Page 95 of Sparks
“Ah.” I pushed the wet hair off my face and peeled off my soaking scarf. “Oui.”
He took my scarf, then helped me out of my jacket. “I dry for you, okay? You rest. I have your luggage in your room.” He handed me a huge copper key on a golden disk with the hotel’s emblem and my room number. Wow, an actual key and not a plastic card. I hoped I wouldn’t lose it.
“Merci,” I said, and trudged to the elevator. It took me to the third floor. The halls, like everything else, were narrow. I let myself into the last room on the right and my face lit up. Yes, it was the smallest hotel room I’d ever seen, but also the most adorable. The bed looked scrumptious with its fluffy white duvet. And the wall art, well, it was quintessential French. One side had large words formed from wrought iron and painted silver: Love, Sex, Kiss. And on the other wall was an abstract of a naked woman who appeared to be writing on a lounger couch. Lucky her. The bathroom was also tiny but it was all I needed. A toilet, sink, and standing shower with glittering metallic tiles in various shades. I peered out the small window at the different levels of rooftops, like something from a movie.
It was four o’clock. I would just take a little nap and then get up for dinner. I collapsed onto the bed and didn’t wake until after midnight. I dug some crackers out of my bag and a bottle of water, pounding them before using the bathroom and going back to sleep.
I woke to the sounds of pigeons cooing outside of my window. The first thing I did was get online as I lay there trying to wake up. I uploaded my favorite pictures from yesterday for my parents and friends to see and know I was okay, even though I’d texted them when I arrived. Then I showered and got myself ready.
My scarf and coat were folded neatly in a paper bag outside of my door when I opened it. I smiled as I took them and headed down stairs to the lobby. A new guy was working, younger but just as kind. He showed me to the breakfast area and my eyes just about popped out. My mom hadn’t exaggerated. It was incredible.
I set down my coat on my seat but kept my purse on as I made a plate. Mini pastries of all kinds. A crusty baguette covered in a towel on a breadboard that you cut fresh yourself. Yogurts. Fresh fruits. Plates of cheeses and sliced meats. This was heaven for me. A woman came up and said, “Bonjour. Café?”
“Bonjour. Oui, s’il vous plaît,” I answered. “A latte?” She nodded, and I asked for a carafe of water, too.
As I sat down with everything, it felt beyond strange to be sitting there alone. I wanted so badly to have someone to talk to about all of it. “Isn’t this awesome?” “This is the best latte I’ve ever had.” “Even yogurt tastes better in France!”
I took a picture of my plate and latte and pondered why it was so hard to be alone. In particular, without a man. Even right now, I was itching to send this picture to Shawn and get his reaction. Why was I like this? Mom and Dad weren’t codependent. It was just my personality—something I had to deal with. As I sipped my latte I realized I’d stayed with Don far too long for this very reason. It was partly because I wanted to make everyone around me happy, and mostly because I didn’t think I could be whole without him. Being his girlfriend had become my identity. And now I was desperately searching for someone else to fill this hole and complete me again.
Silas’s words came back to me.You need to love yourself.And Rhea’s:No man defines you or your worth.
I clenched my teeth against a wave of emotion. Being a sensitive person, I’d always been called “too kind.” Those kinds of comments made me felt weak. Like my personality type was some sort of downfall. Like I wasn’t enough, and I needed to be taken care of. But that was bullshit. I liked who I was, and not everyone was going to understand me, but that was okay. I just needed to understand myself. As far as being too kind, I didn’t buy into that anymore. I did, however, need to do a better job of not letting people take advantage of me. I had to be my own advocate in all things. I had to be brave. I had to fall in love with myself before anything else in my life could align.
No looking online today. No texting anyone. I would give myself a complete day to myself and see how it felt. Adventure awaited.
