by Kahlen Aymes
I ran the number over and over in my head as I ended the call and started another one. My thumb dialed the number as I pushed through the door of my apartment and headed to the bedroom.
“Andrea, this is Ryan Matthews. I know she’s in Paris, and I’m on my way there. Can you please tell me where I can find her? I’d appreciate you keeping this between us. Thanks.”
After I left the message, I shrugged out of my coat and left it on the couch. I’d peeled off the shirt to my scrubs before I’d reached the bedroom. Ten minutes and a quick shower later, I threw on my black silk boxers and sat down at the laptop to book my flight. I didn’t dick around with Expedia or other fare fighter sites, I went directly to the airline and found the next available flight that still gave me enough time to get to the airport and through security. I’d set my wallet next to the computer and whipped out my American Express card. Before I could finish booking my flight, my phone buzzed. The number I’d called before flashed without a name. Andrea was texting.
OMG! I’m so glad to hear from you.
Fear closed in around my heart as my thumbs flew across the keys on my iPhone.
Is she okay?
Barely.
What’s wrong?
Flu. And really down. When will you be here?
I sighed in relief.
My plane leaves in about 3 hours. It’s a direct flight, but with the time difference, I land about 8 AM, Paris time, Sunday morning. If the flight’s on time.
I finished my reservation while I waited for Andrea’s response.
We’re staying at L’Empire Paris. Sunday morning, she’ll be at a café at 9 or 10… she always goes. I can’t remember the name, but I’ll find out. Unless you want to wait at the hotel? I’ll get both addresses and text you later. Have a safe flight!
I wrote down the confirmation number for my flight on an old receipt I found stuffed in my wallet and noted I had about a hundred and twenty dollars cash. I’d most likely need more. Surely, they’d have currency exchange at the airport. Credit cards were always an option. I picked up the phone and slammed out my last response to Andrea.
Thanks. Pls send the name of the café when you can. Don’t tell her I’m coming. Pls.
Her response was fast.
I won’t!
Thanks, again.
All that was left was to pack. Problem was, I hadn’t done much laundry. I went into the closet and pulled down my suitcase. I didn’t need this big damn thing, but my duffle was stored inside. I only planned on taking a couple of things. I threw it across the unmade bed and swiftly unzipped it, flinging open the top, and went to gather a couple pair of jeans, a handful of T-shirts, I pulled one button-down out of the closet—hanger and all, my black shoes, and a belt. I got dressed in a hurry, and sat on the bed next to the suitcase to pull on my white socks. The place was a mess, but given the events of the past few weeks, I hadn’t cleaned a thing. Laundry piled up, dishes in the sink, a thick coating of dust on the furniture, and the trash overflowed. I’d have to take that out or the place would stink to high heaven when we got back.
I realized I was starting to think in ‘we’ again, but I was nervous. If I were honest with myself, I wasn’t sure she’d come home with me willingly. We hadn’t talked since the night after she left. I huffed. I had no one to blame but myself for not answering her calls and texts, but I was so damn angry and hurt. I’d never wanted to hurt her before this, and the fact that I had deliberately cut her off, nagged at my gut. I’d most likely regret it; however, I still struggled with her lack of trust.
I lifted the duffle out of the suitcase, ready to stuff the pile of clothes waiting on the bed into it. Beneath it was a package; glimmering gold wrapping paper and a filmy red ribbon with gold sparkling edges. It was beautifully wrapped and had Julia’s stamp all over it. My focus shifted from packing as I lifted it out of the suitcase. There wasn’t a name on it, but then, we never put names on the gifts we gave each other. My hand ran lightly over the edges. Obviously, it was a frame.
I slid to the floor and leaned against the foot of the bed, the package in my lap. My heart quickened and felt heavy in my chest. I sat, realizing this was why Julia got so upset on Christmas Eve. It was more than the shoes from Jane; it was more than our interrupted evening. Tears burned the back of my eyes before I even opened it. It was going to be something profound. I felt it in the depths of my soul. Something she’d drawn. My hands were shaking. I was almost scared to open it, afraid it would slice me open, but I had to know what was inside.
