Page 95 of This Life and All the Rest
I’m heading to the art supply store in Norfolk to buy replacement paints when my radio cuts off with an incoming call from Franco on the Bluetooth. I’ve been avoiding him, and I don’t even fully understand why.
I click accept and answer.
“Cou cou,mon cher,” I sing-song, forcing brightness into my tone. “I’m driving, so I can’t video chat. What are you up to?”
“Cou cou,” he says back. “I just wanted to talk. I haven’t heard from you, and I wanted to check in. Do you still need your painting, or will you be home soon?”
Home. Paris. Right.
“Actually, Franco...”
“Nooooo,” he whines. “You must come back. I am going through withdrawal.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, laughing at his dramatic tone. “It’s just that my dad got worse. He had to have emergency heart surgery and now he’s back in the ICU.”
“Ah non,” he gasps. “What happened?”
“He had a ventricular aneurism,” I tell him. “So he’s going to be in the hospital for another five days...and then he’ll be undergoing intensive therapy...”
“Je suis vraiment désolé,” he says softly. “I know this must be difficult. So, you will be there another five days?”
I swallow hard then nod, even though he can’t see me.
“Yeah, at least,” I say. Then I think of Evie and Andrea. And Macon. “Perhaps longer.”
Franco assures me he will send the painting this week, and I make sure he knows I’m annoyed that it’s not on the way yet. He apologizes in his Frenchc’est la vieway, then expresses his sympathy twenty more times, and hangs up with,à bientôt.
When I get to the art store, it’s practically empty. I make my way to the paints and snag the ones that I need, then walk to the registers.
“The store is dead today,” I say to the cashier, a teenage boy with shaggy blond hair and a bored look on his face.
“Yeah, good thing we’re closing early,” he mumbles, without looking at me.
“Yeah,” I say, and he hands me my bag. “Have a good day.”
“Yep, you too,” he says, but he’s already gone back to his phone.
When I get to my car, I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. I need to go to the rec center and drop off these paints, but I don’t know if I want to run into Macon or not.
I snuck out on him this morning. No note. No warning. He was sleeping soundly, looking absolutely beautiful, and I left him. I was feeling too much. I was thinking too much.
I just needed space.
No one has ever made mefeelthe way he does, in every possible way. It’s like he lights a fire inside me. He winds me up until I’m so full of energy, I could burst. And yet...I’ve never felt contentment with anyone else. I’ve never felt safe with anyone but him, and that’s what is so confusing.
Because no one has ever broken me quite like he has.
He’s the star in some of my best memories, but he’s also caused some of my worst.
I don’t like feeling vulnerable with him again. I hate it. I feel exposed, and there is still so much that hasn’t been said.
I want him. I willalwayswant him, but I don’t know if there will ever be a right time for us.
I roll that thought over and over in my mind as I drive to the rec center.
Maybe Macon and Lennon can only ever exist in memories and fantasy.
I pullinto the rec center parking lot and am surprised to see it’s filled with cars. Way more than usual. I’m curious, so instead of slipping through the side door, I walk through the front.
