Find Me in Paris

Chapter 3

Three

SOPHIE

Sophie Laurent eyed the corner of her computer screen, waiting for the moment when it finally struck noon. The last few minutes seemed to drag by slower than usual, and she already had a firm grip on the leather straps of her handbag by the time her lunch hour officially began.

Not wasting a second, she pushed back her chair, speed-walked to the elevators, and pressed the down button. Twice.

She could feel the precious seconds being frittered away while she waited for one of the sets of doors to open, and once she was inside the car, she pressed the lobby button, twice, and then jammed her thumb against the button to close the doors before anyone could delay her further.

Once downstairs in the marble-floored lobby of the Manhattan high-rise where she spent more time than anywhere else, she pushed through the revolving doors and was immediately swept up by the bustle of traffic. She joined the throng of other New Yorkers who had no time to waste, and all but jogged in her kitten heels to the corner, where she turned right.

If she was lucky, she’d have exactly forty-five minutes to sit and relax and enjoy a nice conversation with Jack before he had to get back to his law office and she to her job.

That’s all it had ever been to her. A job. Not a career. Certainly not one she wanted. It had been arranged by her mother shortly after her college graduation, who had called upon a favor from one of her sorority sisters to grant Sophie an interview. At first, it had seemed fitting, to work for a publishing company while she was writing her novel. But years had passed, she hadn’t moved up the ladder, and she hadn’t finished her manuscript yet, either.

The one thing she hadn’t considered was that if she spent all her time working on other people’s books, she’d have no time left for her own.

Her mother didn’t see a problem with that, even though Sophie did. But like many things when it came to her relationship with her mother, Sophie learned that it was better not to bother bringing it up. It was always easier to let her mother have her way.

Jack was already waiting for her at the sandwich shop where they met twice a week. It was a good time for them to properly catch up because they were both putting in so many hours that they were usually too tired to do much more than eat takeout and watch Netflix in the evenings. Weekends were better unless Jack had a big case and was called into the office, which Sophie didn’t mind. She liked having her space—if anyone could call the cramped apartment they shared spacious.

From the moment she sat down at the table, though, Sophie detected that something was not quite right. Jack’s smile was tight. He didn’t quite meet her eyes when she started telling him about her morning, and how she’d found another gem in the slush pile—but she didn’t tell him that every time she did, it made her heart sink a little further when she thought of her own unfinished book.

“Jack.” Sophie stopped talking and frowned at him. “Is everything okay at work?”

“Everything is fine at work,” Jack said. “Couldn’t be better, actually. I got put on the Nelson case. I think I might make partner sooner than I expected.”

“That’s fantastic!” She raised her glass of iced tea to his. “So what’s the problem?”

“More hours.” He sighed. “Less time for us. I hope you’ll understand.”

“Oh.” Sophie took a long sip of her drink, thinking of the best way to respond. “You know I support your career.”

“I know, but we’d talked about taking a vacation soon. I’m not sure I can get away now.”

Oh. Well, this was disappointing. They’d talked about Bora Bora. Or Italy. The Bahamas. The mere thought of the sun on her face and the sand in between her toes had kept her going most days. But then, as Sophie’s mother liked to point out, often with a pinch of her lips, Sophie had always been a dreamer.

Like her father. Even if her mother didn’t say it, Sophie knew that she was thinking it.

The vacation had been loosely planned for months. Sophie had spent her free time window shopping for cute swimsuits and sundresses, but in the back of her mind there was a small worry—one she no longer had to bother with, she hoped.

No vacation meant no chance of a romantic seaside proposal. Sophie had been dating Jack for two years now, and while she loved him, she wasn’t ready for the next step.

And she feared that he was.

“Well, there’s always another time,” she said brightly as the waiter appeared with their sandwiches. Jack had taken the liberty of ordering their usuals, and she dug in hungrily, glancing at the time on her phone, knowing she’d have to chew quickly if she didn’t want to be late for her one o’clock acquisitions meeting.

“Did I ever tell you that you’re the best?” Jack asked with a relieved smile.

“All the time,” she said as she pushed back a wash of guilt with another bite of her lunch.

The afternoon dragged on as workdays always did. Jack would be working late, which meant that she would have the apartment to herself for a few hours. Meaning that there was no excuse not to work on her novel, except that she was so tired of staring at the computer screen, reading, and typing, that all she wanted to do was curl up on the sofa with the remote control, a bowl of ramen, and a big glass of wine.

