Page 58 of One Week in Paris
“I’m kind of starving, and I’m sure my mom is too,” I point out. “Once we catch Mark in the act, she’ll be devastated and we won’t get to eat at all.”
He chews on his bottom lip while he mulls this over. “I’ll go buy us some snacks to tide us over.”
“Sounds good,” I tell him as Mom and Antoine walk back to us. I tell them all about our lunch plans. At first, Mom seems reluctant, but once Matt waxes lyrical about the crêpes, she’s in. Antoine tells us he’s going to stay behind.
I’ve suddenly lost my appetite — there’s a heavy lump lodged at the pit of my stomach. I feel horrible about all this, but it really is for the best. Mark is such a slime ball —she needs to see it with her own eyes.
I quickly check my phone as we head to les Marais, all the while munching on the granola bar Matt has bought me. I tell myself I don’t care about Oscar. I tell myself he can go die in a hole, for all I care. Yet… my heart sinks when there are no texts from him. He usually texts me multiple times a day, and it makes me feel a little empty.
There’s a text from Deanna, the woman who is teaching my classes for me.
Everything is great, Kayla. The new routine is a killer. Everyone’s having a hard time with it, but by the time you’re back, they’ll be pros. You’re welcome. : )
I smile at Gabbie’s text.
Hey, Kayla. I hope you’re having a great time in Paris. Mitzy and Nellie are great. They get along famously. What a gorgeous cat!! So easy-going too.
She’s obviously talking about Nellie, because my Mitzy is a little high-strung, short-haired, hazel-eyed, obese, and very orange. Sometimes, I call her Garfield. On the other hand, Nellie is the supermodel of cats, the kind you see in Fancy Feast commercials. Her eyes are as blue as the sky. Her fur is as soft as a bunny’s.
I tell myself I need to share this with Oscar because he’s been really worried about his cat. But really, I’m just looking for any pretext to contact him.
Gabbie just sent me a text. Mitzy and Nellie are doing great. Getting along! Bye. :)
His reply comes swiftly, but it hurts because it’s curt and formal; only two words.
Thank you.
That’s just not like him. I usually get a funny joke, a pun, a funny picture or meme. Xs and Os, happy faces and winks. I wonder if he’s having a good time with Sophie. I wonder if they’ve slept together yet, if she’s taken him back to her apartment near the Sorbonne. Are French women faster than us? Well, I’m positive that he wasn’t having sex just now, or he would have never taken the time to reply. It was only two words, but it was something.
I hate this.
We’ve reached our destination. It’s a gorgeous day in Paris, yet, I feel really depressed. What a waste. I shake my head and tell myself to forget all about Oscar, and just enjoy myself.
But there’s also the fact that I’m about to break my mother’s heart.
Place des Vosges is absolutely gorgeous. I’m not surprised because everything in Paris is beautiful. Well, perhaps, not the dog poop on the sidewalks.
Brick and stone surrounds us. Symmetry and perfection. Lovely shops. Locals and tourists walk under the high covered arches. I check my watch as we make our way to the courtyard Matt mentioned. My heart is pounding like a jackhammer. I glance at Mom, who is all smiles, and I know that’s about to change very soon.
“Let’s go eat,” she cheers. “I’m famished.”
“Wait,” Matt says. “Let’s just head to the courtyard first. It’s amazing and I absolutely want to show you. We can snap a few pics.”
“Oh… okay,” Mom concedes. “Okay but, then we eat right after.”
The place is very green; a myriad of stately trees, vines of ivy lining the brick facades of the pavilion, a beautiful fountain is the pièce de résistance at its center. Lots of people are walking around, some snapping photos and selfies, some walking, and some kissing. I didn’t expect so many people. I search for Mark and Nicole in the crowd. It’s like looking for Waldo.
“Did she tell you what she was wearing?” I ask Matt in hushed tones.
He shakes his head, his brows furrowed. He’s looking for them too.
“Wow, this is beautiful,” Mom says.
“Uh… yes… sure is,” I falter. “Let’s walk around.”
She pulls out her phone. “Wait… I want to take a picture.”
My gaze darts around, and I finally spot them, far in the distance. She’s wearing a black coat, and so is he. No wonder they were so hard to spot. She’s standing very close to him, and the sight of them is incriminating — they look like more than friends.
This is it.
I’m waiting for them to kiss.
A wave of nausea hits me, and I suddenly want to vomit.
I stare down at the cobblestones under my feet. I don’t want to do this.
I’ve changed my mind.
