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Of course, he can’t do without his multi-tool. I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips at the mention of the shirt he sleeps in more often than not. It has a quote from his favorite TV character on it, aka Barney Stinson fromHow I Met Your Mother.
A third text follows shortly after with Nino’s best friend’s address. I wait, hoping for more. My fingers itch to reply, but Tom’s suggestion entices me more. I switch to airplane mode.
Once he talks some sense into my spinning head, I pull my head out of my ass, make a dent in my savings, and book a last-minute flight to Paris. Another instance where I’m grateful for my random four-day weekend. Another instance where following my heart is a no-brainer. Another instance where my parents’ insurance money comes in handy, no matter how sour it feels.
Once I’m all done, my cousin and I are fully awake, and I finally clean myself up. Time for brunch. I need some food in my system to soak up the liquor.
Softly whistling along with the song playing in the background, Tom fries up some bacon and eggs while the coffee brews and does his best to lighten the mood… sort of. “As much fun as witnessing another reunion would be, I’ll skip this one. Close-range tongue action isn’t my thing, unless I’m on the receiving end.” I pour us some coffee, and he tentatively sips the hot beverage. “Go get your French addiction back. In case you were wondering, all of your friends think that you two belong together… I swear I’m not interested in watching family members make out.”
“Ha-ha. I seriously doubt that’ll happen. Nino’s super pissed and has every right to be. Maybe we’re broken up?”
“Oh, puh-lease. You said Silas tricked you, and I believe you. Sorry about that, by the way,” he adds, plating our breakfast. “Why didn’t you say anything about how poorly Silas was treating you back then? To tell you the truth, it’s been like a decade and I cannot unsee you and my then-best friend clearly wanting to go at it… I’m torn between being angry at you for keeping it bottled up and relieved because I probably would have interfered and punched the guy when I had the chance.” He shrugs. “I doubt it was my place to do that, but Silas deserves it. I’m sorry that I didn’t realize he had been such a jerk to you.” He gestures for me to sit down, although it’s my place, which is endearing. “And, more importantly, why did you accept his olive branch after he barged in on you… at your workplace, no less?”
I force a forkful of eggs into my mouth to buy myself some time. “Like I said earlier, Silas was my first… everything. He meant so much… Apparently, I wasn’t happy with the way we left things between us.” My cousin isn’t privy to what makes me tick intimately, and I don’t intend to disclose any more of my private life than is necessary. “He lured me with a potential friendship. I was hopeful that he was trying to make things right. I blamed his past behavior on his youth. I wanted to believe that he’d changed, you know? When he insisted on dinner, I told him that I had plans; I wasn’t even lying. Eventually, I caved, and we met the next day. I chose a local joint because it somehow felt safer…” Threading my fingers through my wavy hair, I gasp. “You should have seen the look in Nino’s eyes. It broke my heart into a million pieces. He totally misread the situation, and I can’t even blame him. How could I have been so stupid?”
“Naïve, but in love, you mean?”
“Potayto, potahto.”
CHAPTER29
IT AIN’T OVER ‘TIL IT’S OVER
Nino
Renting my Parisian bachelor pad sounded like a good idea months ago. Right now, not so much…
My sweet Garcia finds it hilarious that I’m crashing one floor below my actual place, aka her home. When I called her from JFK Airport to inform her of my situation, she refused to let me crash at a hotel.
“It’s not like you’ve ever spent any time at your own place! What difference does it make?” She was adamant and wouldn’t take no for an answer, although I bitterly warned her that I’d be bad company. “I’m always here for support, but you won’t be seeing much of me anyway: I have a new beau to seduce…” Too bad she refused to elaborate, claiming that it was too soon to share and wouldn’t do me any good because of my broken heart.
So, here I am, sulking at Garcia’s with the comfort of a bottle of Saint-Joseph, as well as bread and Frenchcharcuterie,for lunch. For all I know, I won’t see her until tomorrow night because she mentioned spending the night at her man’s and going straight to work. That’s why red wine is preferable to rum when drinking alone; it’ll prevent me from getting hammered, considering my tiredness and foul mood.
The flight back to Paris did nothing to calm my nerves after the show that oblivious Ash put on for me, quite the opposite actually. Ever since I packed some of my belongings in haste and split, I picked up on Ash’s bad habit and began to overthink things and play Twenty torturous Questions. Only it’s not as much fun to play without him. My frustration’s been untenable since I landed two days ago, and I’ve found many ways to blow off some steam.
Liquid comfort. Improvised parties. Old friends… My schedule is full until at least next week. It’ll give me time to process. As for recovering, I’m not there yet. After a lazy morning, it’s family time, thanks to modern technology.
Rubbing my buzz cut from the nape of my neck to the top of my head, I grunt to dismiss my mom’s worry about my sudden relocation. As much as I love this woman, only she has the ability to make me feel like I’m five again.
It was stupid of me to keep the half-empty bottle and full glass of wine on display. Mentioning that I’d run into the old man five minutes into the video chat to let it off of my chest proved to be less of an issue for her.
“Sa ou fé ich moin?”
“Ça va,Manman,ça va.” Switching back to French and Creole feels like home, although we’ve mostly communicated in English lately so Ash could participate in our video chats. She’s fluent after spending several years in the US as an au pair.
“Well, you don’t look fine. You have bloodshot, puffy, empty eyes with bags under them. This is not like you.” Worry is laced in her gentle voice. I confess that I cried myself to sleep last night. “You’re usually the epitome of centered, happy, and healthy.”
Her hair’s grown to shoulder-length since I saw her during the holidays. Despite my gloomy mood, my mouth quirks up when she hectically shakes her head to fight the wind that picked up, making it lick the sides of her face. Because why use your hand when you can grasp your laptop like your life depends on it, right? Maybe it does, though. After all, her laptop contains all of her manuscripts. You see, my creative mother is also an indie erotica author. Needless to say that reading her English prose would be like watching my parents have sex… so thanks, but no thanks!
“Really?” Yeah, I’m definitely not the person she described; in truth, she’s much more of a health nut than I am.
She frowns at my obvious sarcasm, carrying on nonetheless. “Well, a whole bottle of wine …” She pauses, clearing her throat. “And charcuterie for lunch aren’t what I call healthy.”Health nut: point proven!“But anyway, excuse me for caring about my baby boy!”
I ignore her concern, take a bite of my charcuterie stuffedtartine, and grab a paper napkin from Garcia’s multi-purpose desk to wipe my mouth. The process buys me some time to collect myself. “Ma, I haven’t been your baby boy in a long time.”
“Oh, puh-lease! You’ll always be my baby boy, no matter how old you are.”
“A baby boy who’s not at all jealous of your beachside view, patio, and comfy swing.”
