Sleeping with Paris

by Juliette Sobanet

  “Alright guys, I’m taking you both out to dinner,” I announced when we had finally finished.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Fiona responded.

  “I don’t want to hear it. You’ve both been so wonderful to me this year . . . through everything, and, well, it’s the least I can do. Plus it’s my last night in Paris, so we have to go out.” I looked over at Fiona and saw the tears welling up. “Don’t start, or you’ll make me start,” I said as I leaned over and gave her a hug.

  The three of us took the warm, smelly RER train together up to the Luxembourg stop. We wound our way through the cobblestone streets near the Panthéon and found a beautiful French café where we sat outside under the moonlight and enjoyed way too many glasses of wine. Sitting there at that adorable restaurant with my friends made me so happy I’d decided to stay in France. I knew I’d made the right choice.

  I watched as Marc continued to flirt with Fiona throughout dinner, and with each sip of wine, Fiona’s eyelashes batted a little harder and the rosiness in her cheeks reached the color of a chili pepper.

  Stuffed and giddy, the three of us walked over to Rhubarb after dinner to conclude my last night in Paris with another drink. Marc slipped his arm around Fiona’s waist as we stumbled over the cobblestones to the bar, and by the way she laid her head on his shoulder and gazed up into his eyes, I could tell she’d forgotten all about Andrew.

  “What can I get you ladies to drink?” Marc asked as we arrived at the bar.

  “I’m actually just going to run to the restroom real quick,” I told them.

  On my way back up to the bar, I had to squeeze past three different sets of dying couples, their bodies intertwined on the dance floor, their noses pressed together, their lips brushing against each other’s skin.

  And then I remembered that the last time I’d been to this bar had been with Luc. We’d looked just like those couples, unable to take our eyes, or our hands, off each other.

  And there it was again. That feeling I thought I was getting rid of. That nauseating anxiety that crept up from the pit of my stomach.

  I was in love with someone who didn’t love me back. Or if he did, I had ruined it.

  I told myself I would be okay. I was moving to Lyon. Starting a new life. Even still, I wasn’t really in the mood to be in that bar anymore. Just as I made my way back toward the bar, I jolted backward as I spotted Marc and Fiona locked in a long, passionate kiss. And from the looks of it, their kiss wasn’t ending anytime soon.

  I waited off to the side until they came up for air and then approached the newly-formed dying couple. Fiona’s face flushed when she realized that I had witnessed the whole thing. She was, in fact, still officially with Andrew, and she was not the cheating kind. I knew she’d be reeling about this one once she woke up in the morning, but I was secretly happy she’d done it. Marc was perfect for her. And with Andrew’s bizarre arse obsession, something had to give.

  “I think I’m going to head out,” I told them. “I’m really tired, and I have to be up early tomorrow to catch my train. But thank you both so much for everything—for all of your help today, and for being such great friends. I’m going to miss you both so much.” I leaned in and gave Fiona a squeeze.

  “I’m going to miss you, too. But we’ll visit each other, promise?” Fiona looked me in the eye as she struggled to stay standing. She’d exceeded her normal limit of two drinks by about five.

  “Promise,” I answered back. “And I’m going to see you a lot, right?” I asked Marc as I hugged him.

  “Yes, of course. You’ve been the best English teacher.”

  “Thanks, Marc,” I said as I smiled at the two of them. “Alright, I’ll talk to you both soon.” I turned and left them there to continue their night of passion. Fiona deserved to have some fun; she was always so well-behaved. And maybe this would open her eyes to what a great guy Marc was and at the very least, show her that there were other guys out there besides Andrew.

  I hailed a cab back to my dorm so I could have one last look of Paris at night before heading down to Lyon in the morning. Smiling at the sparkly white lights of the Tour Eiffel twinkling off in the distance, I realized that while I was sad to be leaving this magical city, Paris would only be a train ride away. I was ready for a new start to my life, and in just a few short hours, it would all begin.

  Twenty-five

  dimanche, le 8 mai

  And just when you thought you’d never enjoy chocolate again . . .

