan my mom knitted years ago. The windows are still cracked, and I should get up and close them, but I feel better with them open tonight. I don’t want to feel too safe, too secure in case Joey comes. I’m intentionally keeping myself on edge, ready for what might happen. The last thing I want is to lull myself into a false sense of security and then hear the knock at the door and have my heart explode or something.
This is literally the worst thing I’ve ever had to do in my life. Sit here and wait for a man who I don’t even know is coming or not. And what if he doesn’t? Have I damaged things with Ian beyond repair? Part of me believes he will take me back no matter what, but part of me believes he won’t. What I did was pretty terrible.
I look up at the Eiffel Tower statue sitting on my bookshelf. If Joey doesn’t show up tonight, I’m throwing it out. I’m throwing it out and moving on with my life. So what if he showed up? So what? There’s only so much of this I can take. How long does he expect me to wait for him? Six years for him to arrive, and then how many hours sitting here on my couch?
The longer I sit here, the more and more I wonder about my decision to go on a break with Ian. As much as I try to rationalize my decisions, I feel out of control right now. I keep telling myself I love Joey, but do I? Maybe Cassidy is right. I mean, I don’t really know him. But I think what’s really killing me is that we never really got a chance. We never even got started before he vanished, and now that he’s back, I feel like we’ve been given a second chance.
A knock comes from the door. Somehow I know it’s him.
I open the door to find him standing there, hands in his pockets, looking totally relaxed. I hate that. How can he be so calm at a time like this? And what is with the backpack he keeps carrying everywhere?
“Look who it is.”
“Were you expecting someone else?” he says, a mischievous look in his eyes. “Can I come in?”
“I want some answers,” I say coldly. He simply pushes past me like he owns the place.
“I can’t give them all to you, Mia. Not yet.” Every word of his sends a physical sensation through my body. I’m on pins and needles around him, and it’s impossible to be really calm as we speak.
“Why? Why not, Joey? How do you expect me to deal with this if you can’t give me something?” My voice is strained and the tension is killing me.
I can see he’s conflicted. But about what? Why can’t he just come out with it?
“Do you think we’d be married by now?”
His words stun me momentarily, and I feel my nerves starting to rise within me again after I’d tried so hard to suppress them and remain calm. I clench and unclench my hands, trying to distract myself.
“What?”
“Do you think we’d be married? If I’d stayed.”
I scoff at his absurdity. “You would have left me, like you left me six years ago.”
“That’s not true, Mia. I wanted to be with you.”
“Yeah, yeah. That’s just words, Joey.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” he says.
“Six years later!” I shout at the top of my lungs. “So then tell me! Where have you been?”
A silence comes over the room as he finally looks away from me. I can see he wants to speak, but something is holding him back. He isn’t even trying to hide it. After what feels like an eternity, he finally opens his mouth, but the words are not what I was expecting.
“What are you doing bartending?”
“Come on, Joey. What, what is this?” I’m feeling exasperated.
“What happened to your painting? You gave it up?”
People have been asking me this for years, but this is the first time I’ve felt actually ashamed about it. I don’t answer. There’s no need to. He walks over to the bookcase and looks at the statue he gave me years ago.
“You never made it to Paris,” he says quietly. To most people in town, my dream of Paris is just that—a dream. A pipe dream. But between us, the idea carries more weight, and I can see genuine disappointment in his face when he says this. “Do you want to go with me?”
“What?!”
“To Paris. Let’s go. Tonight.”
My heart starts to race.
“Joey…what are you talking about? Paris—?”
“Tonight,” he quickly steps close to me. He’s so close I can smell him. I stare up at his face, feeling like I felt in high school when we were just two kids, feeling love for the first time, a world of possibilities ahead of us. “I have a private jet waiting. We can leave now.”
“Joey, don’t…don’t be ridiculous!”
“I’m not. I’m serious, Mia. Come with me. I want to tell you everything. I do. But I just…I need time.”
“Time. You haven’t had enough of that already?” I say, rolling my eyes, turning away. But Joey takes my hands and pulls me back to him. His skin is rough and callused, and his grip is strong.
“Yes, Mia. Some…things need to happen, but when the time is right, I’ll tell you everything.”
“Things? What things, Joey? What things need to happen for you to tell me where you’ve been for six years? Why you walked out on me?”
Joey gives me a nervous smile, one I’m not used to seeing from him. He looks inward, like he’s weighing his options.