Slowly, I forced myself to pull off the ribbon. I leaned my head back on the edge of the bed and closed my eyes. Not looking, I ripped through the center of the paper, so when I looked down, I’d have no choice but to see what it was. I swallowed hard and forced myself to look at what I held in my hands.
My breath stopped and tears started to roll as my hand traced the little cherub face through the glass.
“Oh, my God.” I could see us both in that face. My eyes, but green, little dimples, the shape of her face… My heart slammed against my ribs, and I felt like steel bands were wrapped around my lungs, preventing me from breathing. I pulled the picture to my chest and sobbed my heart out. She couldn’t have given me anything that could mean more than this. Just as I’d written her that poem, she’d poured her heart into this knowing how much it would mean to me. I wiped my eyes and nose on a dirty T-shirt laying next to the bed, then rose to my feet, pushing the rest of the paper off the corners and letting it fall to the floor.
I set it on the bed, staring at it. I shook my head and blinked at the tears still clinging to my lashes. Then I shoved my clothes in the duffle and zipped it closed, flung it over my shoulder, and grabbed my coat, phone and keys. Stopping, I ran back into the bedroom and dug around in my underwear drawer until my hand landed on the passport shoved in the back.
“I would have been fucked if I’d forgotten you,” I mumbled and jammed it in the inside breast pocket of my coat. I fumbled at the door, my shaking hands struggling to lock it. I flew down the stairs, not bothering with the elevator, and stood in the middle of the street so the cab coming at me had no choice but to stop.
“Hey, buddy, can’t you see?” He pointed to the top of his cab where his light was off. “I’m not taking fares right now.”
I opened the door anyway and slid in anyway. “This is an emergency. I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you’ll take me to JFK.”
I held up the bill between two fingers and handed it to him through the small hole in the plexiglass divider. He took it and nodded. “International terminal. Air France.”
Julia~
I felt better after I’d made the decision to return to Ryan but my stomach fluttered in apprehension of my talk with Meredith. She’d be furious, and I didn’t know if the publisher in New York would give me my job back or if I’d even have a job. One thing my stupid little stint had proven was that Ryan was all that mattered. I knew it before, but the time apart hammered it into my heart like never before. I didn’t care if we were homeless and starving, the only way I could be happy was if we were together. If that meant I had to suck up the crap with Jane, I’d learn to deal with it.
As I got closer to the office she was using, situated two floors above mine, my stomach heaved, and I had to duck into the bathroom. I looked in the mirror, telling myself to breath through my nose to quell the nausea. Breathe. Just Breathe.
I felt the bile rise up, and I bolted into one of the stalls to lurch into the toilet. I puked until I had nothing left inside and then pulled some toilet paper from the roll and wiped at my face. My eyes were watering slightly and my stomach felt better, but my skin felt clammy. I pressed the back of my hand to my cheek and went to the sink, turning on the water and scooping some up with my hand to rinse the sour taste out my mouth. “Gross.”
When I straightened, I examined my sharp navy suit in the mirror to make sure I hadn’t gotten vomit on it. I grimaced. My hair was up in a messy bun, and my face was pale
, my eyes wider than normal. Well, it was now or never.
I walked on shaky legs to the mahogany door. It was cracked slightly, and when I peered in, Meredith waved me in.
“Where are you taking me for lunch?” she asked with a bright smile. “Things are going well, huh? I expected Monique to whine about you, but instead, she sings your praises.”
I hovered just inside the door. “I like her. She’s got good instincts, and she catches on quickly. I think the team has really come around.”
Meredith bobbed her head, her hair sleek. She was perfection, as always. Her magenta lipstick perfectly matched the bright trim on her black suit.
“We can go to lunch, Mere, but I really need a minute.”
She glanced up from the financial report on her desk. “Sure. What is it? You want a raise?” Her voice was amused, and she kept right on working.
