Chapter 20
It was noon before I was brave enough to leave my bedroom and face my friends, who were milling around the living room. I opened my door to see Addie sunbathing on the balcony—the sun was back in full force this morning—and Willa making coffee in the kitchen.
“Good morning, loveb-” Willa broke off when she realized I was alone.
Addie looked over her shoulder and furrowed her brow. “Where’s Eliza?”
I drew in a breath. “She left,” I said.
While yesterday, those words would have taken my breath away, today, I felt nothing at all—like this was how it was always supposed to be. Maybe Eliza was meant to be my easiest goodbye.
I’d spent every moment of knowing Eliza afraid of her final goodbye. Now that it was over, I felt lighter. Brighter.
“Wait, really?” Addie sat up, turning fully in her chair. “I thought—I mean, everything looked good between you two.”
I shrugged and crossed the room to sit next to her in the sunshine. “I don’t want to chase after her time and time again.”
“Do you think she’ll come back?” Willa asked, appearing on the balcony and handing out two mugs of coffee, keeping the third for herself. “She has a habit of doing that.”
I pursed my lips, drawing in a deep breath. “No, I don’t think she’ll come back.”
I didn’t know how I knew, but I did. Yesterday was the last time Eliza would show up unannounced at my door.
“You seem very calm about this,” Willa said. “I thought you liked her.”
“I did,” I said, leaning back in my chair and kicking my feet up. “And I was so sure she was meant to be in my life, but sometimes people are passing ships and nothing more.”
Addie frowned. “Was she good in bed, at least?”
I snorted into my coffee. “I didn’t find out.”
“Sophie!” My friends squeaked in unison.
“I owe Addie twenty euros,” Willa grumbled.
I rolled my eyes, sipping my coffee.
A week passed, and while I wanted to pretend Eliza had never been a part of it, I saw pieces of her everywhere I went. On the morning train to visit Ghost, I swore I saw her waiting at the metro station—though she was never there. When I returned home in the afternoons, part of me expected her to be waiting on the bench across the street. She never was.
Willa, Addie, and I spent our twenty-second day at the Louvre, and I tried my best not to spend the entire time searching for someone who wasn’t there—I really did.
Except, I waited on the stairs in front of Nike of Samothrace and prayed she would appear. And when we were leaving through the lobby, I stared up at the glass pyramid and wished a sad, lonely American girl would appear beneath it—if only so I could kiss her one more time.
To their credit, my friends said nothing about my incessant melancholia. They waited for me to catch up when I fell behind or repeated their questions when I spaced out for too long.
When I was alone in the evenings, my mind drifted to how ordinary our last hours together had been. It felt like she belonged in my living room, in my bed, by my side. She laughed with my friends; we snuck delicate touches when no one was looking. The entire evening, it felt like she belonged there with me. It felt like I could have fallen in love with her.
And yet, her leaving felt right as well.
The only thing I could do was remind myself that this was right—for the best—even as I looked over my shoulder for a glimpse of ocean blue eyes that weren”t there.