Page 66 of With You

“Have you ever thought about why I expect you to care about this stuff? Why I invite you to every meeting, send you weekly updates on everything that’s happening. I know you don’t care about any of it, but it’s all for you. I never want you to lack anything in life, and money can give you everything you want.”

I’m not delusional enough to argue with him about that. I know that’s the reality of the world we live in. But it can’t give you everything. Money can’t buy the feeling of Amelie beating me in a game of chess, the smile on her face as she does it like it’s her biggest victory. It can’t buy the weight of her hand in mine as we fall asleep together, the press of her lips to my cheek when she wakes up before me. Money can buy a lot of things, but it can’t give me back the time lost today, time where she’s probably lost all faith in me.

“Did money give you Mom? Did it make her fall in love with you, stay with you all these years?”

“Of course not.” His features soften at the mention of her. “She would have loved me with just the clothes on my back.”

“And that’s how I love the both of you,” I tell him. “Yeah, it’s nice to be able to buy whatever I want, and not have to worry where my next meal is coming from. But my favourite moments with you guys were when we sat together after you walked a show, or got off a set. The stories you’d tell me from the day while I played with Mom’s hair. Money can’t buy any of that.”

“River,” he starts, but I shake my head.

“I’m going back to Paris, right now,” I say.

“The plane can’t go back today,” he tells me. “It’ll take hours to get it refuelled and scheduled in at the airfield, and by then the crew will be out of their working hours.”

“I’ll figure it out,” I say, wracking my brain for other methods to get back to Paris as soon as possible. My phone is still dead, and I’d be wasting time hanging around to charge it.

“I’m sorry, River,” he says, and whether he’s apologising for what happened over these two days, or for the past year, it doesn’t matter right now.

“It’s okay,” I reassure him. I don’t think his intentions were bad, but I wish he’d told me all of this before. “We can talk about it later.”

He pulls me into a quick hug, patting me on the back a few times before he lets go.

“It’s that door to get out.” He points to the one directly behind me.

“Thanks,” I say, flashing him a quick smile before I turn to leave.

Once I’m out on the street, I try to get my bearings, looking at the public transport signs to figure out the best way back to Paris. A flight would be easiest, but it’ll take me at least an hour to reach the airport, and then I’d have to hope there’s a flight going out to Paris immediately.

My next best option is the train. It’ll be a much longer journey, but at least I can start it immediately. I don’t think any more about it as I head for the station, planning out the best route with my very limited knowledge of the interrail.

The station is bustling with people crowded everywhere, tourists with huge backpacks that could probably take out a small child with one wrong move, residents who are just trying to get where they need to go. I do my best to ignore everything around me as I stare at the boards above, each one detailing their destinations. There’s no direct train to Paris, so I’ll have to change at Barcelona which will then get me to Gare de Lyon. Getting to the university once I’m there is a bridge I’ll cross when I get to it. For now, I just need to get out of Spain.

Only when I’m walking toward the ticket counter do I remember my phone is dead, and I don’t have my wallet with me. Getting on this train and finding my way back to Paris without a single cent on me feels like an impossible task, but I have to do it.

I glance around the station, and it takes me only a few seconds to realise that the ticket barriers are open. It may be considered petty crime, but I can’t find it in myself to care. I slip through the barriers, keeping my composure as I find the right platform and enter the train. I find the unreserved carriage and drop into an empty seat, my heart pounding as the train starts to fill up, and then eventually sets off a few minutes later.

I relax into my seat, my heartbeat settling as the scenery changes from the cityscape of Madrid to the countryside. I just need to get on one more train and then I’ll be back in Paris.

“Billete.”

My eyes widen as a hand braces across the top of my seat.

“Sorry, I don’t speak Spanish.”

“I speak English. Ticket.”

Of course he does. I sink further into my seat as I try to figure out how not to get kicked off this train. The conductor stares down at me, an unimpressed look on his face as if he already knows I don’t have one.

“Sir, do you have a ticket?”

I search for an excuse, but I end up spilling everything instead.

“I don’t have one, but I need to get back to my girlfriend so I can tell her I love her. I mean, she’s not even my girlfriend; we haven’t put a label on it yet, but that’s what I want to call her, and I think she might want it too, but we haven’t really talked about it. But also maybe she doesn’t want that anymore because I was meant to be at a dress rehearsal yesterday but my dad made me come to Madrid, so I’ve let her down, and she probably hates me even more now than she did before. I just need to get back to Paris so I can talk to her.”

The conductor blinks slowly at me, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

“There’s a faster route if you change at the next stop,” he tells me, as I catch my breath from the marathon of words I just said.