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Of course, Rafe had no reason to think telling me about Dax’s girlfriend would have been earth-shattering news, since he’d never known about Dax and me. And I couldn’t ask him not to give me information, so I just died a little inside anytime Rafe mentioned something. But it was all to be expected. What was Dax supposed to do? Remain celibate for the rest of his life? He and I had agreed to end things, and to go on with our lives. None of this should’ve come as a surprise after more than two damn years.
Dax and I had kept in occasional contact for a while, mostly via email at the beginning. I’d even told him when I’d started dating. But our communications had faded over time. My information now came through Rafe. And it worked both ways. I knew Rafe probably passed information back to Dax as well.
Things were as they should be. So, again, the news of his relationship getting serious shouldn’t have been a big deal, but it was. It was all I’d been able to think about. And it was the thing that kept me here.
I knew I’d face the fire back in Boston eventually, but I wasn’t ready.
The day I’d arrived in Versailles two-and-a-half years ago, the first thing I did when I got to my apartment was open the box Dax had given me at the airport. Given the shape, I’d suspected maybe it was a necklace. Boy, was I wrong. Inside was a boatload of French currency that equated to twenty-thousand US dollars, along with a note.
I knew you would never agree to take this unless I snuck it on board with you at the last minute. This should cover your groceries for two years. If you feel even remotely guilty for accepting it, don’t. Consider this compensation for the joy you brought me every single second we were together. You can’t put a price on that. I want to take the edge off of any stress you might be feeling about supporting yourself while you’re there. I know they’re not paying you a ton, and I promise this is just a drop in the bucket for me. So let me do this for you. Thank you.
Also, I hope you arrived safely and are already loving it there.
XO Dax
P.S. I’m missing your 25th birthday on June 3. You never mentioned it, but Rafe told me. If it helps, consider this an early birthday gift.
That box of cash had already been stashed in Dax’s glove compartment when he arrived at my house to take me to the airport. So when he’d written that note, he’d had no idea what would transpire between us—that we would lose control and have sex in the eleventh hour. I still cherished the memory of what would always be our sacred secret.
When I’d first moved away, Dax would leave comments on some of my RenCello videos. That’s how I knew he still watched. And that made playing all the more emotional for me. But the comments had stopped about a year ago. And I sensed he wasn’t watching at all anymore. Maybe that had coincided with meeting her, though I couldn’t be sure.
I hadn’t expected to keep in contact with Dax indefinitely. We both knew that would make it too hard to cut the cord. And now that I knew his and Rafe’s relationship had flourished in my absence, I was more certain than ever that we’d made the right decision. But the right decision isn’t always in line with your heart’s deepest desires. My heart still beat faster whenever Rafe said Dax’s name, or whenever I snuck a peek at Rafe’s drawing of him. It was now tucked away in a notebook in my drawer. I didn’t have a single photo of Dax besides that drawing. Two-and-a-half years had gone by without seeing his face, but my heart’s reaction to the memory of it hadn’t waned.
• • •
One Tuesday afternoon, my good friend Micheline had come over for tea after I got home from teaching. She lived in the apartment a couple of doors down.
“Are we going out to dinner tonight?” she asked.
“Sure. 6 PM?” I winked, knowing that was way too early for her.
“I’ll just be waking up from my nap at six.” She laughed.
The very first time Micheline and I made plans to go out, shortly after we’d met, I’d suggested meeting at six in the evening. She’d informed me that standard dinnertime in France was more like 8 PM. Back home, Dad and I were always done eating by seven. At first, eating after eight had seemed so late, but I’d since gotten used to it.
When she’d finished her tea, Micheline kissed me on both cheeks. “I’ll meet you back here later?”
“Sounds good.”
I watched as she left, her long, black hair swaying from the breeze that came in through the open apartment windows.
