Page 49 of Host for the Holidays
TWENTY-TWO
MADI
La ville de l’amour.
The city of love. That’s what the sign a dozen feet away from me says as I sit on a bench in a plaza I don’t know the name of, sipping on a cup of hot chocolate. I have tights on, thank heaven, but I was more focused on presenting the appearance of a woman being proposed to when I chose my outfit than on selecting something appropriate for the weather.
The sign is completely non-threatening, advertising an art exhibit. But right now, it feels like a detail Alanis Morisette forgot to add to her song “Ironic”: a sign advertising the City of Love after you’ve just broken up with your boyfriend.
Okay, so it’s not as pithy or rhymy as her lyrics, but I bet she could have worked it in if she had tried.
I look at the dates of the exhibit: November 5th through December 17th. Today is December 17th. Now it’s really starting to feel personal. Trust Paris to try to put a dent in my mood. But I refuse to let it. I’ve spent way too much time letting other people and things make stuff happen in my life. As of now, I’m in charge.
After leaving Josh at the restaurant, I walked around the nearest corner and then just kept going, with no clue where I was heading. This bench is where I ended up, and this is where I’ve been for the past half hour, people-watching and soaking in the city while I decide where I want to go next. The world is my oyster—or maybe my cookie pizza because I don’t do oysters, and the world would be a pretty great place if it was one giant pazookie.
Either way, I’ve been feeling strangely keyed up since leaving Les Deux Canards. Maybe that’s what’s keeping the tears at bay. It’s gotta be something because I really haven’t wanted to cry yet, and that’s not normal after ending a two-year relationship.
One of my first thoughts was to go back to the apartment so I could help Rémy finish decorating. But I don’t really want to go hang out with him and Élise. Besides, I’m in Paris. I should be seeing Paris. And now I can do it without worrying that I should be saving any special moments for some later date.
Bzzz.
I pull my phone from my pocket, and the texts start rolling in. Guess this means Siena just woke up.
Siena:*GIF of Buddy the Elf jumping up and down*
Siena:My girl bout to be ENGAGED!
Siena:You haven’t sent me a picture, so I’m assuming it hasn’t happened yet.
Siena:If it has and you’ve left me hanging, I’m hopping on the next flight to Paris to end you.
Siena:*GIF of Bane from Batman sayingyour punishment must be more severe*
I take in a deep breath. This will be interesting. I stick my hand in front of me, snapping a picture of it and sending it to Siena. Her reply is almost instantaneous.
Siena:. . .
Madi:That’s all I’ve got for you
Siena:Whew!I just Googled what time it is there. 3:32 p.m.
Siena:I jumped the gun by texting you. Engagements should always happen after 5.
Siena:Preferably after 7. Anyway, sorry!
Madi:Pretend it’s midnight, then, and that I just sent you the same picture.
And now she’s calling me.
I answer with a smile in my voice because her impatience is so predictable.
But Siena does not celebrate when I tell her what happened. She’s silent for almost ten seconds, which for Siena Sheppard is, well, worrisome.
“I’m so sorry, Mads,” she says. “I’m the worst. Ugh. All those texts and GIFs I sent you. I promise I never would have—”
“It’s okay,” I interrupt. “It’s for the best. Really. I’m fine. Better than fine.”
There’s a pause. “Okay, who are you, and what have you done with my Madi?”