She was just emerging from the subway in Greenwich Village when her phone rang. She couldn’t help it. Her entire body tensed and she closed her eyes for a beat, wishing for not the first time that she was not an only child, only to remember that she wasn’t technically an only child at all—she was just her mother’s only child, and therefore her mother’s entire focus in life, even at the age of twenty-eight.

Her mother called her daily, usually when she was just getting home from work, drained, tired, and aching to relax. Talking to her mother was not relaxing, even if she wished it was. And she’d tried. Oh, she’d tried to suggest they have coffee or meet for a glass of wine. Now that she was an adult, she hoped that they might take their relationship into a new phase the way some of her friends did with their parents. But her mother didn’t drink coffee. Certainly not wine. And she still saw Sophie as the twelve-year-old girl she needed to hover over and check in on. Daily.

Sophie wouldn’t have minded the frequent chats if they didn’t all feel like an interrogation and if she didn’t feel like every answer she gave was somehow the wrong one. That was the problem between her and her mother. Her mother wanted the best for her, but what she wanted for Sophie and what Sophie wanted for herself had always been two very different things.

Case in point: Her mother wanted her to marry Jack. Jack was, in her mother’s mind, the ideal husband. He was nice, that was the word most people associated with him. Relatively handsome. He didn’t have the best sense of humor, but Sophie’s mother didn’t see a problem with that. What she saw a problem with was that Sophie didn’t seem to be as in love with him as he was with her.

Sophie’s mother would be very upset to hear that their vacation would be canceled. Like Sophie, she fully assumed that a proposal would take place at sunset on a tropical beach.

But as Sophie glanced down at the screen, she saw that it was not her mother calling at all. She stared at the phone, at first not understanding all the numbers until she saw the location listed underneath them: Paris, France.

Her heart began to hammer in her chest as she slowed her pace, forcing another commuter to ram her shoulder as they brushed past her.

Paris. It couldn’t be her father. Even though he hadn’t sent a postcard in a while, she knew that he hadn’t lived in Paris in years. Besides, she had his number stored in her contacts list, not that she ever pulled it up.

That left only one person.

Warily, she put the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Sophie?” Isabelle’s unmistakable British accent brought a smile to her lips.

“Isabelle?” She couldn’t believe that her sister was calling her, when usually at best she mailed a card around the holidays or on her birthday. Isabelle was nine years her senior, a married woman with a busy life. They were more like cousins than sisters, really, but that never stopped Sophie from admiring her ever since she was a little girl and her sisters were still visiting each summer. “Is everything okay?”

Even though she wasn’t close to Papa anymore, the thought of something happening to him made her feel suddenly sick with fear.

“Everything is more than okay,” Isabelle said with a smile in her voice. “I’ve called to ask you something.”

A favor? Or just a question? Either way, Sophie felt honored to be considered, when of course, Isabelle and Camille had always favored each other, both in looks and in preference. At first, she’d blamed it on the age gap, lagging a solid six years behind Camille, who was anything but pleased by a younger sister’s presence. But as they grew older, their bond became more evident, and Sophie began to feel more and more like an outsider on those summer visits when Papa would take them all to the beach on Long Island and Isabelle and Camille would lie side by side on beach towels, whispering and giggling to each other, Camille often switching to French when Sophie tried to join in because she knew that Papa had never taught her his native language. Sophie had longed to be included in their duo, to share their connection, to be able to enjoy their company full-time, which seemed like something that they took for granted when they squabbled and argued over silly things. But now Isabelle was reaching out to her. Acknowledging her as a proper sister. One who was more than eager to fulfill her sisterly responsibilities.

“I’ve called to invite you to Paris,” her sister said simply.

Paris. Sophie was still numb by the time the call ended a few minutes later, after Isabelle had told her all about her upcoming opening, the things they could see and do together, and of course, the apartment, which had three large bedrooms, plenty of room for her to stay.

Sophie plopped down on a bench in Washington Square Park before going home, trying to unpack the conversation, which had ended with Isabelle telling her to think about it, and Sophie, fumbling for an excuse, saying that she wasn’t sure she could get the time off from work.

Going to Paris at all—and ever—was not something she had considered. At least not in a long time.

