4. Chapter Four - Abby
Abby
I might have underestimated the distances in Paris. Or maybe I’m just really bad at reading maps or trusting the walking distances my phone shows, convinced I’ll be quicker than the estimated time.
And now I’m reaping the rewards of my distrust. My feet hurt as I walk alongside the Seine, back to my hotel, and I’m pretty sure I feel at least two blisters forming.
In a rather spontaneous decision, I’d taken the metro to Notre Dame as first order of business here in Paris. After all, it’s one of the main sights, the place of my childhood nightmares after watching The Hunchback Of Notre Dame .
On my way out, I caught André’s eye and stopped for a quick chat. I couldn’t help myself. I was too curious about what happened once the elevator doors closed behind me.
“There were no more further incidents,” he told me with a grin. “On behalf of Julia and myself, thank you for your patience.” Julia nodded gratefully when he said it. She still looked a bit shaken up but a lot better than when I left.
André doesn’t get into more details of what happened, only insinuates that Mr. Rude admitted defeat once I was gone. Fair enough. That just means I can imagine him walking to the elevator full of defeat, his handsome head facing the ground, putting his feet in front of each other slowly, like a puppy you’ve denied a treat and is now trying to guilt-trip you.
And damned if that thought doesn’t fill me with warmth.
I wonder what was up with the guy. I understand getting frustrated when a hotel room doesn’t work out, but I don’t get what kind of satisfaction someone gets from belittling the only people who can actually find a solution for that. Shame. If he hadn’t behaved like a dick, he would have been just my type. Tall, dark hair, handsome and those dreamy blue eyes I could get lost in.
Calm down, Abby. His eyes are not dreamy and he’s a dick. Focus on what’s in front of you.
There is not much to see of Notre Dame since it’s still in the middle of its restoration, a tall fence preventing tourists from getting close. But even from a distance I can see some intricate carvings on the outside, and I’m sure the interior must have been stunning before the fire.
Now I can only stare at the facade and the few intricate sculptures and carvings I can make out and the giant scaffolding gracing its backside.
Max told me to check out the streets around Notre-Dame, and I have to admit—he was right. The neighborhood is really cute. There are cobblestone streets, little cafés, and old buildings with flowers in the windows.
Artists sit along the sidewalks showing their work, and some are even painting or drawing while people watch. A few offer to make custom art, right there on the spot, which is just mind-blowing to me. Like, what do you mean I could have a custom painting or sketch, just like that?
And naive as I am, I decided to walk all the way back to my hotel. ‘It’s along the river. It’s going to be beautiful,’ I thought. ‘You can have a look at the Louvre, Jardin des Tuileries and Place de la Concorde on your way,’ I thought.
Well, I failed to think about taking sunscreen along. Or sunglasses. Or about the fact that I got my shoes specifically for this vacation and they are not quite broken in yet. Now I’ve just walked past Jardin des Tuileries, feet aching, and I still have halfway to go.
But at least I know where I need to queue tomorrow when I have my slot to enter the Louvre. Admittedly, the glass pyramid was hard to miss, but I wondered if there was an entrance that’s not by the pyramid, one that would be less crowded tomorrow. No such luck though, or maybe I focused too much on my pain to see it.
Walking through the gardens, I couldn’t decide whether to keep going or sit down and hope the pain subsides. Ultimately, I feared that once I sat down, I might just not get up again so I decided to power through.
They are so pretty though. The Eiffel tower looming in the distance, at some spots framed by flowers in all kinds of colors. If Mom were here, that would definitely become her new profile picture.
I think I’m starting to get it, why Max likes to come here so often and why so many people call Paris the ‘city of love’. Because love is really in the air. Everywhere. It’s in the care put into the gardens. I can see it in all the couples who walk through the park hand in hand or arm in arm, the way they sit next and on each other on the benches that face fountains that look like they’re right out of a fairytale.