I sat down, needing to get her attention. “Meredith.” I smoothed the fabric of my navy wool skirt over my thighs and folded my hands in my lap. “I need to go back to New York.”
She glanced up. “Okay. You can take a week off in about a month. That should be about the halfway point over here. I planned on suggesting it anyway.”
I took a deep breath. “No. I need to go home.”
She put her pen down and dropped the report. “What?”
“My place is in New York. I explained before, Ryan and I were fighting…”
“And you just thought you’d use me and this company as an excuse to save your little ass?”
“It wasn’t saving my ass. I just thought we needed a little break.”
“And now, you’ve had some epiphany, that your wonderful Ryan is perfect again?”
I was unnerved. I moved to the edge of the chair to stop my fidgeting. “No. Ryan isn’t perfect. And it’s no epiphany. You’re right. I was wrong to take this job right now, but I’ve done my best here. They don’t need me anymore.”
“That’s a load of crap!” Her lips pressed into a thin line and red splotches were cropping up around the neckline of her white blouse.
“Meredith, you just said that things were going well! I can help her from New York! Just like I did that assignment for John from here. Technology makes it completely doable.”
She only heard the first sentence. “Yes, they’re going well. But you’ve only just started over here, Julia. Who’s to say what will happen if you bail now? I expect you to man up and finish what you started. You’ll go home in a month. For a visit.”
“Manning up means taking care of my marriage! That’s the thing I need to finish. I’m going home, Meredith. With or without your blessing.”
I pulled on the left sleeve of my jacket, my fingers coming into contact with the bracelet that I hadn’t removed since the night Ryan forced it back on. “I’m leaving as soon as I can make arrangements. I suggest Mike and Andrea remain for another month.”
“If you walk out that door, you’ll be sorry, Julia! You’re throwing away your career! Is he really worth that?”
I turned around to face her, a calmness spreading over me. “He’s worth everything. I’m really sorry it has to come to this. I work my ass off for you and this company. I love my job… but not more than I love Ryan.”
After I left Meredith, I spent the rest of the day going about business as usual even though I had effectively quit. I hadn’t really considered how this would affect Mike or Andrea, but I wrote down ideas for the April and May issues and emailed it to Monique, copying Andrea and the other assistant. I sat back in the chair and looked out over the Paris landscape. It was beautiful, and I wanted to return with Ryan one day. I was still scared. Worried that now he might not want me. I considered calling him, but rather than second guess my decision and give him a chance to rant at me over the phone, I decided it was better to just go and face him. If he was in front of me, I’d be able to touch him, kiss him, and let him look in my eyes when I told him what an idiot I’d been. I’d do whatever it took to get his arms around me and know we were okay. I’d beg his forgiveness if I needed to.
Andrea came through my open door. “Is it true? You’re leaving?”
“Yes. As soon as I can.”
“But, it’s Friday already.”
“And?”
“Well, I mean… we have that meeting with Givenchy on Monday. You have to be there. And Mike told me he’d have those pictures mounted for you by Sunday. Can’t you wait a couple of days? I mean, what’s a couple of days?”
“You take the meeting. You’ll be amazing. You have the proposal. We’ve gone over it ten times. Selling is the sales people’s job. You just have to present the creative. You know that.”
She stood looking at me, and I met her eyes. She was hiding something. “I’d feel better with you there. It’s just a couple of days, Julia. Please. I can’t take it. What if Meredith hate’s it?”
“She basically fired me. I don’t think I can go, even if I wanted to.”
“Yeah, and she’ll end up firing me, too. Please. What’s a couple of days? I need you. I’ll do everything else. I’ll get your flight. I’ll even help you pack.”
I flushed, and pulled back from my desk.
“Julia, you look green. Are you okay?”
My stomach retched suddenly, and I barely had time to pull the trashcan from beneath the desk to heave into it. After our conversation, Meredith and I didn’t keep our lunch plans, and I grabbed a tuna sandwich from the luncheonette on the lower level of the building. I felt horrible, not only for me but for Andrea having to witness it. When I was finished, I leaned back in the chair and reached for a Kleenex from the box on the credenza behind my desk.