  “You are sure you are comfortable watching the baby while we’re out?” Mathieu asked as he held the door for Florence.

  I bounced baby Nathalie in my arms and smiled at them. “I’m sure. You two go out and have a good time.”

  “Call us if you have any questions at all, okay?” Florence said nervously as she took one last glimpse of her daughter.

  “I promise. Now please, have fun and don’t worry about us.”

  I closed the door behind them and carried baby Nathalie into the living room where I sat down on the couch with her. It was my second week at Mathieu and Florence’s apartment, and I’d volunteered to watch Nathalie for the night so the two of them could go out to eat. I was a bit nervous as I hadn’t spent much time taking care of babies, but it was the least I could do considering they’d offered to put me up until I had enough money to rent my own place.

  I bounced Nathalie on my knee and watched as her cute brown curls bobbed up and down and she let out an adorable giggle.

  This wasn’t so bad.

  Just as I smiled back at her though, her little pink lips formed into an oval and out came the loudest, most piercing cry I’d ever heard.

  What happened?

  I continued bouncing her on my knee, but her cries only intensified. I stood up and swayed from side to side as I patted her lightly on the back, but nothing seemed to be working.

  I paced up and down the hallway with the little bundle screaming in my arms, her cries drowning out the sound of the creaky wooden floors, and wondered what I should do next. Florence had just fed her and changed her diaper, so maybe she was tired?

  But, after an hour of bouncing, rocking, singing, swaying, trying to give her another bottle and even performing a dancing puppet show, I was losing my calm. I laid her down in her crib, hoping she would fall asleep, but no such luck.

  I didn’t want to worry Mathieu and Florence, but I decided I needed to do something, so I called Fiona in London, where she was now living with Andrew.

  “Hey, Charlotte!” she answered.

  “I need help,” I told her.

  “What is that noise?” she asked. “Are you in a fire station or something?”

  “No, it’s Mathieu’s baby, Nathalie. She’s been crying for almost an hour. I’ve tried everything and she won’t stop. Do you have any ideas?”

  “Is she hungry?”

  “No, she’s not hungry, she doesn’t need a diaper change, and she won’t sleep. Don’t babies just eat, poop and sleep? What other problem could I be missing here?”

  “Have you tried a movie?”

  “Mathieu and Florence aren’t big on letting her watch television.”

  “Well, they’re not the ones that have been listening to her cry for the past hour now, are they?”

  “True.” I flipped on the TV and scrolled through the channels until I landed on Finding Nemo in French. I popped Nathalie into her bouncy seat in front of the television and held my breath, hoping this would work.

  Lo and behold, as her eyes fixed on the colorful fish swimming around the screen, her cries died down, and a tiny smile crossed her lips.

  I breathed out a long sigh. “That was really intense.”

  Fiona laughed. “How much longer are you going to be staying with them?”

  I sank down on the couch and felt myself relax as baby Nathalie became more engrossed in the movie.

  “I won’t get my first paycheck from the language school until next week, and even then, I don’t know if I’
ll have enough money for a deposit on an apartment just yet. I hope it’s not long though because I feel like I’m imposing on their time as a family. Plus, Nathalie wakes up wailing every single night. I bought some earplugs, and even those don’t keep the sound out. But, it’s a free place to stay, and you saw their apartment—it’s gorgeous. So I really shouldn’t complain. Enough about me though. How’s life in London? How are things with Andrew?”

  Fiona had never mentioned her make-out session with Marc, so I’d never brought it up either. I wondered if she even remembered that it had happened—she had exceeded her two drink limit that night.

  “Um . . . well, you know. Interesting.”

  “Interesting? In a good way or a bad way?”

  “It’s just that I got used to living on my own in Paris, so it’s been quite a transition to have him around all the time.”

  “At least he doesn’t wake up crying in the middle of the night,” I said with a laugh.

  “Very true. It’s fine though. Things are going . . . fine.”