I left the hotel, happy to see it was sunny today, though still very chilly. The metro station was close by. When I got down there, my nerves kicked in again. It was all overwhelming, people rushing by, signs everywhere in French. Thankfully the ticket machine had an English option. I recognized the name of the pass that Rhea had advised me to get and made my purchase, then followed the hoard of people and copied everything they did, being sure to keep my bag close to my chest and belly.
I had a moment of panic about which train to get on to get to The Louvre, but when I looked at the map I recalled Rhea pointing out landmarks and hints.You can do this.And what’s the worst that would happen? I’d go the wrong way and have to go back. So what? I was in no hurry.
I noticed guys looking at me now and then. I knew if I let myself smile and welcome a conversation, this could end up an entirely different trip. I could have sex and maybe a little romance in Paris. But I didn’t believe I’d find love, and that’s all I really wanted. So, when I caught eyes with a man, I smiled politely and went on my way. Someday maybe my hope for love would return. In the meantime, I needed to love myself again. That was the hard part.
When I made it to The Louvre I couldn’t stop smiling. It was absolutely massive, a series of gorgeous architecture spanning many, many blocks. The theme park of museums.
I made a beeline for the Mona Lisa, as did everyone else in the place. When I was finally in the same room as the famous painting, I had to laugh. I’d imagined a giant piece of art, but she was small. Pushing my way politely to the front, I snapped a picture, and then a quick selfie with her, all the while marveling at how this small painting had become so famous. She was little but mighty, and her resting bitch face was on point. I felt like we understood each other. Silas would point out the resemblance. I smiled imagining it.
Ah, Silas. Was he working things out with stupid Jacquie?
Don’t think about that.I scolded myself and moved along. My favorite part of the museum was the statues. Room after room of statues. I stared at Cupid and Psyche for a long while, lost in their embrace. The artist had captured their passion so perfectly, and I yearned for what they had.
Someday, Harlow.
It was a wonderful day. I walked the Seine River and found a spot to sit and read while I ate a folded crepe with powdered sugar. I was in a brain fog of contentment when I got back on the metro. A woman sat beside me with a little boy. He had an English workbook on his lap and kept asking his mom questions. I couldn’t understand everything they said, but I could see from his mom’s head shaking and pinched face that she didn’t understand how to help him. I felt nosy but couldn’t help myself. He was doing verb conjugations.
“Bonjour,” I interjected. “Excusez-moi.” I pointed to his workbook. “May I help?”
“Bonjour,” the woman said, nodding. It turned out that the boy knew basic English pretty well, despite his mom not being familiar. But some of these verbs were hard even for American kids.
I worked with him all the way until they had to get off. It warmed me when he would smile and nod, bending over to scratch an answer down. His mother thanked me profusely.
“Vous avez un don avec les enfants,” she said. I nodded and smiled, though I couldn’t understand—something about children. I repeated her wording to myself until she got off, then plugged it into my translator.You have a gift with children.
A gift. Her words trickled over me, tingling like magic fairy dust. Working with the boy had come naturally to me, and it brought back a flood of satisfied happiness from my time as a student teacher. I was so lost reminiscing that I nearly missed my stop.
I picked up a margherita pizza and salad to-go and took it back to my room. My legs were like jelly from all the walking. I felt satisfied sitting on the bed, eating my dinner, and scrolling through my pictures. I realized I’d hardly thought about Shawn or Silas today. And my urge to go online had lessened. I was actually enjoying my own company. I’d gone on a grand adventure all by myself and I felt stronger.
The woman’s words from the metro kept coming back to me. For the first time in the past year, I forced myself to really think about the decision I’d made and what I’d given up.
I’d always wanted to be a teacher. It was my dream. And much of my dream had been wrapped up in the perfect life I’d been creating for myself. I believed I’d be a teacher and Don would be a mortgage broker. We’d buy a house in the same neighborhood as my high school friends. Everyone was onboard with this dream. It was going to be beautiful. But I ruined it all by not wanting what I should have wanted. Or what everyone thought I should want.