Once, it would have been her dream—back when Paris, France, and everything French felt like part of her identity. When she’d studied the language until she was nearly fluent, or close enough, because even though her father was French, he’d only ever used a few fleeting terms and phrases here and there, and knowing Papa, most were profane. She was his American daughter, he liked to boast, as if that made her special, instead of setting her apart from Isabelle and Camille, when there was already such a line dividing them.

But not every dream was meant to come true. Not every desire would be fulfilled. And sometimes you had to tuck away a part of yourself until it wasn’t buried but forgotten.

Only now, thanks to Isabelle, it was once again a possibility.

Deciding she would think more clearly in the morning, Sophie stood and walked the remaining two blocks to her brownstone, climbing the stairs to her third-floor apartment deliberately, eager to keep her mind from replaying the conversation with her sister, from reading too far into it, but she couldn’t quite keep the flutter out of her chest.

An invitation to Paris.

Deciding that she couldn’t go home just yet, she stopped on the second-floor landing to knock on the door to the apartment directly below hers, hoping that her friend Erin was already home from her job at the clothing boutique on Broome Street. Sophie sighed with relief when a short moment later, she heard the locks being turned and the door opened to the cramped hallway that was identical to her own, only painted a deep indigo in contrast to Sophie’s creamy white walls.

Erin was wearing one of the designs from the shop—leather pants and a shaggy pink sweater. “You’re just in time! Let me get out of this uniform and into my sweats!”

Erin wasn’t into fashion, but she did want the shop to succeed. A practical woman with an eye for business, she handled all the branding and marketing, and it helped that she looked like she could have modeled in the window.

“Jack working late?” Erin asked from the bedroom just off the front hall where she changed behind a half-closed door.

Sophie let herself into the small living room and plopped down on the velvet sofa Erin had excitedly bought off a neighbor who was moving out last month. She hugged a throw pillow to her chest.

“Yes, but I can’t stay too long. I’m feeling tired. I had the strangest phone call from my sister.”

“Your sister?” Erin appeared in the hallway again. She’d wasted no time in putting on her college T-shirt and pulling her hair into a messy bun. “Which one?”

Erin was one of the few people who knew all about Sophie’s unconventional family. They’d spent hours talking over shared bottles of cheap wine in the six years they’d lived in the building.

“Isabelle, obviously,” Sophie replied. Camille had barely tolerated her when they were younger and now, as adults, they were complete strangers, which always made Sophie feel a little sad. But Isabelle had doted on her, which, in hindsight, had probably only added to Camille’s resentment.

“And? What was the reason for her call?” Erin pulled a bottle of wine from the small fridge in the kitchen that was barely larger than most people’s closets and carried it to the coffee table along with two glasses.

Of course, there would be a reason for Isabelle’s call. The sisters didn’t speak without reason, which meant that they didn’t speak much at all.

“She wanted to invite me to Paris,” Sophie said a little breathlessly.

Erin’s eyes widened. “Paris!”

“She’s having a big event for a new artist,” Sophie explained. “I think I told you that she opened an art gallery.”

“After she moved into her grandmother’s apartment.” Erin nodded along as she poured two glasses of white wine. “I mean, your grandmother’s apartment.”

“It’s okay.” Sophie took a sip of her drink. “I never met her. Papa never took me to Paris. He always said he would but…”

They fell silent, both knowing how that sentence would be finished. But then he met another woman. Moved halfway across the world. Broke Sophie’s mother’s heart.

And hers, as well.

“You’ll go, of course?” Erin said eagerly.

Sophie shifted uncomfortably on the couch. “I don’t know if I’ll go.”

Somehow not going felt easier. Safer. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she understood why her mother lived as she did, going about a simple routine, embracing the boring, not wishing or trying for more.

The thought of putting her heart on the line, of daring to remember the girl she used to be and the hopes that she’d once held, only made her think of all the ways it could end in hurt and disappointment.

“What? But you have to go! You always wanted to! You speak French. You decorated your entire childhood bedroom in posters and photos of the city!”

Until she ripped them all down.

“That was a long time ago,” Sophie said. “I gave up on that dream at some point.”

“So?” Erin’s tone turned gentler. “Who says you can’t find it again? It’s still in there, Sophie. It was a huge part of you.”

“I haven’t thought about going to Paris in ten years,” she said, feeling an old, familiar hurt creep into her voice.

And eventually, she stopped longing for it. It all became a lost dream, replaced with reality instead of hope.