“I’m scared of what will happen if I do.”
“This is absurd, Joey,” I say, wanting to be mad, but looking up at him, my hands in his, feels so comforting and so right.
“I just want to be with you again, Mia. I want the time we never had. And I will tell you, Mia. I promise.”
I know I’m supposed to yell at him.
Scream at him.
Punch him, slap him, stomp my feet and pout. But I can’t bring myself to do it. I find myself smiling like a little lovesick puppy at the man standing before me. When Ian tells me he loves me, I know he means it, and I feel good, but when I hear Joey say anything to me, I just melt. This is bad.
“Paris,” I say again. “A private jet. Don’t you make furniture?”
His face twists as though I’ve caught him in a lie. No, not a lie, something else.
“Yeah,” he says slowly. “My uncle died. He left me a bunch of money.”
“Your uncle,” I say, smirking at him. I know he’s lying, but his speech has worked on me, and I am starting to trust him. “I’m not stupid, Joey. If you don’t want to tell me, fine. Don’t tell me. But don’t think of me as an idiot.”
He smiles, “I would never.”
He extends a hand to me and looks deep into my eyes. “So, Paris?”
I shake my head at the absurdity of the situation. I can’t even believe I’m considering this. But just like in high school when I chose Joey over Brad, I feel like an entire world of possibilities has opened up to me again, and before I realize it, I’m taking his hand.
“Paris,” I say.
Cassidy would think I’m crazy.
Chapter 7
We step hand in hand out of my house, Joey carrying his backpack and my small suitcase I’d insisted on packing.
“We can get you some clothes in Paris,” he’d told me, but I wasn’t about to go off without some essentials, so I’d taken a few minutes to pack.
The night is cold and windy, and the sting of the breeze against my cheeks is adding to my excitement. But as we come down the walk to the curb, I don’t see a car. I see my neighbor’s truck, and a couple of regular cars owned by other people on the street, but I don’t see anything that could be his.
As we reach the sidewalk, he takes a right and starts heading up the street.
“Uh, Joey? Do you have a car? Or are you Superman and you’re going to fly me there on your back?”
“Yeah, I’m just around the block,” he says, his pace quickening. He must be in a hurry; maybe he’s just as excited as me. It’s hard to picture him expressing that amount of emotion. He’s always just so cool, but this is a big event in both of our lives. He has to be feeling something.
We take a right turn at the end of my street onto Greene Street and he leads me to a beat up pick up truck parked under a broken streetlight. Hardly the car I’d expected him to drive, but then again, I don’t know what I had expected.
“Riding in style, huh?” I joke with him as he sets my bag in the back.
“Wait until you see the plane,” he says with a quick smile, coming over to open my door for me. He pulls, but it sticks. He smirks at me, embarrassed, before yanking hard. The door screeches like grinding metal, but pops open. He gives me a sort of silly bow like a butler.
“What a gentleman,” I say as I climb in. He pushes the door shut behind me, and I hear the same sound of metal on metal. He makes his way around the truck and pulls his door open. I hear the creak of rusty springs as he slides onto the bench seat next to me. The engine roars to life as he turns the key, and with a neck-breaking jolt forward, we speed off down the block.
It’s not too long of a ride to the Manchester Airport, and we spend it mostly in silence, both of us clearly feeling our nerves. This is a big decision I’ve made, and part of me wonders if he was expecting me to shoot him down. He can’t always be so sure of himself, can he? I look over at him, searching his face for some sign of what’s to come, of what he’s feeling, but he’s giving me nothing. I guess I’m just going to have to go with it.
The weather stripping on my window is going, and the cold night wind seeps in with an obnoxious whistle. By the time we reach the airport, I’m about fed up with this truck. Joey pulls into the lot and just keeps going, driving straight past visitor parking and up to a gate in the fence. With a curt wave to security, he just drives straight onto the tarmac and finally parks before a Gulfstream jet that’s waiting just off the runway.
“What the Hell?” I say. He merely smiles and glances at me out of the corner of his eye.
This is not normal. How is he able to do this? I look at him again, hoping he’ll give me some indication of what’s going on, but he just turns to me and winks, before shouldering his bag and hopping out.
“Francis,” he says casually to a well-built man standing at the steps leading up to the jet. He tosses him the keys to the truck before lifting my suitcase from the back.
“Good evening, sir,” he says politely.
