Page 81 of Good at Being Alive
But…couldn’t I be enough anyway? Don’t we get along so very well that he might look past my failures for another week, another month?
No. Apparently not.
It’s unbearably hot when we climb out of the cool, dampcatacombs. The street is thick with tourists. I prefer the home of the dead, which is exactly what Jessie would expect ofme.
Paula shoots a concerned look at me and Theo. We’re supposed to walk through a market next, but based on her whispered conversation with Lars, I suspect she’s worried we’re not going to make it. My hangover is behind me, but Theo and I have a mountain of other issues right now, and they’ve rendered us mute.
I lean against a tree in the shade—it’s a thousand degrees here, shade or not—and scroll through my notifications.
Brian has texted, but that’s not the thing that has me unlocking my phone.
Theotagged me on Instagram last night.
Theo, who abhors social media and is also terrible at it, posted a picture of me in my fancy dress, talking to the girl behind the counter at Five Guys. The caption reads “When your beautiful wife wants Five Guys in Paris, you say yes.” My heart does that fluttery thing again. Maybe I’ve got some kind of heart defect I was previously unaware of. Or maybe I like him. Maybe I like him so much that the thought ofnotwinding up with him in real life makes me ache.
Ihopeit’s a heart defect. At least there might be a solution for that.
“You guys go to the market,” says Caden, winking at the rest of the crew. “Bex and I are gonna go downstairs and find one of those secret rooms. Any footage will be private, however.”
He reaches for my arm as if he’s going to pull me back into the catacombs and Theo’s hand shoots out fast, locking on Caden’s in an iron grip.
“What the fuck did you just say about my wife?” Theo asks.
Ah, there it is again, that warmth when he says “my wife.” It will be my fatal flaw, the warmth, the flutter. Because it’s onething to crave sex with Theo—I’m struggling to imagine whowouldn’t—but the warmth warns me that this is more than lust. It’s fondness—it’s infatuation. Maybe it’s for the best that he shut this down, because those are the kinds of feelings that will fuck you up. How do you allow yourself to feel that much for someone and remain standing when he hasn’t chosen you? It was barely a day ago that I was nearly in tears over the fact that he didn’t want me out with him and Peter. How much worse would it hurt if I let myself fall for him only to discover I amstillnot what he wants?
Caden smirks. “Fuck off, dude. She’s not actually your wife, even if you wish she was.”
Theo shoves him. “She’s not your bloody wife either, so watch your mouth.”
“Theo, back off,” barks Paula. “And Caden, keep your damn mouth shut.”
Two of the guys step between them and Paula pulls me and Theo aside. “Look, I’ve talked to Lars. We’re going to skip the market—it’s too crowded anyway. We’ll go ahead and get the boat ride out of the way, and then you’ll be free, but I need thetwo of you to get your shit together in the meantime.”
Easier said than done.
We are loaded into the air-conditioned van. I wanted to be alone with Theo, yes, but only the version of him who smiles as I steal his drink, who says my name as if it’s holy when I pull him into my mouth.
Not the one who says,I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
Not the one who can barely stand to look atme.
I let my eyes fall closed, wishing hard, like a child, for my sister.
I picture her in the seat beside me. I picture leaning over to tell her in gory detail about last night, about the fight that justtook place, about how sad I am that he doesn’t want me the way I want him. I guess I’d owe her an apology, too, but I feel pretty sufficiently punished for what I’ve done at the moment.
I hold a hand over my throat. I can’t cry here. We still have hours left and my makeup will be ruined.
“Are you okay?” Theo asks, and I nod, swallowing hard as I realize that what I want more than Bronwyn is him. That all I really want is to lean my head on his shoulder and have him gently ridicule my sadness away.
I look out the opposite window and brush at my eyes.
I don’t have Bronwyn, I don’t have Theo, and it’s been many months since I’ve felt quite this alone.
A few minutes later, we arrive at the Seine and are escorted onto a private boat. Theo hasn’t said a word to me since we were in the van. He’s off talking to LJ about a topic I know he’s got no interest in, simply to avoidme.
He doesn’t return to my side until we are out on the water and he’s forced to play the doting husband. They bring us cheese and champagne, play old French ballads over a speaker.
It’s absolutely miserable.