Her mother was relieved when Sophie stopped talking about Paris, or “the nonsense” as she called it. And Sophie was relieved when the thought of Paris no longer hurt her or made her ache for more.

“I’ve made a wonderful life for myself here in New York,” she said firmly. “I have a great job. A great apartment. A great friend.”

“I’ll believe the last one,” Erin said with a grin.

“A great boyfriend,” Sophie went on, taking another sip of wine, hearing the lack of conviction in her tone and feeling terrible about it. Jack was everything that her mother said he was: predictable, dependable, reliable. Nice. So nice. All good adjectives.

But…there was always that missing piece that she just couldn’t identify, and maybe she never would. Maybe the hole in her heart would never be filled, and she had to stop thinking it could be.

“I suppose you’d see your father if you went,” Erin said delicately.

“Oh, no. My father hasn’t lived in France in years,” Sophie replied confidently. Where he lived at the moment, she wasn’t even sure. He wasn’t one to be tied down to one place. Or one person.

“So your mother shouldn’t have an issue with you going,” Erin said brightly.

Sophie gave her a long look, one that Erin understood without explanation. Sophie’s mother could never know about Sophie going to Paris, but she wouldn’t have to, because Sophie wasn’t going.

“It was just an invitation,” Sophie said dismissively, even as her chest began to ache. “A nice thought for a moment or two.”

“But it doesn’t have to stop there.” Erin looked at her thoughtfully. “Can you take the time off from work?”

Sophie thought about the trip with Jack that was no longer taking place. “Yes.”

“Then what’s stopping you?” Erin asked.

Sophie looked at her friend, trying to think of a way to respond without saying the one thing she didn’t want to admit to herself.

Paris was a possibility once again. The dream had been resurfaced, and every part of her ached to hop on that plane and go.

But the thought of opening that part of her heart again, indulging in the life she’d always wanted, scared her.

Because it was one thing to take a vacation. But it was another to face the life you always wanted, and then compare it to the one you’d been living instead.

A glass of wine later, Sophie trudged up the last set of stairs to the top floor, eager for a hot bath, pajamas, and hopefully no more thoughts about Paris. A decision would have to be made—she had told Isabelle she’d get back to her by the end of the week, using work as the excuse. And work could be an easy excuse.

It always was.

She turned the key in the lock, fumbling as she always did because it didn’t fit easily, and impatiently pushed the door open, but she stopped cold when she saw the hallway, lit by floor candles, strewn with rose petals.

Her heart began hammering and for a moment she wondered if she’d let herself into the wrong apartment, but no, there was her trench coat, hanging on the hook beside her umbrella.

“Hello?” she called weakly from the doorway, afraid to take another step.

Jack was supposed to be working—he’d made that more than clear. And besides, what reason would Jack have to do this other than—

Oh, no. No. He couldn’t.

But as Sophie slowly walked down the hall and almost fearfully glanced into the living room, she knew that he could. And he was.

Jack was down on one knee. Holding a ring box.

“Jack—” She needed to stop him from opening that box. From saying another word.

“Don’t say a word,” he said instead. “I need—”

“Please get up,” she pleaded, feeling on the verge of tears.

Jack looked at her with confusion. “Sophie.” His voice was barely a whisper.

“Please, Jack. Don’t do this.”

He stared at her for a moment and then, to her relief, stood and jammed the ring box into his pants pocket.

“So?” he finally said. “What do you have to say?”

She took a breath, steadying herself, feeling more miserable than she thought possible. She’d hurt him, made a big mess of things, and that was the last thing she wanted.

Well, other than a big romantic proposal.

“You don’t want to marry me?” His tone was so incredulous that she wondered if he even knew her at all.

Sophie pulled in a breath, hating what she was about to say but knowing that she had to be honest because the alternative was to accept the ring, plan a wedding, and commit to a future that she couldn’t envision.

“I don’t know if I ever want to get married to anyone,” she said sadly. Seeing the hurt in his eyes, she added, “You know I don’t have a great track record with marriage.”

“Your parents don’t have a great track record,” he replied. “Or your father, I should say. My parents are divorced, too, I’ll remind you.”

Maybe, but his father didn’t walk out the door when he was twelve and move overseas, rarely to be heard from again, and certainly never seen, at least not on this continent.

“I’m just saying, I think we should take things slow,” she said calmly.