“Sir?” I say in surprise. Joey flashes me a cocky smile and extends a hand. I pause, then take it, and allow him to lead me toward the plane. This all feels so surreal as I take the stairs behind Joey. I duck, and enter the heated cabin. It’s not like a commercial airliner, with stuffy processed air that makes you sweat and feel uncomfortable. There’s something fresh and open about it, but maybe that’s because the interior is so unreal.
Spacious would be an understatement. There are a few seats at the front of the cabin. They’re expensive, leather, obviously reclining, and are probably big enough to fit two of me. I wouldn’t be unhappy if one of those was my bed. Behind them is basically a couch against one wall, complete with its own hardwood coffee table across from it, which is surrounded by more enormous seats. A flat screen television hangs on one wall.
There’s wood trim everywhere. Actual wood that looks like something out of a mansion in the Hamptons, not something you’d see in a plane. I’ve never seen anything like this. I bet the couch costs more than my entire apartment. There are even fresh flowers. I turn to Joey.
“Your uncle must have been pretty loaded.”
He just grins, and I slide onto the couch and stretch out, instantly blowing out a sigh of relief at how comfortable it is.
“So I can lay here the whole flight?”
“If you want to,” Joey says, taking one of the large chairs across the table from me. I look at him and think how nice it would be for him to come over and curl up beside me, wrap his strong arms around me and fall asleep. But I’m not totally ready for that yet. Well—I am, but I have to make him wait a little longer before letting him in. I still have no idea what’s really going on.
“Do you have a blanket?” I ask him.
He stands and opens a small overhead compartment and pulls out a thick blanket and places it over me. It’s lighter and softer than it looks, but also very warm. For a second, it almost feels like I’ve arrived at his home and he’s tucking me in for the night. I feel a sudden relaxation come over me as Francis closes the cabin door, and then the light popping in my ears as we pressurize.
“How long will it be?” I ask him.
“Just under seven hours,” he replies. “You can sleep if you want.”
“Will you wake me when we’re over the city? I’d like to see it.”
“Of course,” he says. I smile, feeling like I’ve made the right decision. I still need answers, but right now, for the first time in six years, I feel truly, truly happy.
I close my eyes and listen to the sound of the engines as they come to life.
It isn’t long before I’m asleep.
I wake to the soft sound of his voice and his touch on my shoulder.
“Mia,” he says as I open my eyes, his face just inches away from mine. For a second, I almost forget where I am, and I’m overcome by the desire to wrap my arms around h
im and kiss him, but before I can, he speaks. “We’re coming in over the city.”
Then I remember.
Paris.
I sit up quickly and turn to look out the window, but I don’t see anything.
“Over here,” he says, moving to the other side of the plane. I kneel over a seat beside him and gaze out the window, and there it is. Paris.
The sight almost takes my breath away. There it is, like I’ve only ever seen on T.V. or in magazines. The whole city, spreading out like fingers from the Arc de Triomphe. The rivers, the bridges, the blocks of housing, and then, as the plane banks to the side, the Eiffel Tower.
“Joey,” I say, instinctually clutching his hand. “Look.”
“I know,” he whispers in my ear. “Isn’t it great?”
I almost can’t believe it. If you’d told me a week ago that I’d be flying over Paris with Joey, I just wouldn’t have believed you. In fact, I would have said you were crazy, because the idea was just too absurd. But here I am, clutching his hand, about to land in the city of my dreams.
The plane banks and begins its descent, and the Eiffel Tower leaves my sight. I crane my neck after it, but we’re banking hard for the airport. I sigh and sit back.
“Don’t worry,” he says to me, squeezing my hand. “We’ll see it, and much closer.”
Ten minutes later, we’re on the ground, and Francis has the door open and the stairs down. Joey has both of our bags in hand and disembarks before me. As I step outside, I take my first breath and realize I am now breathing French air.
An enormous smile comes over my face as my feet first touch French soil. I must look like a giddy little girl. For now, I don’t care what Joey did to get all this money, where he’s been for the last six years, or where this is going. He’s promised me answers, and those answers will come, but for now I just want to be here, in this moment, and enjoy every second.
There’s a car waiting for us, and Joey hands my bag to the driver, a man in a suit, before opening the door for me. I slide into a car whose interior is just as lavish as the plane I just left. I can’t imagine how much all this is costing, and Joey just decided we’d go on a whim. Just like that, like all this was nothing to him.