  I could hear the undertones of something else brewing, but I didn’t want to push.

  “Oh, I wanted to tell you something,” Fiona continued. “I spoke with Lexi, and she told me the reason she’s in New York. About her suicide attempt? You’ve known about this the whole time?”

  “Yeah, she asked me to keep it private. I hope you’re not mad.”

  “No, of course I understand. That’s not information she probably wants spreading around. But, God, that’s awful. I can’t believe she’s been so depressed all year . . . to the point of wanting to take her own life. I wish I had known. I would’ve been there for her more. I just got so angry with her after that night with Marc. She seemed so careless and slutty to me. But now it all makes a little more sense.”

  “Did she tell you that she didn’t sleep with Marc after all?”

  “She didn’t?” Fiona asked.

  “No, I spoke with Marc about it too. He only took her back to his place because he was worried about letting her go home alone. He’s not interested in her, Fiona. He never was.”

  Fiona didn’t say anything, but I swore I could hear her mind spinning over the line.

  “He asked about you on the phone the other day,” I continued.

  “Really?”

  “Mmhmm. I think he misses you.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.” Fiona hesitated for a moment. “He has been emailing me recently. We’re just friends though, of course. I’m happy here with Andrew.”

  “Of course. Nothing wrong with staying in touch though.”

  “No, not at all,” she agreed.

  I hoped that if Andrew wasn’t the right person for Fiona, she would realize it before it was too late. But, seeing as how Fiona wasn’t exactly a risk-taker, I doubted her relationship with Marc would go beyond an email flirtation.

  ***

  The next morning, while Nathalie was in the middle of one of her hour-long cry sessions, I was searching for a pair of earrings I thought I had lost when I came across something else I hadn’t thought about in months.

  My engagement ring.

  I hadn’t taken it back out of my jewelry box since the night my mom had told me about the divorce. I couldn’t believe I had totally forgotten about it all this time. I guess I had done a nice job of keeping myself busy in Paris.

  I ran my finger around the platinum band and stared at the two-carat diamond, expecting to be hit with pangs of sorrow, expecting the tears to begin welling up at any moment. But, to my surprise, I felt nothing. It wasn’t a symbol of lost love or love gone bad, or whatever you’d want to call it. It was just a piece of jewelry. A really expensive, beautiful piece of jewelry. That’s right, an expensive, beautiful piece of jewelry.

  Suddenly I knew exactly what I needed to do what that ring.

  After getting the skinny on the best jewelry stores in town from Florence and putting on the classiest outfit in my closet, I was on my way downtown. I had no idea what Jeff had paid for the ring, but I knew that for all of Jeff’s shortcomings, there was one thing he was not. And that was cheap. The man was loaded, and he wasn’t afraid to throw large sums of money around. Luckily for me, I happened to be in possession of one of his larger purchases.

  I strolled into the expensive jewelry store Florence had insisted I visit and marveled at the vast collection of diamonds and jewels lighting up the glass cabinets.

  A woman in a slim black business suit approached me. “Je peux vous aider, Mademoiselle?”

  I reached into my purse and whipped out the diamond engagement ring that I was hoping would give me a little extra boost in my quest to secure my own apartment.

  After letting her know of my intent to sell the ring, the woman’s dark brown eyes widened just the slightest bit as she took the blue ring box from my hands and inspected the diamond.

  She walked over to a man in a dark gray suit, who I assumed to be the store manager, and within seconds, three more salespeople were called to the scene. As they carried out a series of inspections, all the while talking so low I couldn’t hear a single word, the woman in the black suit appeared with a glass of sparkling water.

  “Merci,” I said with a smile as I followed her over to a comfortable seat in the corner of the store. She sat with me and buttered me up for about fifteen minutes before the manager nodded in her direction and she left me there to finish my bubbly water.

  A few minutes later, they called me over to the counter. The manager informed me in French that they had valued my ring at over $25,000.

  As I felt the smile on my face widen, I had to resist the urge to jump up and down like an excited little girl.