“Slow? We’ve been dating for over two years! We live together!” Jack closed his eyes and shook his head. He began pacing the small living room, making it feel even more cramped than it already was, thanks to Sophie’s mounting collection of books that took up every free surface.

He stopped a few feet from where she stood and said, “I thought we were happy.”

“We are happy,” Sophie said, but the words didn’t sound any more convincing than they felt. Right now, she felt anything but happy.

Jack blinked at her, as if not understanding, and she fought for words to salvage this night—the relationship. She might not want to marry him, but she didn’t want to lose him. She’d lost enough people, including, she was beginning to feel as she stood in the cramped space, in the middle of the city that she’d lived all her life and never really left, herself.

“Look, this came as a bit of a shock,” she started to say.

She saw his shoulders come down a bit. They were getting somewhere.

“You caught me off guard,” she told him.

“I was trying to surprise you.” Jack’s eyes pleaded with her. “I was trying to be romantic.”

“And I appreciate that, but…”

His face hardened again.

At that moment, her phone rang. She didn’t need to look at the screen to know that this time, it was her mother.

“Please don’t answer that,” Jack said wearily.

“If I don’t, she’ll just keep calling until I do,” Sophie pointed out, and they both knew from experience that this was true.

With a sigh, Jack nodded, and Sophie picked up the phone, trying to keep her growing emotions from showing in her tone.

“Hey, Mom, can I call you back in a little bit?”

Immediately, her mother grew suspicious. “Is something the matter?”

“Nothing is the matter, I’m just in the middle of something is all,” Sophie replied, praying her voice remained light, but her heart was pounding when she glanced at Jack.

“Too busy to talk to your mother?” Her mother’s voice pitched with the accusation.

Sophie felt the tears spring to her eyes. The weight of the day was coming down on her. Jack was staring at her intensely, waiting for an answer. Her mother was on the other end of the line, demanding more than one child could ever be expected to give. And tomorrow would be more of the same.

“I’ll call you back in a bit, Mom,” she said, and, knowing she couldn’t hold it together much longer, she disconnected the phone.

Her mother would not be happy. Jack was not happy.

But Sophie was not happy, either. And she hadn’t been in a long time.

She set the phone down and took a step back, away from the device. Away from Jack. She needed to create some distance between them and this entire night, even though she knew that she couldn’t without hurting him more. She licked her lower lip, knowing at once that her decision was made.

“I was on the phone with Isabelle earlier,” she said, her heart beating so hard she felt like it could push right out of her chest. “I’m going to Paris. This weekend.”

Her mind was spinning, and it didn’t feel real, but it was. It could be. Technically, Isabelle had mentioned next weekend, but if she was too early, she could find a cheap hotel. She’d use her time off. Stay a full two weeks until the gallery opening. What she’d say to her mother she didn’t know or even care right now. She’d find an excuse.

“So you see, now isn’t the best time to be thinking of the future,” she said gently.

Jack’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, I think this is the perfect time to be thinking of the future.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked as he brushed past her toward the door.

“I mean, I think that you should go to Paris. I think the timing couldn’t be better. We need some time apart, Sophie.”

“Where are you going?” she asked when he set a hand on the front doorknob.

“To my brother’s.” He opened the door and stepped one foot into the hallway. “I started this night hoping to spend the rest of my life with you. To wake up every morning next to you. But right now, I think space would be good.”

“Are you breaking up with me?” Sophie’s voice rose in alarm. That wasn’t what she wanted; she just didn’t want…this. This argument.

Or maybe that ring.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Jack replied. He shook his head and then said, “Don’t answer that. Not now. We’ll talk when you’re back from Paris.”

“The phone works over there,” she said gently, maybe even hopefully, but maybe, from the look on his face, not hopefully enough.

“We need this time apart,” Jack replied, and even though Sophie knew that it was true, that it was the reason she’d blurted out her plans in the first place, hearing it come from him only made this entire situation feel all too real.

About as real as the possibility of going to Paris. Could she really do it, now, after all this time?

She thought back on her call with Isabelle, and her talk with Erin. And then on the awful conversation with Jack.

He was right. A little time apart would be good for them if only to lessen the hurt from this evening.

And Erin was right, too. Paris wasn’t just a dream, it was a part of her, and not just because her father was French.

This time it was about her. About finally getting to the root of her deepest self.

Or at least finding her truest self again.