So many people are stretched out on the grass, enjoying the sunny afternoon. I walk past a couple having a quiet picnic. The woman rests her head on her boyfriend’s stomach, both of them lying on their picnic blanket, books open on their chests. Their fingers move to turn the pages every now and then. A pair of glass bottles sit on the corner of their soft blanket, catching the sunlight. It’s such a calm, sweet moment, one that makes me understand why so many artists live here. It looks like a scene from a painting.
A small wave of sadness washes over me. I haven’t really dated anyone in a long time. My last… let’s just call them dating adventures, weren’t great. Honestly, the bar I set was already pretty low to the ground, but somehow, the guys I met still managed to dig under it and do the limbo underground. That’s how bad it was.
One of them spent the entire date talking about his ex and how much he missed her. Another tried to convince me the moon landing was fake. Then there was the guy who, ten minutes in, said I’d have to never get a job if we were going to date since he wanted to be the ‘provider,’ yet called me a gold digger when I asked him about his job in an effort to keep the awkward conversation afloat. And let’s not forget the one who proposed after our first date, right before I could gently tell him there wasn’t going to be a second.
What did he do wrong? Nothing too awful… unless you count the fact that his mother was sitting at the table next to ours, keeping an eye on the date like some kind of chaperone.
It was a mess. A full-on disaster.
So I decided to just enjoy life on my own for a while, and I did enjoy it. A lot actually. But now, seeing all these couples has me wondering how to get back into dating without everything blowing up again. Because I want that. The romantic, calm moments, the hanging out with each other, reading a book, just happy to be together.
And I miss sex. I really do.
I’m not really someone who goes to clubs, but maybe I should once I’m back. Because honestly? I’m horny. And all these couples around me are making me lovesick. It’s like being homesick, but instead of missing home, you’re missing love.
I reach Place de la Concorde, a huge, cobble-stoned space with a giant basilisk in its center and a lot of cars driving past. I stop on the sidewalk, looking around confused and unsuccessfully searching for a traffic light or crosswalk. Then again, I’m looking against the setting sun, so I might just be turning blind.
I check my route and decide to turn left, making my way back to the river. I only need to follow it until I reach the Eiffel tower, and from there on, I should be able to find the hotel on my own.
My feet hurt like hell, but I’m determined to finish this walk. My parents didn’t raise a quitter and if Max ever finds out, I won’t ever hear the end of it.
I pass by beautiful bridges with statues that look like they belong inside a museum, party boats that play loud music and river cruises, a lot of beautiful buildings on either side of the river, and a lot of trees.
As much as I try, and as beautiful as Paris is, all I can focus on is the Eiffel tower in the shrinking distance. By the time I reach it, the sun is starting to set. All that’s left is to cross the bridge and walk two blocks, but I give up. I need a break.
And I really want to copy the people here and sit by the Seine shore, letting my feet dangle over the water as I watch the sunset behind the Eiffel tower. So that’s exactly what I do. With a groan, I get down ungracefully, letting my legs swing from the edge to the river, and lean back.
I should have bought some food before sitting down. The couple to my right is unpacking a whole picnic, with a baguette, cheese and even ham. Another couple to my left even has a bottle of wine with them. God, that’s so smart! I wish I’d thought of that.
Well, since love is not in my close vicinity and I can’t exactly stare at the Eiffel tower for the amount of time it’s going to take until I trust my feet again, I take out my phone to answer some messages.
After sending Max a quick voice memo of what happened at the reception, still super giddy about it, I let my parents know that I’ve arrived safely, which they answer with a simple thumbs-up emoji.
When I look up again, the sun has disappeared, darkness falling over the city. I snap a quick picture of the lit Eiffel tower and post it to my stories with cheesy background music—that feels obligatory when in Paris. My head shoots up when I hear a bunch of ‘aaaahh’ and ‘ooooh’ around me and while my first thought is definitely not that people have started fucking in the open, I’m just as awed when I look up.
The Eiffel tower sparkles! How did I not know it did that? I’ve seen a lot of romantic shit today, but this is the icing on the cake.
And I think Max has got me. Someday. Someday I might have to come here with a boyfriend or husband so I can experience the city of love even better firsthand.