Page 95 of Tilly in Technicolor
Did I… Did I just accept a job in Paris? Paris,France? Like… what business do I have working in Paris?
A city where I don’t know anyone.
No Mona. No Amina.
No Ollie.
As if summoned by my heartbreaking thoughts of him, Oliver pads into the living room and smiles at me as I sit on the couch in stunned silence. When I see him, I stand up, too, retreating to a corner across the room.
“Hi,” I say, my voice hoarse.
“What’s wrong?” he says immediately, head tilting. He walks toward me, but stays a few feet away. I hate that space between us. Despise it.
I swallow. There’s no point in holding this in. I’m confusedand elated and terrified and, well, Oliver is the only person in the world that I want to talk about it with.
“I… I got a job,” I say, glancing down at my phone.
“I know,” he says, eyebrows furrowing. “I was there when Mona offered it to you.”
“It’s a different job,” I say slowly, looking at him, then away. “It’s… well, I didn’t even mention it because I thought it was such a long shot but it’s one I applied to that Darcy and Cubby told me about. Some friend of a friend’s bandmate’s cousin… anyway. It’s working as an editorial assistant for an online magazine.”
“Oh…” Oliver says, looking confused. “Are you going to take it?”
“I…” My throat feels raw. I kind of already have, haven’t I? And it all feels so confusing and so fast and so much and… “The job is in Paris,” I blurt out.
Oliver looks as bewildered as if I’d told him it’s on Mars.
“But that’s not… London,” he says at last, dragging his thumb across his forehead. I don’t know what I expected, but it might have been something slightly more enthusiastic than that.
“I know,” I finally say. “What…” I’m scared to ask—terrified—but the question is inevitable. “What are you thinking?”
“That Paris is definitely not London,” Oliver reiterates. I’d laugh if his fixation on that detail didn’t absolutely shatter my heart.
I’m silent as I look at Oliver. He stares back, frowning like he’s staring at a puzzle he can’t solve. Like he can’t see a solution to some massive problem dumped on his lap.
“I’m going to take it,” I whisper. He doesn’t react. He’s frozen.
And for me, that’s when it clicks.
He doesn’t want a girlfriend who’s living in another country. Who would? It’s nothing but miles and time zones and airfare and missed calls and inevitable broken hearts. Why would he ever volunteer for that headache? That unavoidable mess?
A hot tear rolls down my cheek, but I scrub it away, blinking back any others.
“I get it,” I say at last, forcing a smile that creates a crack through the center of my chest.
“Get what?” Oliver says, still giving me that stare.
“That Paris isn’t London,” I whisper. “I won’t be in the same city as you. And I get what that means for us. What you’re thinking.”
“Please enlighten me,” Oliver says, rubbing at his temples and looking genuinely desperate.
I clear my throat then square my shoulders. “Our summer will always,alwaysbe the happiest time of my life,” I say.
Oliver nods.
“And, um, I’m really thankful to you for believing in me. Helping me to believe in myself.”
“I’ll always believe in you,” he says, his voice rough.