  I knew the ring had cost Jeff a lot, but I’d believed it was worth maybe half that. Plus, with the less than desirable exchange rate going on right now, I’d hoped to make a couple thousand euros at best. But some higher power must’ve thought I deserved much more than that after everything I’d been through with Jeff because I walked out of that blessed jewelry store with a check for 18,000 euros.

  I remained as calm, cool and collected as possible as I left the store with that fat check in my purse, but as soon as I was a few blocks away on a deserted side street, I literally started skipping. And then I burst out laughing. I doubled over and laughed so hard my sides ached. I felt so good. It wasn’t just the money that was making me giddy—well, okay, that was a huge part of it—but it was the freedom I felt. I was in Lyon, and I loved it here! I had come here of my own free will, and my move had nothing to do with a man. I wasn’t chasing a man, I wasn’t running from a man—I was just here because I wanted to be. And since my teaching paychecks were small starting out, this extra money would help me secure a nice apartment and move out on my own. Hell, I could even furnish the apartment! And the first significant purchase I would make once I found a nice place was definitely going to be a bed—a huge, comfortable, cushy, expensive bed.

  The next week, Aurélie and I were out apartment hunting when we found my new home. It was just south of Bellecour and was within walking distance of the Perrache train station. It was a large studio—well, as large as a studio can get—and with its shiny, hard-wood floors and newly painted sea-blue walls, it was beautiful inside. Not at all like the slew of dingy studios I'd been looking at prior to the monumental ring selling. I knew this place would go fast, so I decided to go for it. Because of the nice sum of cash I’d recently collected—thank you very much, Jeff—I was able to write the landlord a check for the deposit and for the first month’s rent right then and there. And just like that, it was mine. Well, mine to rent that is. Ring money or not, I certainly wouldn’t be buying any real state on my meager teacher’s salary.

  Mathieu and a few of his friends helped me move all of my boxes and suitcases into my new studio, and I had that place unpacked and fixed up in less than a week. I even went out the day after I moved in and purchased my very own double bed. No more pathetic, plastic cots for me. I would be sleeping in style . .
. and not waking up with back pains in the mornings!

  One evening, as I curled up in my cozy bed and wrapped my crisp, new sheets around my legs, a flash of Luc’s warm smile invaded my head. I squeezed my eyes closed and buried my face in the pillow, hoping I could erase the picture of his laughing chestnut eyes and his sexy five o’clock shadow from my mind, but I couldn’t.

  I realized then, as I lay there alone in my new home, that even though I’d done the best I could to move on with my life, that gut-wrenching feeling that I’d lost the one guy who I could’ve really been with still hadn’t escaped the pit of my stomach. I was becoming quite skilled at ignoring it, but here it was again, waiting for me in the quiet night inside my apartment, and sure to be gnawing at me first thing in the morning as I woke.

  I thought about a night I’d gone out with Mathieu and Aurélie just the week before, and how I’d politely, but firmly declined when one of their friends had tried to put the moves on me. There hadn’t been anything wrong with him . . . but, he wasn’t Luc.

  I flipped over on my back and stared up at the ceiling. I knew I couldn’t wait forever, but I just wasn’t ready yet for any kind of relationship, whether it was a one night stand or a couple of friendly dates. And as much as I missed having sex—sometimes I felt like I was going out of my mind—I couldn’t bring myself to do it with someone new, someone I didn’t care about. Katie and Fiona had been encouraging me to get out there and date other people since they didn’t have much hope that I’d ever hear from Luc again. But something in me was holding out.

  After tossing and turning for a solid half hour, my thoughts consuming me and keeping me wide awake, I finally threw in the towel and climbed out of bed. I sat down at my computer and pulled up my blog. I hadn’t posted anything new since I’d found out about Luc’s daughter. I scrolled through all the entries and read through the comments. Then I pulled out my magazine article and read it again. Wow, I really had portrayed myself as a serious man-hater. Amidst all of my bashing, I did have some good points, but I felt like a different person now. And I wanted to make up for what I’d done.