Andrea’s face was twisted in abhorrence. “Eewww… That’s so nasty!”
“Sorry you had to see that. I think I have the flu. I was sick earlier, too.”
“See? You can’t leave this weekend. You need to go back to the hotel and rest for a couple of days. I’ll book your flight for Monday night? You’ll get everyone on the plane sick.”
I nodded weakly. “You win.”
“Do you need some water?” she asked gently.
“That would be great. Thanks.” When she left, I tied the trash bag shut, cringing for the poor soul who had to empty it later.
Andrea returned with a bottle of Perrier, a glass of ice, and a lime wedge. “I thought it would be better than the alternative.”
“Yeah.” I took a careful sip. “I’m going to try a little, but I think I just need to go to bed.”
“Okay. I’ll check on you later. In case you need anything.”
Later that night, as I waited for Andrea to come to my room, I nibbled on saltine crackers and cream of chicken soup. The hotel food was good, but the room service menu was limited, and after almost six weeks of staying in alone more than going out, it was less appetizing. Coupled with my queasy stomach, it made it hard to eat much. I’d taken a hot shower and was dressed in Ryan’s T-shirt and a pair of pink pajama pants. Now that I was going home, I ached to call him. I even picked up my phone twice to do it. But my heart was sore, and I didn’t think I could take it if I called and it went straight to voicemail. I’d rather hold on to the little happiness that bloomed when I’d made the decision.
A knock at the door had me leaving the bedroom and going to answer it. Andrea sashayed into the room, dressed in an old grey sweat suit. She was carrying a small bag.
“What’s your poison? Cookies, ice cream or popcorn?” She asked happily. The TV was on, but of course, it was in French, and though I knew a few words, six weeks wasn’t enough to learn much.
“Ice cream, I think. What kind do you have?”
“Chocolate and cookies and cream.”
“Chocolate?” I eyed her hopefully.
She handed me the pint of ice cream and a plastic spoon and plopped down on the end of the sofa, digging deep in the bag for the other one.
“You seem happier, Julia. It’s been so hard to watch how sad you are.”
“I shouldn
’t have come. I just… I miss him.”
“We’ll, he’s definitely miss-able.” She took a bite and then licked her spoon off upside down. Her eyes lit up as she dug out another bite. “And a lot of other ‘ables’.” She giggled and I laughed.
“Yes. He’s all of that.” I grinned at her. “Now that I’ve decided to go, I just want to go.”
“I know. I talked to Mike. He’s spending the weekend with some French chick, but he said he can meet you Sunday at that coffee shop you hang at, to give you the prints. I guess they’re celebrating V-day late.”
I watched her expression. “I’m sure it’s not serious.”
“It never is.”
“Why don’t you just tell him how you feel?”
Her head popped up and I regarded her steadily, challenging her to deny her feelings.
Her shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I don’t know. We’ve known each other so long. We’re friends.”
“I know all about that.”
“Are you sad you missed Valentine’s Day with Ryan?”
I nodded. “Of course. It’s our first since we’ve been married. But a lot of firsts got screwed this year.” She knew about Jane. I’d broken down and told her right after we came to Paris.
“What do you think he got you?”
“Probably nothing.”
“Isn’t he into that sort of thing? From the flowers and stuff I’ve seen over the years, he seems very romantic. He’s certainly gorgeous.”
“So you’ve said. Repeatedly.”
Her eyes got big and she grinned. “What? I’m not blind.”
“Yes, he’s romantic. But I’m not there, so… probably nothing. When I met him, he hated Valentine’s Day. I remember the first time in college. His brother, Aaron, was stumbling all over himself for his girlfriend, and Ryan acted disgusted by it all. He was so cool. I mean, he acted like he was the shit.” I lowered my voice in my best Ryan impression. “I don’t fawn. I’m not the fawning type. I bask in the fawning!” A little giggle erupted in my chest as I remembered. “He was so ridiculous.”